A Marquess' Miraculous Transformation: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  “Were there people who gave you such a difficult time about it?” Ronan asked.

  “A great many. Even within our own families. We faced hatred and judgement on all sides. But your father was strong and brave through it all. He defended and protected me even when it made him appear foolish,” she said.

  Ronan swallowed hard, thinking about how weak he had been in his uncertainties regarding Miss Philips. Did he care for her? Yes.

  In fact … he loved her. And despite that love, he had been weak enough to allow society’s expectations to get the better of him. He had been unwilling to search his heart and really give her the love she deserved. All because of his own cowardice.

  “Anyway, I just wish you to know that there is nothing wrong with it if you decide that there is a woman you care for who is not the same as what society may expect from you. I shall never be the one to tell you it is wrong,” she promised.

  Ronan understood exactly what she was trying to say. She had seen the care he felt towards Miss Philips. It was far too obvious, and he had greatly failed in trying to hide it. But, alas, he was grateful that his mother understood and gave her approval.

  They arrived at the estate, and Ronan rested for a while, trying to recover after the exhausting but wonderful time earlier in the day. It was an hour before he heard the maids arriving back.

  Miss Philips came to his room with tea as he lay in the bed.

  “Thank you, Miss Philips. Did you enjoy the ceremony?” he asked.

  “Very much,” she replied.

  “I am glad to hear that. You must be tired after your walk,” Ronan said.

  “Oh, no. Not at all. I am rather accustomed to walking,” Miss Philips said.

  “I miss those days,” Ronan said with a laugh.

  “I am sure you do, but you will get back to them. You will soon return to walking as you please. I cannot imagine you will be in that chair forever. You are already proving quite improved,” she said.

  “But I do not think I shall ever walk in quite the same way again. The doctor has already told me as much. I shall probably always have a limp,” he said.

  “There is nothing wrong with that. No one shall pay any mind to your limp, of that I am certain,” Miss Philips said, kindly.

  There was a knock, suddenly, and Ronan called for the maid to enter.

  “My Lord, Lady Foster has come to pay a call on you,” the maid said.

  Ronan felt Miss Philips stiffen beside him. He was still so confused about everything, but he took a deep breath and nodded to the maid.

  “Please send her in,” he said.

  “Very well, My Lord,” she said with a curtsey before leaving.

  Lady Foster soon entered the room, and her smile turned into a grimace when she saw Miss Philips. This did not go unnoticed by Ronan, but he wanted to think that she was just being nonsensical and was probably jealous upon seeing another woman in the room.

  “Lord Beckman, so good to see you,” she said. “I am surprised to find that you are unwell.”

  “Not unwell. Simply tired,” he replied.

  “Oh? What has you so worn?” she asked.

  “I was at a wedding this morning. For one of our maids who has married and moved on,” he said.

  “Were you not in your chair?” she asked in confusion.

  “I stood for a dance with Miss Philips,” he said, grinning up at the beautiful maid.

  But Lady Foster grimaced.

  “Oh, it is so kind of you to treat her as though she actually matters,” she said with a haughty little laugh.

  Ronan was shocked, utterly taken aback by the stark rudeness of her words.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Foster?” he asked.

  “Oh, you know what I mean. It is always so funny when men of your rank try to be sweet to their staff. Think about it, a grand marquess dancing with a woman known only for her skill in boiling tea?” she asked with a laugh.

  He glanced at Miss Philips, whose cheeks were red with humiliation. This was appalling, and he was furious at how rude Lady Foster was being.

  “Lady Foster, I believe that is enough,” he said in a quiet, but firm, tone.

  She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips.

  “Very well, then. If you are displeased, I shall simply have to keep quiet about it, I suppose,” she said.

  “I think that is for the best,” he replied.

  All was silent for a moment, and Ronan knew that Miss Philips must be feeling dreadfully uncomfortable. He wanted to give her an excuse to leave the room and gather herself.

  “Miss Philips, if you wouldn’t mind, I think it is time for my mother to have her tea. Please go and prepare it for her before you take your time to rest. While I know that it is only a small portion of your many skills, would you be so kind?” he asked.

  She silently gave a nod and curtseyed before leaving the room.

