Doctor Rowley’s face softened. “Just because you are progressing does not mean that you cannot slide backward at times. I am sure that you have done yourself no permanent harm.”
***
George waited patiently for Lord Chaplin to look up from his papers. “Yes, Doctor Rowley?”
The man’s study was filled with souvenirs of one sort or another. George wondered how many generations had contributed to the eclectic collection. “I believe that your daughter is making excellent progress.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Lord Chaplin said with a broad smile. “I feel there must be an amendment in there somewhere.”
George inclined his head. “My brother is in town to meet with me. You recall that I missed a visit home and he has things he needs to discuss.”
“You may take all the time you need. A carriage is at your disposal, as always.” Lord Chaplin looked back down at his papers, apparently thinking the conversation over.
George continued, “I wonder if it might be better for me to return to my home and come to visit with your daughter every few days now that she is feeling better.”
“She is still having dizzy spells and her memory has not returned,” Lord Chaplin said, as if these things were damning evidence of why George must not speak so.
George inclined his head to convey that he accepted those facts. “I understand your feelings, Lord Chaplin, but those symptoms may take months to right. I cannot put my other patients on hold for months on end. Surely you must understand that?”
Lord Chaplin might understand, but it certainly did not please him to think upon it judging by the scowl on his face. “Have it your way, Doctor Rowley, but my daughter had better not suffer any ill effects from this. She is your priority.”
“All of my patients are my priority,” George corrected.
Lord Chaplin huffed. “Well, I do hope that you inform her of this change. I should hate her to find out in a happenstance manner.”
“Of course, I shall,” George said with a nod of his head. He had had no intention of simply disappearing. He was still her doctor, after all.
When George left Lord Chaplin to his paperwork, he did so with dread in his stomach. He had to get his practice back in order, his life in order. Admittedly, the decision had been one that George had made rashly perhaps… but that did not negate that it was the right decision.
He could not simply pay another doctor to look after his patients for all eternity. Even he did not have the funds for that. Besides, it was not good for him to get so wrapped up in one patient, even if that patient was as beguiling as Miss Morton.
George scolded himself for thinking of her in such terms. Yet, the way she had felt in his arms had been so right. It was a torturous thing, this profession of his.
He grew so intimate with people and yet was removed from them. Miss Morton would regain her memories, she would marry her duke. And where would George be?
George went straight to the library. He stopped at the door as he heard the song. It was a sad song, a forlorn song that made him want to weep. He sighed at himself and gave the door a knock to announce his presence.
When he entered the room, Miss Morton looked over at him. She had this most peculiar trait of smiling as if she had a secret smile just for him. Perhaps she did.
“Miss Morton, what an enchanting tune,” George said as he came over to her.
She looked up at him with those sea-blue eyes and gave him that secret smile. “I thought you might like it.”
“It reminds me of my governess. She used to play songs like that,” George said with a wistfulness.
Miss Morton’s eyes twinkled. “You never truly said if you played.”
“My governess gave up on me long before I mastered any major pieces,” George informed her with a grin.
Miss Morton looked altogether too pleased by that. “We shall see. You should play with me. We can play a simple song that I am sure you could master.”
“Your faith in me is maybe unfounded,” George assured her. “Unfortunately, I have no time to play the piano today.”
She frowned. “Oh?”
“As your recovery will be a long process, I have decided that I should resume my practice. I cannot leave my patients in another doctor’s care indefinitely, you understand?” George truly hoped that she did.
Miss Morton turned toward him, her legs scooting around so that she could face him from her bench. “You truly are devoted to your patients.”
“It is my responsibility to be so,” George replied. “Besides, I have to pay the doctor I have watching them and it is not sustainable for me to do so for a long period of time.”
She frowned deeply. “Why must you pay the doctor? Cannot your patients simply pay him instead of you?”
George chuckled. “They could, that is if most of them paid me, which they do not.”
Miss Morton eyed him with great curiosity. “I should have known you would be that sort of doctor. You take upon yourself those that others overlook.” She smiled at him as if she had weighed his soul. “That is why you are still a doctor. You are, as you say, balancing the scales.”
George nodded. “Guilty as charged. Now, I hate to leave such company, but I have to meet someone.”
