The Awakening 0f A Forbidden Passion (Historical Regency Romance)

by Emily Honeyfield

  Priscilla laughed with her. She nodded. “It might end up being a very good thing. I do not recall the recent arguments with my sister, but I do recall the ones we had prior.” She pondered what having a normal relationship with her sister would be like. “It would be nice to be as close to Bridgitte as everyone assumes we are.”

  “I say good for you,” Gwen said as she tipped her teacup up in a toast.

  Priscilla grinned and raised her teacup to join the toast. “Good for us all.”

  No sooner had they finished eating than Doctor Rowley arrived. “Do you feel good enough to stretch your legs?”

  “More than just across the room?” Priscilla asked in a teasing tone.

  Doctor Rowley nodded. “Just into the hallway.”

  “I suppose I could try. I will admit that the room does still move some when I have to stand up,” Priscilla told the man.

  He did not seem surprised, and his calmness made her feel more confident. “We shall take it very slowly,” he assured her. He held his arm out to her. “To steady you,” he explained.

  Of course that was why he was holding out his hand. It was not as if Priscilla thought it was some cordial gesture. She placed her arm on top of his and allowed him to help her to her feet.

  The room shifted some more, and she drew in a sharp intake of breath. “Take a moment and let the room settle,” Doctor Rowley told her as if she had told him exactly what was wrong.

  She did as he said. When she was ready, she whispered, “I am fine now.”

  They took painstakingly slow steps. When they reached the hallway, Doctor Rowley gave her a smile. “You are doing wonderfully.”

  “I feel as if I am walking through molasses,” Priscilla admitted.

  He chuckled, and she felt the vibration of it as she leaned against him for support. “That is to be expected.”

  She was glad that he was there. He was never surprised by anything, it seemed. She could hardly be fazed by something with such a confident companion.

  They walked a few feet down the hallway before Doctor Rowley guided her back towards her room. “I feel quite worn out,” she admitted breathlessly. She had not realised how much her body still ached until this moment. Would it be horrible to ask the man to carry her?

  Priscilla thought about that but pushed the idea away, as amusing as it might be to think of the look that would grace the good doctor’s face at such a suggestion. Then again, he was a doctor who had probably dealt with much worse than that. Priscilla pondered how old he was. He certainly looked young, but his easy confidence spoke of years in his field.

  Once they had made it back to her room, Gwen clapped her hands together. “You did so well, Miss,” Gwen said, her excitement evident.

  Priscilla smiled. “I feel as if I have climbed the old oak in the garden a hundred times.”

  “I think you have earned a rest,” Doctor Rowley said as he helped her over to the bed.

  Priscilla gratefully sank into the down mattress. “Such a lovely bed,” she sighed in contentment. “I have taken it for granted for too long.”

  Gwen and Doctor Rowley watched her with amusement. Doctor Rowley said, “I shall wait to tire out your mind and give your body time to rest.”

  “Thank you,” Priscilla breathed out. As much as she was eager to be back up and back to her old self, she was worn out from her exertions.

  After the doctor left Priscilla got a reprieve, but it did not last as long as she would have liked. Instead, Lord Ridlington came to visit. Priscilla hated to turn the man away.

  “Lord Ridlington,” Priscilla said. He came in and gave her a bow. Gwen stood nearby to chaperone while Lady Chaplin was otherwise engaged.

  He came to sit beside her. “I brought you something.” He pulled out a bouquet of lilies.

  “Lilies,” Priscilla said with a smile.

  Lord Ridlington nodded. “They reminded me of the first walk we took together around the gardens.”

  Priscilla crinkled her nose. That sounded familiar. “Did we walk often?”

  “We did,” Lord Ridlington said with a pleased smile. “The first walk we took I tripped over a root.”

  Priscilla smiled back at him. “I think I remember that.”

  “Do you truly?” His eyebrows arched up in surprise.

  Priscilla nodded. “It’s fuzzy, but I do recall it. You were talking about your father.”

  “That is right,” he agreed with a nod. “It was right after we had become reacquainted.”

  Priscilla was pleased with herself. She truly did remember that. And if she could remember such an insignificant thing, then surely she could remember the rest. “I remember you, Your Grace. I feel wretched that I had completely forgotten. It is still hazy, but I do recall a bit.”

  “I am just happy to hear that I was not completely erased,” he said as he placed the lilies beside her on the bed.

  She assured him, “You have definitely not been erased. I fear that my brain is just a bit bruised.”