  “Oh, that girl …” Lady Foster said in annoyance. “You are so good to her, especially after everything she has done.”

  “Everything she has done?” Ronan asked. “She has taken excellent care of me, helping me to recover after my injury. She is the reason that I shall be able to walk again. I do not know what I would have done without her.”

  “You do have a very high opinion of her. It worries me, I must confess,” she said.

  “And why is that?” he asked, assuming it to be jealousy.

  “Well, because of all the lies she tells. You know, about being the daughter of an esteemed doctor and all that,” she said.

  Ronan narrowed his eyes. Why was Lady Foster trying to stir up trouble?

  “Lady Foster, please do not make such unfounded accusations. Miss Philips is a valued member of this estate. I should like to think that we are all being fair to her. I do not appreciate your misrepresentation of her,” he said.

  Lady Foster put a hand to her chest in offence.

  “My goodness, Lord Beckman. You think I am simply making unfounded accusations? No, indeed! I am well aware of who that woman is. She is a known liar. She has made up some tale about her father. There was a man, a doctor, who passed away over a year ago. He long ago had a daughter who passed away before,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” Ronan asked.

  “I mean she used this man’s death as an opportunity to claim that she was the daughter. She says that she is the one when the true girl passed away some two to three years ago,” Lady Foster said with perfect certainty.

  Ronan blinked back his own confusion. This couldn’t be true. Could it? Why would Lady Foster make this up? Could she verify the information?

  “My doctor confirmed her identity,” he said.

  “Did he? Or did he simply confirm that the man who died had a daughter around her age?” Lady Foster asked.

  Ronan honestly could not remember. Suddenly, against his will, he found himself in a desperate state of uncertainty.

  Chapter 25

  “That is not where you go,” Lavender said, unwittingly speaking to one of her tinctures as she moved it.

  She kept all of her medicines arranged in a nice, neat case with pockets for each item. There were tinctures, teas, powders, and salves for all manner of injury. Although she did not have access to the same types of medicines that a doctor would, her father had taught her to always keep these items on hand.

  Just then, she heard the creaking of her bedroom door and turned around.

  Lady Foster was darkening her doorway. With swaying hips, the woman moved into the room, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

  “So, this is where you rest at night?” she asked with a hiss.

  “Lady Foster? What is it? Do you need something?” Lavender asked, staring at her as she came right up and grabbed one of the tinctures from the case and squinted at the list of ingredients as though she could comprehend none of it.

  “What is this? Is it more of your nonsense? More of your fantasy that you are some sort of healer?” she asked.

  “I have n
o such fantasy. I have only a few skills that my father taught me,” Lavender said.

  “Your father?” Lady Foster scoffed.

  “Yes, indeed,” she replied, not understanding why it was amusing to Lady Foster.

  “You know, I think you are quite clever. You are excellent in playing this game, that is for sure,” she said.

  “What game?” Lavender asked. She felt circled by one of those terrifying snakes she had heard of in the far east.

  “This game in which you use your beauty to try and convince a marquess to overlook your pathetic station and marry you,” Lady Foster replied, rounding on Lavender.

  Yes, this was very much like being threatened by a snake. But this snake was more than just cunning. She was desperate.

  “You think that is what I am seeking?” Lavender asked, adding a scoff of her own.

  Whether it was true that she would have liked to gain the attention of Lord Beckman, and even if she had fallen in love with him, it had never been her intent to manipulate him into having an interest in her. That was never even a possibility in her mind.

  Lavender was not nearly conniving enough to do something like that. She was not capable of tricking anyone, and she did not want to be. Instead, she thought of herself as simply trying to get by the best she could, and having fallen in love with the marquess, she hoped that she would not allow her heart to be cut too deeply.

  However, it was evident that Lady Foster did not see it that way, and there was no telling how she would respond or what she may tell Lord Beckman.

  “I know girls like you. You think you can come in and take away everything from women like me who are deserving of it,” Lady Foster said.

  “And what makes you so deserving?” Lavender asked. “If you do not mind my asking, why are you more deserving than anyone else? Although I am not expecting to find a husband in the marquess, I would like to understand the difference between yourself and me, which makes you so much more valuable to him and the society of England.”