“Who are you meeting?” The young lady leaned forward, her brown hair plaited down her back. Her eyes were so eager that George longed to pour out all his secrets to her. Then again, had he not told her all his secrets now?
George shook his finger at her. “Why does it concern you so?”
“I am just curious,” Miss Morton explained with a shrug of her shoulders. “I think I am just eager for you not to leave because I worry that you will go back to your life and forget I am here.”
George stared at her for a moment. He knew that she did not, could not mean that how it sounded, but it still made a warmth blossom in his chest. He cleared his throat. “I promise you that I could never forget you, Miss Morton.” He shook his head. “I shall still visit you often and we will work towards getting you better. So, as you can see you are not losing me at all.”
Miss Morton seemed to accept his words with a nod of her head. “You did not say who you were meeting?”
George chuckled. “Just my brother.”
“Your brother,” Miss Morton echoed. “Do you two get along?”
George thought about that. Did they? He nodded slowly. “I suppose we do.”
“You are lucky in that then. Perhaps it is different with brothers.” Miss Morton watched him with eyes that seemed to want to drag out every last thought from him.
George gave her a bow. “Until my next visit, please do take care.”
“I will,” Miss Morton promised.
Chapter 9
Doctor Rowley would not simply be on-premises anymore. That was all it meant. Priscilla wrinkled her nose up. She did not like it.
Lord Ridlington had come to visit. They played cards of a fashion. It was clear to Priscilla that something was bothering the man, but she could not get an answer out of him about it. She eventually just let it go.
She pondered if she should just let everything else go. Philip was a good man. He had been kind to her, even if a bit distracted as of late. He blamed his business ventures, and Priscilla understood that. Her father was the same way when he was working on a deal or such.
There was nothing to be done about it. Lord Ridlington had not been thrilled with the delay in their marriage plans, but he had accepted it. Everyone seemed to just be accepting the situation.
What more could they do? What more could Priscilla do? “Lord Ridlington,” Priscilla said in surprise as she rounded the corner from the library to find him.
He seemed surprised to see her as well. His eyebrows rose on his face. Priscilla thought that it made his handsome face the more appealing. It showed him as a flawed and likable person.
His normally hard exterior was equally as hard to get past. She gave him a smile. “I did not know you were coming
by today.”
“I had not intended on it,” he said hastily. His green eyes with their brilliant coloring seemed to keep his thoughts well hidden. Who could bother asking questions with such a gaze upon them, after all?
Priscilla waved off his words. “You are here now. Would you like to visit? Or are you here to see Father?”
Philip nodded. “Yes, I am here to see your father.” He cleared his throat and tugged at his cravat. “Forgive me, my valet tightened his infernal thing too tightly.”
Priscilla laughed lightly, covering her mouth with her gloved hand. “I find men to tend to have that problem. Is there a worry of it loosening and falling off?”
Philip laughed with her and shook his head. “It must be something that all valets fear very much.”
“I am glad that you have saved yourself from the problem then,” Priscilla said as she enjoyed the bit of unencumbered banter. There were moments when Philip seemed a different man altogether. Was this the man she had fallen in love with?
She frowned and put her hand on his forearm. The rough wool under hands made her want to pull her hand back, but she left it where it was. “Can I ask you something?”
He looked a bit worried but nodded. “I suppose you can. What is it that vexes you?”
Priscilla looked around to make sure that no one was around. She lowered her voice as she asked, “Were we in love?”
“I thought we talked about this?” Philip’s voice held a frustration and Priscilla could understand.
“Please do not be angry with me,” she pleaded. “You have every right to be, but as difficult as this is for you… I cannot simply remember things that I am supposed to know, supposed to feel.”
He sighed, a soft sound that echoed around the hall where they stood. “I expect too much of you.”
“I do not mind the expectations.” Priscilla let her hand fall off his arm. “I just keep trying to remember and all I see is fog.”
Philip took her hand in his as if reclaiming it. “We were in love. I cannot make you remember, or feel it, but it was there. Is not that knowledge enough?”
It would have to be enough. Yet, it was not enough. Priscilla nodded. “Of course.”
He gave her a smile and brushed his lips against the hand he raised to his lips. “Please do not give up on us.”
Who was this us? Priscilla nodded again, not trusting her voice. She willed her face to display a calm smile. She pulled her hand back to her. “I should let you go visit with my father,”
Philip nodded. “Yes. I shall go to see him straight away.” Priscilla watched him walk away and pondered at how little emotion there was with the sight.