  “Perhaps I should watch over you day and night to ensure that you are safe from harm.” His gaze was so concerned that she felt suddenly well taken care of. Everyone seemed to want to protect her.

  She smiled down at her hands. “I wish that my memories would return sooner. I know that you are probably eager to wed.”

  He waved off her words. “Do not rush your recovery on my account, Miss Morton. I assure you that I am going nowhere.” He held out his hand and Priscilla hesitantly placed her hand in his. “I just want you to be better.”

  “You are such a dear man,” Priscilla whispered. “I know that my heart holds affection for you, I can almost feel it beneath the surface. It would be unfair of me to speak it without truly feeling it, and for that I am sorry.”

  Lord Ridlington shook his head. “I think that shows great character. Many women would simply bend to the pressure and assure me of their deep adoration to soothe my ego.”

  “I am glad that you need no such soothing, Your Grace,” Priscilla said with a smile. “I cannot wait to remember more so that I can see the man I chose to marry clearly.”

  Lord Ridlington cleared his throat and rose. “Is there something I can do to help you remember more, perhaps?”

  “I think you are doing plenty,” Priscilla assured him.

  As much as he seemed confident, Priscilla noticed how he seemed a bit unsettled. Was he nervous? She supposed she might be too in the same situation. He gave her a deep bow. “I shall come to see you again soon.”

  Priscilla watched the man leave with a smile. She did remember him a bit now. At least his face did not seem so foreign. Nothing she could recall made her feel ill at ease. She could not imagine why she had felt cold feet at the thought of marrying the man.

  She could not say if they had been in love; perhaps that was something else altogether. She pondered if Philip had kissed her. What would that be like?

  Gwen came to sit next to her. “That was lovely of him.”

  “Yes,” Priscilla agreed as she looked over at the lilies on her bedside table. “You said I had cold feet. I cannot imagine why that would be. Do you recall?”

  Gwen shrugged. “Why does any woman feel such things? I do not know that there was anything in particular to cause that. You just felt as if you did not know him well enough.”

  Priscilla giggled. “Well, now I truly do not know him at all. Or hardly at all.”

  “That is true,” Gwen replied with a smile. “Odd how you seem more at ease.”

  Priscilla leaned back against her pillows and smiled. “Perhaps I am only truly seeing him now.”

  ***

  It had been a few days. Miss Morton was still wobbly on her feet, but George knew that steadiness would come in time. Her body was bruised and sore, but her mind was his concern.

  Miss Morton had told him proudly that she had recalled a few moments with her fiancé which was hopeful, yet he worried how little she had actually recalled. Recalling moments farther out was at least
something, but the night of the accident was a complete mystery to her.

  George had met with several members of the household who had seen or talked to Miss Morton that night. As of right now, he was leaning towards it being a complete fluke of an accident. Everyone had noted how clumsy Miss Morton was and even Miss Morton herself had said so several times.

  Hopefully, more memories would surface in the coming days that would clear up any lingering mysteries. There was nothing they could do but memory exercises and wait. With further visits from her fiancé, Miss Morton’s memories might be jogged.

  He entered Miss Morton’s sitting room to find her sipping tea. “I am quite pleased to see that you made it to the sitting room today, but do not overdo it.”

  “I promise that I had plenty of help getting here,” Miss Morton said with a smile. “My mother practically had the stable boys carry me.”

  George chuckled just thinking about that. That did seem like something Lady Chaplin would do. He took his stethoscope out of his bag and Miss Morton placed her teacup down on its saucer.

  She sat up straight and tall as he listened to her breathing. She seemed to find his administrations endlessly amusing. George did not mind that he was the butt of whatever joke was in her mind. As long as it kept her happily complying with treatment then he could endure it.

  “Have you remembered anymore?” George asked the question as he hung his stethoscope around his neck.

  Miss Morton leaned back and her chair. “Only bits and pieces,” she said. Her eyes, however, diverted from his gaze.

  “Are you certain of that? You seem like you are not telling me something,” George said as he settled himself into the seat across from her.

  Her eyes darted up to his, wide with surprise. “I swear, at times I think you can read the thoughts in my head.”

  “If only it were that simple, then I would probably not ask as many questions,” George said with a chuckle. “What is it that is on your mind?”

  She clutched her hands together. There was that nervousness again. George frowned as she seemed to struggle for the right words to say. “I feel a bit silly saying this, but I think I have been having nightmares of late.”

  “You think that you have been having nightmares?” George had heard the hesitation when she said the word. She was truly embarrassed.

