by Abigail Agar
Little did he know that Lady Foster had also come to speak with her alone. If he had been aware of it, what would he say? Would he approve of Lady Foster’s behaviour? Perhaps when Lavender first arrived at the estate a few months before, he would have.
But he had changed so much since then. Those changes had made him incredibly lovely and entirely different from anyone Lavender had ever met before. Whatever it was that had taken place in him to cause such a dramatic shift, Lavender was certain that she had to ignore it.
Lady Foster had made it perfectly clear that she would have to stay out of Lord Beckman’s view. If Lavender even so much as expressed an interest, she felt that Lady Foster would have her head. It was not worth such a thing for a man who probably did not care for her at all in reply.
Or, worse, he was just like her aunt had claimed. Maybe he really just wanted her to act in the capacity of a mistress for him and do things that were immoral and degrading.
Lavender did not wish to think about anything like that, rather preferring to hope for the best in the man’s character. Even if he was not someone she would have cared for when she first began working at the estate, he was quite a lovely man now, and that was what mattered.
His heart had shifted significantly, and something was fascinating about it.
Still, as Lavender poured the tea for Lord Beckman and his mother, her hands were shaking. She had to lean the spout against the cups just to steady them.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Philips?” Lady Beckman asked in concern.
“Oh, yes, Lady Beckman. I am fine,” she replied.
But she did not look convinced, and Lavender had to paste a smile on her face to fake it as though she was not suffering inside.
Lord Beckman, on the other hand, still did not look quite right. There was something about his gaze that unnerved Lavender.
There was compassion and apology, of course. That was from the incident earlier when Lady Foster had insulted her.
But there was something else as well. Something distant.
And then, it hit Lavender. She suddenly had a guess about the emotion behind his eyes and what he was thinking and feeling.
Lord Beckman was eyeing Lavender with suspicion.
Chapter 26
Each step was awkward and uncomfortable, but at least the pain was less than it had been previously. Certainly, a great deal of healing had taken place over the past couple of months since the accident took place.
Ronan had made great strides in his recovery, but he was still in the wheelchair much of the time. He decided that he would do whatever was required to get out of it within the next week or two.
Although he had enjoyed brief spells on his legs, whether walking or dancing, he was eager to be rid of the discomfort and annoyance of the chair to which he was confined the rest of the time. Indeed, Ronan knew that his only choice for a full recovery was to force himself into one.
He rang his bell, and Miss Philips soon arrived, coming through the door with readiness.
“My Lord,” she greeted, properly and without warmth. This bothered Ronan, but he was also trying to keep a distance of his own ever since Lady Foster had mentioned that there was ample evidence pointing to a lie on the part of Miss Philips.
“Miss Philips, I should very much like to go out for a walk. Are you able to accompany me?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she replied, appearing somewhat surprised.
Ronan got out of the bed, and Miss Philips offered to help him, but he held up a hand to show that he did not need her assistance with this part.
“Shall I bring the chair? Just in case you grow weary?” she asked.
Ronan shook his head.
“No, thank you. I would like to give myself no other choice but to walk,” he said.
“Yes, Lord Beckman. Whatever you prefer,” she said.
“Thank you. And if there is anything you may need to do in terms of duties, I understand if you must do them. However, I should very much appreciate this assistance. I am eager to get out of the house for a spell,” he said.
Miss Philips nodded sombrely. She was not overly responsive and, although this bothered him, he tried to accept it. After all, she was a maid. She had no reason to be more vibrant in speaking with him.
Was that it? Was that the very problem? Perhaps, in fact, it was most likely, she was deeply offended by the things Lady Foster had said, and they were still impacting her. Maybe Miss Philips was hurting, and he could do nothing to make it right because it was her whom he had sent away rather than Miss Foster when the incident occurred in his room.
Of course, that had to be it, didn’t it? She must have been terribly upset because he did nothing to defend her honour or stand firmly against Lady Foster, who was being so rude and cruel.
Ronan wished that he had made a different choice. He wished that he had been kinder to Miss Philips by sending away Lady Foster. After all, he knew where his heart was.