“What is wrong with me?” Priscilla whispered the question to herself.
A voice behind her said, “I have wondered that about you since we were children. About time you started asking yourself the same thing.”
Priscilla put her hand over her heart and gasped, “Bridgitte!”
Bridgitte was leaning against a wall down the hallway as if she had been listening to the whole conversation. Priscilla’s cheeks darkened with embarrassment. “Are you blushing?” Bridgitte’s laughter rang out, making Priscilla look around in paranoia.
“Keep your voice down,” Priscilla hissed. “How long have you been there?”
Bridgitte rolled her eyes and sighed. “Long enough to watch you make a fool of yourself in front of the duke.”
“I fail to see how it is any of your concern,” Priscilla said through gritted teeth.
Her sister gave a laugh and shook her head. “Why would it be my concern if you bring shame upon us? Whatever could I stand to lose in such a circumstance?” Bridgitte’s eyes landed on Priscilla. They shone with the same blue, but the waters of Bridgitte’s eyes looked positively frigid.
Priscilla deflated. Her sister had a point. She was behaving foolishly. “You are right. I am a fool. I do not know what I do anymore.”
Bridgitte did not seem to know what to make of this revelation. She rubbed her arm uncomfortably as she eyed Priscilla. “What will you do?”
“I do not know,” Priscilla said, her voice mournful. “You, even with your younger years, are by far more knowledgeable of the male gender than I. What would you do in my circumstances?”
Bridgitte patted her blond hair as if it had somehow gotten messed up, or perhaps it was what she did when she had nothing else to do? She sighed at Priscilla. “I am not the one getting married.”
“Perhaps you should be,” Priscilla said in disgust with herself. “I know that I should be happy, but I do not remember how any of this feels.”
There was a softness suddenly on Bridgitte’s face. She came over to Priscilla and laid her hand on her shoulder. They were nearly the same height, with the same cheekbones, but different chins… different hair. “It will all work out.”
“I wish that I had that peace of mind,” Priscilla told her. “Is it so hopeless that we cannot be true sisters? Whatever was it that came between us?”
Bridgitte shook her head. “I do not recall any particular thing. I think we are two just very singular people.”
“I wish I could remember that night,” Priscilla whispered. “And in the same breath, I wish I could never remember.”
Bridgitte stiffened and withdrew her hand from Priscilla’s shoulder. Priscilla mourned her words. She opened her mouth to take them back, but what could she say? Priscilla reached out and grabbed Bridgitte’s wrist. “Forgive my clumsy tongue. I forgot that you were there. How horrible that must have been for you, I cannot say. Yet, I cannot remember at all.”
“It is right that you should want to remember,” Bridgitte said, her voice distant. “I told you what happened, but I suppose that you will have to remember on your own. You never did take my word at face value.”
Priscilla shook her head. “That is not fair, Bridgitte.”
“No, I suppose it is not. Then again there is not much about this situation that is fair to anyone, aside from that doctor who is making a nice salary off it,” Bridgitte said, and her voice held ice and controlled anger.
Priscilla felt ashamed that she was thinking so much of herself, and not of how it must affect everyone around her. “It must be very hard for all of you to see me like this, to go through this.”
Priscilla saw that Bridgitte was already closed off to her again. She let her sister’s wrist free. Bridgitte did not look as if she wished to reply so Priscilla simply said, “I think I should go rest.” She turned stiffly and went upstairs, careful to hold onto the railing.
Once she was in her room she sat down heavily on her bed and buried her head in her hands. There as a knock at the door, and dread welled up in her that perhaps Bridgitte had followed her to continue her shaming. “Miss, are you well?”
It was Gwen’s voice, and Gwen’s face peering around the door at her with worry. Priscilla felt relief go through her body. She nodded to her friend. “I am just tired.”
“I saw you coming up here and thought perhaps you were ill,” Gwen said as she came in and shut the door. “You have taken to being in the library most of the day and I thought it odd.”
Priscilla nodded. “I saw Lord Ridlington and stopped to talk to him.”
“Oy, did he upset you?” Gwen’s voice held protectiveness.
The Awakening 0f A Forbidden Passion (Historical Regency Romance) Page 18