  Lady Foster froze for a moment as if trying to process the point of the questions Lavender had asked her. But she clearly had no real response and instead just approached Lavender, saying quietly and threateningly, “Do not be foolish,” her words clipped and steady, leaving no room to misunderstand their meaning.

  Lavender did not reply, taking in the threat. She knew that there was nothing she could do about it and that, if she tried to say anything in reply, Lady Foster would only make things worse.

  Indeed, there was nothing at all that she could do about it. Lavender knew who she was. But, as if to be sure, Lady Foster continued, “You must remember your place. You are a simple maid and nothing more. There is truly nothing remarkable about you, nothing worth the attention of a marquess. Whatever it is that you have in your mind to do, you had best let go of it for you will find no success,” she said.

  “I understand,” Lavender said, wishing that Lady Foster would just leave her alone. It wasn’t fair that life had taken this turn. Lavender didn’t deserve this. Why could she not have a happy life? Why could she not just enjoy the things of the world around her?

  It felt as though everything was fighting to push her down, to get rid of any excitement that she might be able to have in the future. She could not understand why she had lost her father or why that meant that she was suddenly worthless. There was nothing more that had taken place that ruined her.

  If she had a purpose and value to society when her father was still alive, why did she now have nothing once he was gone? Was that the way of things? Was it possible that a woman only mattered so long as her father or husband or brother declared as much?

  Lady Foster took a step back, at last. She was still watching Lavender, much to Lavender’s chagrin, but somewhat less threatening now that there was a small distance between them. She only wished that the noblewoman would leave and never come back again.

  “Tell me, Miss Philips, are you a witch?” she asked.

  Lavender’s eyes shot up in surprise, staring at Last Foster in shock and horror.

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked.

  “I was curious because I have now seen some of the things that you carry, and you are no doctor. It is amusing to me because, in truth, there are a great many ways in which I might be able to tear you down and ensure that you are cast out from society forever. But this one could be fun. I could claim that you have love potions in there and were trying to seduce the marquess,” she said, a sly grin on her face.

  “I would never do something like that. Everyone knows it. He knows it,” Lavender said, defending herself.

  “Does he? Tell me, does he know you very well at all? Who are you to him that you would matter? Who are you that he should even bother trying to get to know you? And what of it? Everyone has secrets,” Lady Foster said.

  “Are you truly saying you will declare me a witch?” Lavender asked, aware that it could lead to a death sentence.

  But Lady Foster simply laughed.

  “No, I have no intention of doing so. Good heavens, your expression is rather amusing as well. You are quite terrified. Well, I suppose that is good. It means that I have addressed the matter and made my point to you. Now, if you do not mind, I shall be leaving,” Lady Foster said.

  She turned around without another word, and Lavender just stood there, utterly uncertain about what more she ought to say or do. But Lady Foster was gone, and she realized that she would have to hold herself steady, maintain her dignity, and try to remember that she was worth more than this. She could get through this. She did not have to bow to the whims of a woman like Lady Foster just to get by.

  But Lavender was shaken. She had to try and figure out how to proceed with her day. How could she go from such a cold and uncomfortable exchange to simply getting back to arranging her tinctures?

  Instead, she simply sat on her bed for a few moments. At last, she knew that the time was ticking away, and she had to get the tea ready to take to Lord Beckman. Rushing out of her room, her hands still quivering and unsteady, she made her way to the kitchen, prepared the tea, and then took it to him.

  Perhaps Lady Foster was right. After all, she was bringing tea to Lord Beckman at least four times each day. Was that all she amounted to? Was that her grand purpose in life?

  When she arrived in his room to give him the tea, Lord Beckman was not there. She knew that it likely meant he was with his mother in the parlour, and she made her way down the hall to them.

  “Ah, is that the tea?” his mother asked.

  “Indeed, Lady Beckman,” she said. “It is tulsi. Is that adequate for you, or would you rather I bring the other?”

  “Oh, no, this is all right. I do not drink it so much as my boy, but I do like it,” she said in reply.

  Lavender looked at Lord Beckman, who glanced at her apologetically. She understood it to mean that he felt bad for having sent her away earlier, but Lavender knew why he had done so. He felt sorry for her in the midst of what Lady Foster had said in front of her.