But he had not done that, and now …
Now, he was uncertain about Miss Philips. As much as he would have liked to write off the accusation from Lady Foster as being mere, petty jealousy, he had to accept that it was a compelling argument.
It would hardly have been the first time someone in the position of house help had made up a convincing lie for the sake of their own reputation. And if this man was dead, and his daughter before him, was it not possible that Miss Philips had decided to take advantage of that opportunity and pretend to be someone she was not?
It bothered him to think about it, but Ronan had to be realistic. He had to accept that it was possible, that anything was. And if Miss Philips was simply trying to gain his attention and affection, if she was hoping to get something from him or from his mother, it was his duty to protect them.
Indeed, he needed to do some more research on Miss Philips and her father and family. Only then would he have any sort of a reasonable option against the accusations of Lady Foster.
But as they walked, with Miss Philips behaving rather sombre and distant, Ronan simply wanted to ask her what was wrong and how he could possibly make it right. He wanted to take her in his arms and promise that all would be well soon enough.
“Miss Philips, are you feeling all right? You have not been quite yourself,” he said.
“Is that so?” she asked. “I do not know entirely who myself is these days.”
The sadness in her words was palpable. Ronan felt awful that she was in such a position, and he wanted to make things right for her even though Miss Philips may or may not have been honest with him until now.
But what if she had been honest? What if she really was as good a woman as he believed her to be? It would be awful not to listen to her, not to believe her.
Ronan did not wish to be that sort of man. He wanted, instead, to learn the truth and make things right, even if it meant that he had to set aside aspects of his own happiness.
“Miss Philips, what I meant to say is that you are not quite as … vibrant as you used to be,” he said.
“I am simply trying to maintain my place in the estate, My Lord. I know that I have been afforded certain opportunities, but I am asking that you would now treat me in the same way as you would treat any other maid in your home,” she said.
Ronan was surprised to hear her speaking this way, with such ingratitude for the treatment she had been shown and without any desire to continue to have such benefits. He wondered what was really going on in her mind, why she would feel this way.
Torn as to what he should do, Ronan thought about his options. Surely, he could just allow things to go on as they were. There could be something between them as there was now, something bothering each of them and causing them to be distant and uncomfortable.
Or he could try to set aside his pride and just give her a chance to tell him what was on her mind. He could listen and allow Miss Philips to air her grievances, even if they were against him or even if they were something regarding her treatmen
t in the home, some reason why her special allowances were offensive to her.
But then, there was another possible option that Ronan had to consider.
He had to think about what Lady Foster had said because even if he didn’t like the idea of it, there had been many men fooled by beautiful women throughout the ages. He could not allow himself the arrogance to think that he would be immune.
Yes, he realized, this was the only option left to him.
“Miss Philips, I should like to know more about your father,” Ronan finally said, openly and without even the faintest hint of struggle.
But she darted her eyes to him as if it was a painful thing to be asked, as if she had no desire to discuss it. This, of course, he found rather odd.
“My father?” she asked. “Why do you wish to know about him?”
“Well, I know that you speak highly of him—as does my doctor—and that you learned a great deal from him. But I know very little else. I only wondered what sort of man he was. Did he raise you?” Ronan asked.
“Indeed, he did. As I have told you before, my mother died,” she said.
“Yes, of course. I remember. It is such a shame. And knowing that you lost your father as well is just such a tragedy,” he said.
“Indeed, it was a tragedy. I did not think that I would survive without him,” she confessed.
“And how did you? I mean, for his death to have been—what was it? A year ago?” he asked.
“A bit longer,” she replied vaguely.
“And it was an accident, correct?” he asked.
“Yes, it was. Just a terrible accident. I was meant to be with him that day, but he was on his own,” she said.
He detected no guilt in her voice and could not figure out what it meant to her that she had not been with him. Did it anger her? Was there a reason for it? Was it something she still regretted? He wished that he could know the full truth about it, but she was still not forthcoming in the least, and that frustrated him, even though he understood it.
“That must have been very distressing for you. If he had been ill, you might have had time to prepare for his loss, but an accident is something else entirely. You had him taken from you in an instant,” he observed.
