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

  The Awakening of a Forbidden Passion

  A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

  EMILY HONEYFIELD

  Copyright © 2019 by Emily Honeyfield

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  The Awakening of a Forbidden Passion

  Table of Contents

  The Awakening of a Forbidden Passion

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  The Awakening of a Forbidden Passion

  Introduction

  Miss Priscilla Morton had everything planned out for her, including her upcoming wedding with her childhood friend, but it will all suddenly fall to pieces when a tragic and mysterious accident wipes out all her memories. When she wakes up, the handsome doctor who cares for her will awaken a fire within her very soul, but he will also inform her that she’s to marry another. Torn between passion and commitment, will she be able to make the right choice?

  What Doctor Rowley only ever wanted is to save those he cared for. But helping those in need always kept him away from romance. The only time he came close to love, it slipped right through his fingers before it even started. In a surprising turn of events, fate brought her back to him in the form of his patient, yet he cannot have her, as she is destined to be with another! His feelings for her may be forbidden but how will he be able to resist her fiery nature?

  They have discovered their electrifying connection under very peculiar circumstances, but before succumbing to their feelings, they have a mystery to solve. What caused the accident of Priscilla? Was it perhaps fate that brought them together for a reason, or is there something more sinister happening under everybody’s nose?

  Chapter 1

  (One month earlier: May Ball at Ruby House, home of Lord and Lady Tisdale.)

  Priscilla stood beside her sister, Bridgitte, surveying the ballroom. There were couples there already enjoying some of the more rousing country dances. “That looks like quite a merry time,” Bridgitte commented with a grin at the swirling couples.

  “I think it is high time that you stopped having so much amusement at the balls, and started paying attention to the gentleman you have been introduced to,” Priscilla said with a frown.

  Balls and all of their glitz had never been Priscilla’s element. It all seemed so frivolous. It probably did not help her disposition that Priscilla found herself quite lacking when it came to dancing.

  Bridgitte, on the other hand, was light and graceful on her feet. Whereas Priscilla preferred to play the piano, Bridgitte was often found dancing along to the music. This was just the kind of place that Bridgitte felt most at home.

  To Priscilla’s surprise, Bridgitte did not mock her words. Instead, Bridgitte nodded along with her. “Your words are wise tonight, Priss.” Priss was a grating childhood nickname that Bridgitte had endowed Priscilla with when they were both just wee girls.

  Priscilla pressed her mouth into a thin line. Her eyes watched Bridgitte suspiciously. “I have never known you to agree that something I said had merit without a grueling battle. You must have drunk too much punch, Bridgitte.”

  “Do not jest so,” Bridgitte whispered. She looked around and then back at Priscilla. “Someone might hear you and think you are being serious.”

  The corners of Priscilla’s lips quirked up. “Ah, worried that someone might found out you are a tenor when you are deep in your cups?”

  “I am not.” Bridgitte folded her arms, which really looked quite ridiculous with her dressed in her best formal gown.

  Priscilla waved off her sister’s petulant glare. “Never you mind about all that ribbing. I am quite serious about it being high time that we found ourselves two perfect matches.”

  “I actually could not agree more,” Bridgitte declared, dropping her arms and clutching her hands together. “I do not suppose you have any particular gentleman in mind?”

  Priscilla pondered why her sister’s usually sharp tongue was so dulled, but it was nice. Priscilla had tried many times to bond with her younger sister, but had failed miserably to find some common ground. Perhaps this Season would finally prove to be such a thing for them.

  She was just about to answer her sister when she cast her eyes away from her sister and her vision landed on two gentlemen who were talking across the room. There was an older man, but it was the younger man who drew Priscilla’s eye. There was something about him.

  “Priscilla,” Bridgitte said with irritation. “What are you looking at that is so fascinating?”

  Her eyes went to Bridgitte as a blush dusted her cheeks. “I thought I saw someone I recognised, but I was mistaken.” She did not know truly why she lied. Perhaps it was embarrassment, or just maybe it was an urge to keep the dashing man to herself for the moment. Her charming sister would certainly have no trouble shifting the gentleman’s gaze to herself, and Priscilla wanted to live in the fantasy that he was hers alone for the time being.

  Bridgitte did not look thoroughly convinced but she seemed to not have noticed what had caught Priscilla’s eyes, much to Priscilla’s relief. Priscilla cleared her throat. “I have no particular gentleman in mind, no.” She gave her sister a smile. “Have you narrowed down your choices?”

  A light, airy laugh escaped Bridgitte. She lifted a delicate, gloved hand to her lips in a gesture sweetly refined by years of practice in front of her vanity mirror. Priscilla had seen Bridgitte do so since they were children.

  “You make it sound as if I have the whole of the county at my beck and call, Priss.” Bridgitte shook her head, a smile lingering on her lips. “Yet, I do have a few ideas.”

  Priscilla cocked an eyebrow, in much the way their father did. “A few?”

  “I do agree that we should start taking this opportunity seriously, but there is no need to rush into such a formidable decision.” Bridgitte gave Priscilla a look that asked if she was going to challenge the logic of that statement.

  With a sigh, