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

by Emily Honeyfield

  George shook his head. “You certainly have a vivid imagination.”

  Miss Morton hid a smile that was a bit too wide to be proper. “My mother used to tell me the same thing, only she was not as complimentary.”

  George stood up and said, “I think we should let your mind mull over this new memory until tomorrow.” He started to leave then turned back. “Do finish your tea. It is important to eat heartily while recovering.”

  With that, he left the ladies with a bow. He hoped that the gentle nudging would yield more memories for her. He did not wish to push her with more aggressive techniques, though he certainly knew some.

  Out in the hallway he made his way back to his room, which was on the first floor. The doorman greeted him with a chipper wave as George reached the bottom of the stairs. He nodded to the man and continued toward his quarters.

  “Doctor Rowley,” Lord Chaplin’s booming voice called.

  It was all George could do not to roll his eyes as he came to a halt and turned to face the man who was rushing to overtake him. “Lord Chaplin,” George said with a bow. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was just wanting to pass along your correspondence. It appears to be a response to the letter you had me post,” Lord Chaplin said as he held out an envelope.

  George took the letter as if it might be dangerous to the touch. He dreaded suddenly what the letter contained. He tucked it into his vest. “Thank you, Lord Chaplin. I am certain my brother’s words will be well met.”

  “I do hope everything is well with your family,” Lord Chaplin said. George could practically hear the question in the man’s voice.

  George assured him, “Everything is fine. I was supposed to return home this week and I just wanted to make sure my brother knew that circumstances had changed.”

  “Oh dear, I do hate that we took you from your family,” Lord Chaplin said with a shake of his head.

  George gave the man a smile. “There will be other visits. I sent them my regards and I shall see them soon.”

  “I am glad to hear that family is important to you.” Lord Chaplin nodded his head in approval. “It shows good character in a man to put his family high in his priorities."

  George ignored the sting of the unintentional jab. The man had certainly not meant it to be a slap in George’s face that he had put his career before going to see his family. George put on his most professional smile and gave Lord Chaplin a nod of his head.

  “If you will excuse me, I should see what my letter says,” George said as he patted his vest pocket where the letter resided.

  Lord Chaplin could hardly deny him that, and George turned on his heel to make a quick exit as soon as the man had assented. Even as he walked away, George listened to see if the man might be following him. George would not put it past him, yet there were no following footsteps.

  George achieved his room and shut the door triumphantly. Once he was over to the writing desk, George pulled out the letter and pried it open with the letter opener. He read over the letter.

  Dear George,

  It saddens me greatly to get this news. I am glad, however, that it sounds as if you have started getting some paying patients. I am certain that this is because of that ball I had you attend, not that you will admit it.

  Father sends his love and asks that you not work too hard. Please do come and visit when you can. I have some splendid news that I want to share.

  Sincerely,

  Nathaniel

  George snorted in amusement that his brother had taken the time in a letter to take credit for his landing a job with the Earl of Chaplin. He puzzled over the last bit. He wondered what news his brother might have to tell him.

  ***

  She sat for a long while after Doctor Rowley had left her holding her wedding dress. “I do not recall getting this dress.”

  Gwen sat down next to her. “I did not go with you on that day. You went with your mother and your sister.”

  “Ah, that would explain why I have blacked it out,” Priscilla said with a grin which earned a laugh from Gwen.

  Gwen patted her arm. “If you can make such jokes, then I think you are going to be just fine. It is nice to see you making jokes again.”

  “Did I not before?” Priscilla tried to remember what she felt before, but the memories she had were without feeling. She just got a sense of where she was and what she was doing. “I can recall moments with Lord Ridlington. I can see myself laughing, or smiling, but I cannot remember what I was feeling.”

  Gwen suggested, “Sounds like that if you were smiling that you might have been happy?”

  “I had thought of that,” Priscilla informed her maid with a laugh. “Yet, sometimes people say things that make me think I was not happy. What if I was only pretending to be? How would I know?”

  Gwen took her hand in hers. “I wish I could make everything clear for you.”

  “I know you do. So do Father, Mother, Bridgitte, and Lord Ridlington. I am the only one that can and I am at a loss as to how I should even begin.” Priscilla put her free hand over her bandage. “My head hurts.”

  Gwen urged her, “Do not push yourself to think so much of it.”

  “If I do not, then how will I ever remember?” Priscilla sighed in defeat. “My mind feels numb.”

  Gwen shook her head. “That is a good sign that you should rest. Doctor Rowley does not want you overdoing it. I am sure he will be back to torment you more with another exercise of some sort.”

  Priscilla giggled. “Probably so. I get the idea that he can see right into me sometimes. It is very hard to hide things from him.”

  “And well it should be,” Gwen said with a firm nod of her head. “One should not hide things from their doctor anyway, not if they want to get better.”

  Priscilla raised her arms as if to ward off any attack from Gwen. “I promise that I have told him everything that I possibly can. I even told him about my nightmares. It left me feeling foolish, but he assured me it was normal.”

  “Nightmares?” Gwen wrinkled her forehead.

  Priscilla nodded. “I have been waking up feeling as if I just had a nightmare, but I cannot remember it.”

  “As long as Doctor Rowley thinks it is normal, then I suppose it is.” Gwen frowned. “I do hate the thought of you having nightmares over something like this.”

  Priscilla could definitely agree with that. “It would be better perhaps if I could remember them, but I never can. I just wake up covered in sweat and shivering.”

  “Does he think it has to do with the night of the accident?” Gwen’s face held so much concern that Priscilla was sorry for bringing it up.

  Priscilla nodded. “Yes. He thinks it is my mind working through it. He is hopeful that it means I am getting ready to remember. If it is as awful as it feels then I do not know if I truly want to remember it.”

  “Do not say that,” Gwen admonished. “You shall curse your own recovery."

  Priscilla gave Gwen a sheepish look. “Forgive me. I am just so flustered about all of it.”

  “Well, we know it cannot be anything too bad,” Gwen reassured her. “After all, we know you never even saw Bridgitte from what she told you.” Gwen came over and took the wedding dress. She spread it out over the back of the sofa nearby. She came back to put her arm around Priscilla’s shoulders. “It was a frightening accident, one that you might not want to relive, but would it not be better to know instead of to wonder?”

  Priscilla nodded. She tipped her head back to look up at Gwen, who smiled at her. “I guess I am being a bit silly, again.”

  Gwen shrugged and got up. “You just keep on being silly. At least I know you are in there working to get to the bottom of it. It could have been so much worse that I can put up with a bit of the fool coming out of you.”

  “So much appreciated,” Priscilla drawled out with a grin.

  Gwen scooped up the wedding dress gently. “You just finish that tea as the doctor said and I shall check in on you soon.
”

  Priscilla gave Gwen a snappy salute before the maid disappeared out of the door. When she was alone, Priscilla did as she had been asked. She sipped her tea dutifully.

  She was not that thirsty, but if it made Doctor Rowley happy then so be it. She snickered at herself. She really was being quite ridiculous about the young doctor.

  After all, she was betrothed to a duke no less. Priscilla tried her future name out. “Lady Priscilla Ridlington.” She pursed her lips and pondered it. “Well, it is certainly fashionable, but quite the mouthful.”

  She brushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes. She ran a hand over her hair, paranoid now that her hair was wiggling free of the braid Gwen had plaited it in. She sighed in relief when she was assured that at least most of her hair was behaving.

  A few loose strands never hurt a girl. It gave her something to sweep behind her ear while she looked up at men fetchingly. Priscilla laughed at the very idea of it. She had never been the flirty type.

  When Gwen returned to check on her, Priscilla asked, “Do you think Doctor Rowley would consent for me to go down to the library?”

  “I can bring you books, Miss,” Gwen said with a frown.

  Priscilla waved off her words. “No. I wish to play the piano that is there.”

  “I suppose he might.” Gwen tapped her lips with her finger. “It certainly would not hurt to ask him.”

  Priscilla gave her head a gentle nod, so as to not cause the sharp pains that she was not fond of. “Surely playing music is good for me. My teacher said that music is what links the spirit to the body.”

  “I do not know about that, but it does have a way of making one feel better. I bet Doctor Rowley would agree right off.” Gwen gave her a grin. “I shall run it by him if I see him first, but you should definitely ask him about it.”

  Priscilla smiled. “Then I certainly shall.”

  Chapter 6

  George had entered into Miss Morton’s room with nothing more on his mind that checking on the young lady before bed. However, he had been greeted by a determined expression on Miss Morton’s face. Now here she was, telling him exactly why she needed to be allowed to go to the library.