  Miss Morton nodded, her brown braid bouncing against her shoulder. She must have nodded a bit too vigorously because he saw her hand go up to hold her head. “I really must stop doing that,” she muttered. She looked at him sheepishly. “You see, when I wake up I often have the sensation that I just had a bad dream, but I cannot remember what it was.”

  George hummed to himself. She looked at him pleadingly. “Am I crazy? Did that knock to the head do me some damage that I am unaware of?”

  He shook his head and assured her, “I am certain that it is just your mind working through something. Perhaps it is replaying the accident while you sleep to help you work through it?”

  She looked at him for a moment. The smile she flashed him was blinding, as if he had suddenly made her day. “Doctor Rowley, I had not thought of that. I am sure that is probably what it is.” She put her hand over her heart. “I have been ever so afraid to tell anyone for fear they might lock me up.”

  “I doubt your family would lock you away over a nightmare or two,” Doctor Rowley told her with a smile. “Besides I think it is healthy. Perhaps your mind is getting you ready to remember while you are awake.”

  Miss Morton’s smile faltered. “I suppose that might be true. I hope it is not as horrible a memory as my nightmare seems.”

  “It could be that it is not really frightening at all,” George said reassuringly. “I had a dream as a child that woke me up crying, but was only about the sound the old washbowl made when my grandmother used to wash my toys. Our minds can trick us into fearing things that are not scary at all.”

  She leaned over and placed her hand on his arm. It was a light, gentle touch. Where she touched his skin it felt warm, far too warm. “You have a wonderful manner about you that puts people at ease. I suppose that is part of your profession.”

  “I suppose it must be,” George replied. And then her hand was gone as quickly as it had arrived. Only the ghost of her touch was left behind on his skin.

  Miss Morton’s cheeks took on a rosy hue that made George ponder if perhaps she had a fever. Or was that a blush? It looked lovely on her. He quickly pushed away that thought.

  “I suppose we should work on my memory. What shall we be trying to remember today?” Miss Morton sat forward as if she were eager, or perhaps she was just eager to get it over with.

  George had thought about what to work on today. He did not want to push her to remember her nightmare, and scare her off the whole process even if knowing about it now made him want to figure it out. She was not some puzzle to be pieced together.

  He cleared his throat. “Let us work on the day you went with your maid to look at wedding dresses.”

  Her brow knitted together. “I do not recall that.”

  “Your maid said that there had been a loose stitch on the dress,” George said and watched her face. She stared at him blankly. “I found it interesting that after you two had gone to get the dress, your mother had insisted on going with you again. Is your mother often like that?”

  Miss Morton laughed lightly, but there was a bit of frustration there. “Yes. That does sound like my mother. I do not recall the events, but if Gwen said it then it must have happened.”

  “I have asked Gwen to bring your wedding dress here,” George said gently. “I do hope that was not too forward of me.”

  Miss Morton assured him, “If it helps then it is fine. I have not really looked at it since all of this.” She frowned. “I had not even given it a thought. It has been in my wardrobe.”

  “You have been coping with a lot,” George said to put her mind at ease. “At least you have come to terms with the idea of being betrothed.”

  Miss Morton hid a laugh behind her hand. “Yes. That was hard enough to get used to.”

  The door opened and Gwen brought in the white gown embroidered with lace. “Here we go, Doctor Rowley,” Gwen said cheerily. She gave Miss Morton a smile which the young lady returned.

  George watched how Miss Morton’s eyes lingered on the dress. “Would you give it to Miss Morton please?”

  Gwen did as she was asked then stepped back. The maid scooted the tray of tea further away from the pristine garment to ward off stains. George watched Miss Morton trace her fingers across the dress. Her fingers followed the pattern of the lace as her brows knitted together.

  “This is not the dress Gwen and I picked out,” Miss Morton whispered. “It had ruffles just here.” She pointed at the body of the skirt.

  George smiled. “So you do remember a bit now?”

  Miss Morton smiled. “I do. I remember Gwen and me talking. I do not remember what we said, but I do know we talked.”

  The young lady looked quite proud of herself, as well she should. “That is wonderful that you can remember even those details. The more pieces we fit into the puzzle, the more it might make you remember other connected memories.” George nodded to her. “Well done, Miss Morton.”

  “I do hope it keeps getting clearer,” Miss Morton said in earnest. “I feel more and more like some madwoman locked in a fairy spell, or perhaps an old hatter who has been poisoned for too many years.”