“I feel better, Doctor Rowley,” Lady Tate said with a nod of her head. “Forgive Christine, she is so fretful.”
George waved off any concern the ladies had. “Quite understandable. After all, you have had a rough week, Lady Tate.”
Lady Tate gave him a warm smile. “I had a good physician to look after me. No doubt I would not be half as healthy if those bloodsuckers had got hold of me.”
George chuckled and held out his hand. “May I?”
Lady Tate nodded and placed her hand in his. He checked her pulse. Normal. He took his stethoscope out of his bag and checked her lungs and heart. All sounded strong and healthy. “Your fever has broken and I do think you are on the road to a full recovery.”
“Thank goodness,” Lady Tate said as if she had been holding some tension until his words of reassurance eased her worries. “Do you have any idea what brought on the illness?”
George had his suspicions. “I suspect it was from some undercooked meat,” George said. “You mentioned that your meal tasted odd. You took it to be that you were getting sick even then, but your symptoms are markedly close to a bad reaction to something you ate.”
“How horrible,” Lady Tate whispered. “I shall have to have a talk with my cook.”
George nodded. “That might be for the best. And if something tastes off, do not eat it.”
Lady Tate blushed. “I feel so foolish.”
“Not at all,” George assured her. “It is quite a common thing and sometimes it is not even noticeable until one is already quite sick and thinks back on things.” He gave her a smile as he rose. “Would you like me to talk to the cook for you?”
Lady Tate nodded. “Would you? I do so hate getting onto the staff, and my husband is away.”
“I shall take care of it,” George told her as he put away his equipment. “Just rest up for the rest of the day and stick to clear liquids until dinner just to be sure.”
Lady Tate’s head bobbed up and down. “Of course, Doctor Rowley.”
He turned toward the kitchen and tried not to grimace. It was part of his job to interact with every member of the household, but this did not make it any easier. He knew it was probably just an accidental thing that had caused the illness, but he had to ensure his patient’s health.
***
The seamstress eyed Lady Chaplin with an expression that Priscilla could well understand, but that her mother seemed oblivious to. The seamstress was holding the fourth dress in two hours out to her mother for inspection. Lady Chaplin ran her hand along the fabric making little noises whose approval or condemnation Priscilla could not determine.
“Try this one on, Priscilla,” Lady Chaplin said finally when her visual inspection was finished.
Priscilla took the dress from the seamstress with an apologetic smile that she hoped the woman understood. She turned toward the dressing room and her mother trailed along behind her. Bridgitte was over next to a dress display eyeing the dressmaker’s mannequin with something akin to disgust.
“Bridgitte, do come along,” Lady Chaplin said over her shoulder.
Their mother’s words brought out an audible sigh from Bridgitte, who followed them as if being led to the gallows. “I fail to see why you need me.”
“Three sets of eyes are better than two,” Lady Chaplin said. It amazed Priscilla how oblivious to Bridgitte’s foul moods their mother was, or perhaps the woman simply chose to ignore Bridgitte’s bad behavior. She certainly never overlooked Priscilla’s behavior in the same manner.
She calmed her irritation. There was no need to be upset with her sister. Bridgitte had not truly wanted to come, and it had been Priscilla and their mother’s idea for her to do so.
Priscilla slipped the dress on as best as she could. Lady Chaplin motioned for Bridgitte to help her and Priscilla winced as her sister tugged on the dress. “You will tear it,” Priscilla hissed.
“Oh, it is ugly anyway,” Bridgitte snapped.
Lady Chaplin chided, “Behave. We are in public. You two can behave atrociously to each other when we are out of the public eye.”
“Sorry,” Priscilla said with a grimace. She hated being reprimanded as if she were a child.
Bridgitte did not seem to mind at all. A smile quirked up the sides of her lips before she turned to their mother. “What do you think of this one?”
“You are right, Bridgitte. I did not see how unsuitable it was until it was on your sister. That one does not flatter her figure at all.” Lady Chaplin sighed in a long-suffering manner. “I am glad that I told your father not to wait for tea on us. We shall be here all afternoon.”
Bridgitte frowned. “Is not His Grace due this afternoon at the house?”
“Your father and he have much to discuss, so I doubt they will notice our absence,” Lady Chaplin told Bridgitte.
Priscilla had completely forgotten that Philip was due to visit. She felt awful about that. The idea of missing an appointment with him was not a horrible one to her though, but that just made her feel worse.