  “It simply is the best thing for me, Doctor Rowley. Surely you can see that I must be allowed some freedom or I will stifle myself? I just feel that if I could play the piano there that the world itself might open up. Can you understand that?” Her eyes, the warm blue sea of them pleading with him as much as her clasped hands, watched him hopefully.

  The corner of George’s lips twitched up into a smile that he tried to keep as professional as possible. “You have given this much thought, and I would be a fool to not at least consider it. After all, a patient is the most valuable source of information for a doctor.”

  He paused for a moment then nodded. “I see no harm in it, and it could have wonderful benefits. Music can help memory and playing can certainly do you no harm. However,” George raised his hand as he said the word sternly, “You must be exceedingly careful to not overexert yourself.”

  “Of course,” Miss Morton said with an overly eager nod. “I promise that I shall be a model patient.”

  George had no doubt that she would be. The young lady had been cooperative with him until that point, and he saw no reason it would change. He had to admit that a change of scenery might do the young woman good.

  “Well then,” George straightened and smoothed down his vest. “I shall look forward to hearing you play.”

  Miss Morton’s smile took on a shy quality, her eyes darting down as if in embarrassment. “Then I hope my fingers remember better how to play than I can recall these last few weeks.”

  “I have heard it is much like riding,” George said in amusement. “One tends not to forget such things. Besides, other than the time directly preceding your accident, your memory seems most adequate.”

  Miss Morton’s eyes darted up to him, the inquisitive mischief readily apparent there. “Adequate?”

  “Forgive me, for it was not a slight,” George assured her. “Now. I shall leave you to your breakfast and go in search of my own. I will seek you out in the library later.”

  Miss Morton gave a slight nod of her head. George inclined his head to the young lady and to her maid, who waited anxiously by as always. He left them to their morning routine and made his way downstairs.

  The past few nights had worn on him and his feet felt as if his boots were weighted with rocks. George pinched his nose to thwart a headache that was growing behind his eyes. He really had to figure out why his sleep was so disturbed.

  He walked blindly for the most part down the hallways leading to the dining hall. He would prefer to eat in his room, but he did not want his host to take exception to George staying constantly removed from the household. The smell of cinnamon and ham wafted through the hallways to him.

  The cook here was a good one, but then perhaps George had no basis for comparison as he was used to his own meager cooking skills or grabbing food from the street vendors that loitered around his route through London. Either way, he breathed in the delicious smells that beckoned him to quicken his steps.

  The dining hall contained a young lady whose blonde hair set her apart from her sister upstairs. This was the other Miss Morton, whose name evaded George. Lord and Lady Chaplin were also present and George gave them a bow as he approached the table.

  “Ah, good morrow, Doctor Rowley!” Lord Chaplin’s voice rang out in the dining hall that seemed rather empty with the small company present. The large number of chairs at the imposing table emphasised just how many more people could have had breakfast with them.

  George took a seat as he replied, “And to you, Lord Chaplin. I have just been to see your daughter and found her well.”

  “That pleases me very much, Doctor Rowley,” Lord Chaplin said with a nod of his head, his greying hair framing his face in rather disorganised chaos of curls.

  The young lady’s blue eyes seemed to be all she had inherited from her father as she eyed George with a look that he could not place. “Priscilla will regain herself, will she not, Doctor?”

  George thought about that for a moment. “She has not lost herself. She merely had a traumatic experience, and I have little doubt that she will in time regain those memories as well.”

  “Might it be better that she didn’t?” the young lady said, her voice as soft as a breath. She looked up at George as if she were surprised by her own words. “I did not mean that as it sounded. I am just worried for her.”

  Lady Chaplin reached across the table and patted her youngest daughter’s hand. “We know you love your sister very much. The doctor will take good care of her, Bridgitte.”

  George was left to nod in agreement. After all, of course he would take good care of his patient. He had seen trauma before and it could heal certainly. People just needed time to come to terms with it.

  It might seem silly to someone on the outside that Miss Morton would hold such fear of an accident, but to Miss Morton, the fear of it was very real. It would take time to overcome it with firm logic and gentle reasoning. Yet, George was certain it could be done.

  Lord Chaplin commented on a story in the paper he was holding about a factory fire. “Nearly the whole thing burned before those fire brigade fellows even bothered to show their faces.”

  “Appalling that the property owner paid to have the factory insured and yet still lost his structure,” Lady Chaplin said, her tongue clucking behind her words as if to shame the men responsible.