Miss Philips gave a slight nod, but she said nothing more.
Why was she not being more forthcoming? Was it possible that she was not at all the sort of woman she claimed to be? Maybe she showed no emotion because she felt none. Maybe this really had not been her father at all, and Lady Foster had been the one telling the truth. It was certainly possible, and he had to admit that it was.
If he ignored the warning, and it all turned out to be true, he might have made a fool of himself by welcoming this woman into his family home and giving her a position there. He would look like a fool for having trusted her to take care of him as he recovered from his injury.
And if she was lying, if this was all a ruse, what was the purpose? Was she trying to steal from Ronan and his mother? Or was she, indeed, trying to lure him into caring for her? There was no telling, and Ronan truly did not want to know because he hated the very idea of Miss Philips being anything other than the kind and generous woman he had known her to be thus far.
When he started to ask her more, Miss Philips spoke up.
“How are your legs? Are you all right? Are you in any pain? We may return if you need to,” she said, as if desperate for Ronan to tell her that he needed to stop and go back.
But he was surprisingly all right, considering this being his first lengthy jaunt out of the house.
“I am doing well, thank you,” he said.
She gave a half-smile and a nod as if trying to cover her disappointment. Ronan felt sure that Miss Philips had a reason for not wanting to continue walking. It appeared to him as though she was really trying to cover something up. Why was she so against speaking about her father?
Was it possible? Was there really a chance that this was all a lie that she had fabricated to get something she wanted? Was there some sinister purpose behind her stories of her father?
Ronan started to wonder even more about it. Maybe she really was afraid of being caught in a lie. That was the only reasonable explanation as to why she was so against talking about this further.
And, if that was the case, and Lady Foster had been telling the truth, it meant that Miss Philips really had fooled him, and she was using him for some selfish purpose.
If that was so, he had a decision to make.
Chapter 27
Lavender clenched her jaw. Why was Lord Beckman asking so much about her father? It was frustrating to have him prodding her like this when she had no desire to discuss such a painful subject.
Her feet led her onwards along the path outside of the estate. They were wandering into a patch of trees with the path clearly defined, but she was uncomfortable with it.
The warning her aunt had given was suddenly very stark in Lavender’s mind. She did not wish to be caught alone with Lord Beckman. It was not so much that she distrusted him as it was the talk of others who may think that she was an immoral and loose woman.
But all of that aside, she was simply frustrated with him.
What did he need to know about her father, and why did he care so much? She wanted to be left alone. After all, there had been so many things of late that she found difficult with this man.
In one moment, she would find herself thinking that they were perfectly in tune with one another. In the next, she would see him siding with Lady Foster, bowing to the woman’s will. And now? Now, he was asking questions about the most painful event of Lavender’s life. She had no desire to speak about it.
Could he not understand that?
They reached the patch of trees when Lord Beckman paused and leaned against one of them to steady himself. Lavender could see the exhaustion written across his face. He was too tired to go on any further. She wondered if he even had enough energy to get back to the estate.
“Are you all right, My Lord?” she asked again.
“Y-yes, I am fine,” he said.
“Shall I help with anything?” she offered, even if her heart was currently bitter against him.
“I suppose we ought to go back. Just give me a moment to rest,” he said.
Lavender nodded and straightened her back, trying to stretch a little bit as her muscles still ached and felt stiff from the stress of what had happened in her room with Lady Foster.
Ever since that incident, she had been tensed up; the muscles in her neck were tight and felt ready to snap. But Lavender tried to ignore it and focus on the relief that she felt when she gave her muscles a chance to relax and be comfortable again.
“Anyway, about your father,” he began again.
“What about him?” Lavender snapped, unable to stop herself. Why was he asking her all this? Why would he not just be quiet?
Lord Beckman looked at her with surprise. He froze and said nothing for a moment, just eyed her as if he could not have expected such an outburst from her.
She was immediately ashamed. Not only that, but Lavender knew that she had just done something unforgivable in the eyes of nobility. She had snapped at a marquess, and there was no chance she would be given grace for such an act.