She took the dress off and hung it up. “Wait here and I shall retrieve a new dress. There is no need to redress and it will only take up more time,” Lady Chaplin said as she strode from the dressing room.
Bridgitte folded her arms. “You could muster some enthusiasm,” she told Priscilla, which caught her off-guard.
Priscilla shook her head. “What do you mean? I am happily complying with all of this.” Her shoulders slumped. “I think I might just have cold feet.”
Bridgitte brightened. “Are you going to call off the wedding?”
“Why would you think that?” Priscilla clucked her tongue at her younger sister. “It is a normal thing for a lady getting married to feel. I know that His Grace is a good man, as well as you do. I guess deep down I knew that one day we were going to get married. We have practically been groomed for it all our lives.”
Bridgitte made a noise of disgust. “You do not seem appreciative that Father and Mother went to the trouble to arrange this all for you years ago.”
“I think they did it because I would never find a match on my own,” Priscilla admitted.
Bridgitte’s eyes caught her gaze and held it as if looking for any falsehood that might lie within. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do,” Priscilla said. It was the truth, after all. If it helped her sister to feel better about the situation then she would suffer the shame of it. “We all know that you are the more outgoing sister. Men may come to me first, but it is you that they come back to, Bridgitte.”
For the first time all morning, a smile that almost seemed genuine spread across Bridgitte’s face. “At least I am not the only one to see it.”
Priscilla did not know quite what to say to that so she chose to say nothing at all. It was clear that whatever animosity Bridgitte held against her was not easily relinquished. Priscilla resigned herself to it for the time being. After all, she would be married soon enough.
Lady Chaplin returned a moment later with a new dress in hand. Priscilla did not even care what it looked like. She just wished her mother would find one that she approved of so she could go home and read or play her piano.
They tried on dress after dress and Priscilla’s mind wandered away. After all, she was not really needed other than to nod or say some little word of agreement with her mother. Her mind went to Philip.
No one seemed worried about the wedding day itself. No one was as worried as Priscilla, at any rate. She did not care about flowers, dresses, and all that frivolous nonsense.
Priscilla worried about what came after the ceremony. She worried about running a household, being a wife, and losing herself in the madness of all of it. Surely other women went into marriage just as she was to do, without that breathtaking romance. Warm affection would have to do.
Philip was handsome. He knew it, and so did everyone else. Perhaps the problem was that Philip truly knew how handsome he was. He was quite used to women melting under his gaze.
> Priscilla knew that all too well as she had grown up with the young man. As much as she knew of Philip, she still did not truly know anything relevant about him. Attending functions, services and playing as children told her nothing of the man he was today.
It was not so bad to live without passion if one had a stable marriage, a dependable husband. Surely security was what she should value above any heady sense of romance? Her thoughts scolded her for mourning something she had never had.
Perhaps this was what love felt like? How would she know if it was not? She had never felt love before. It was possible that it crackled and glowed like cool embers on a winter morning and not a bonfire on a midsummer’s night.
The more she thought of it, the more she thought that perhaps she did love Philip. He had assured her that love always followed friendship. They were friends, were they not? It was a tale as old as any told. Childhood friends to lovers.
Her eyes went to Bridgitte. Her sister’s words echoed in her head. Bridgitte would certainly gloat and make her miserable if Priscilla could not even make an arrangement last until they reached the altar. Priscilla sighed inwardly, hoping that she could prove her sister wrong and make her mother proud.
She could set aside her feelings on romance and everything else if she could just make her father and mother proud of her. She might not be the most gregarious lady in society, but Priscilla knew she could do better if she just put her mind to it. Perhaps it would even prove rewarding.
The idea of social gatherings being rewarding was a farfetched notion, but surely her mother and sister got something out of them. It was something that Priscilla would have to get used to if she wanted her future children to have the best possible outcomes in life.
The thought of children warmed her heart. Certainly the idea of having children with Philip was still a bit odd of a concept for her, but she could get used to it in time. Many women did not enjoy such things with their husbands, if their grandmother was to be believed. Priscilla would just have to endure it.
She could definitely put up with a lot. Her sister had prepared her for marriage in that sense. Priscilla had a large amount of patience that Bridgitte had tested time and time again.
“I do think this is the best dress we have seen thus far,” Lady Chaplin declared as she clapped her hands together in front of her bosom. “Do you not think it looks lovely on her, Bridgitte?”
Priscilla looked at her younger sister and saw a begrudging look of admiration. “It is quite a stunning dress,” Bridgitte said at last. “It would probably look just as beautiful on anyone.”
Priscilla had been waiting for that jab and she did not even flinch from it. Bridgitte’s claws had been out so much lately that Priscilla had grown accustomed to the scratches. She would settle once she found a match of her own and stopped living in her spite of not getting married first.
Lady Chaplin again seemed to not hear the jab and nodded. “Yes. I think we shall take this one.”
Priscilla felt a wave of relief. It was over. This was the last thing she had to do for the wedding. She wondered what Philip still had to do.
She decided to ask, but would it be insulting of her to ask her bridegroom what he still had to do to get ready for the wedding? She could ask her mother, but she definitely would not do so in front of Bridgitte.
Priscilla got back into her normal dress, relishing the fact that she would not see the dressmaker’s shop again until she needed new dresses. She would never understand how women found this amusing. It was a foul thing to have to stand nearly undressed for hours on end so that people could look at you and tell you how awful something was on you.
Bridgitte held one of the dresses up in front of herself as Lady Chaplin went to tell the seamstress of their decision. “That would look lovely on you,” Priscilla said to her sister.
“Yes, if it were in a smaller size,” Bridgitte replied without looking at Priscilla. The insult buried within those words was as clear as the sky on a cloudless day.
Priscilla tried her mother’s way of things and ignored Bridgitte. To her surprise, Priscilla enjoyed it. Bridgitte’s eyes went to her after no rebuttal had come from her subtle jab. Priscilla gave her a serene smile, which caused Bridgitte’s brows to knit together in a most amusing way.
Let her be spiteful, Priscilla thought. I will be married soon and she can be spiteful to the walls after I am gone.
One day perhaps they would sit with their children and laugh over this pettiness, but that day was not today. Maybe tomorrow Priscilla would feel like trying to reach out to her sister again. Maybe it would take a week or a month, but eventually, Priscilla knew she would try to reach out again. She always did.
Maybe that was where she went wrong? Perhaps if Priscilla just left things as they were, her sister might be the one to reach out for once. If Priscilla kept reaching out then things might not change.
The more Priscilla thought of it, the better the idea sounded. Her smile broadened, causing Bridgitte to look at her with more disturbance than before. “What are you smiling at so?”
“Oh, I was just thinking of what we will say to each other years from now when we are both married with children,” Priscilla said with a sigh. That part was kind of true.
Bridgitte scoffed, “You have not yet made it to the altar. Let us not count our chickens before they hatch, Priss.”
Priscilla shook her head. It would be a wonder if any man could stand Bridgitte. If they did then they truly did not know her. Priscilla gave up trying to talk to her sister.
Her mother’s arrival deemed it unnecessary to speak further anyway. Priscilla gladly fell silent and simply did as her mother asked. Bridgitte complained every step of the way to the carriage. She was tired and hungry, and any other excuse to whine that she could possibly think up fell from her lips.
Priscilla closed her eyes once they were in the carriage and pretended her sister’s words were just the chatter of people that she must appear to not hear. It was a skill that her mother had taught her. Just because others were rude enough to speak so loudly, did not mean that we have to acknowledge their lack of manners. We have to teach manners by example, after all.
***
The stars had already made their presence known as George made his way toward the house he rented from a local. He was happy to help support the widow who rented him the building. She stubbornly refused to remarry as her children kept after her about, and George liked that independent streak, even if he did think it a bit folly to write off having a man to help her with expenses.
Still, the woman and her sons kept the house in good repair and George made sure his rent was paid on time. With how few of his patients actually could pay, George was grateful that Nathaniel had insisted on George keeping his stipend from the estate. His older brother worried a bit too much, but sometimes that worrying paid off.
George stomped into the house and dropped his bag next to the door on a low table. He stretched and groaned up at the ceiling. What time was it? Had he eaten?
George frowned and realised he could not remember when he had stopped to eat last. Perhaps it had been when he met Nathaniel for brunch. His stomach grumbled and growled. George toyed with whether he was hungry enough to stay awake and eat or not.
At last George resigned himself to foraging through the pantry. It had been some time since he had last stocked the kitchen, but he found some bread that was in relatively good condition and he spread some jam that one of his patients had made onto it. George decided to reward himself for a hard day’s work with a small glass of the brandy that his father had gifted him with when he left home for school.
The Awakening 0f A Forbidden Passion (Historical Regency Romance) Page 4
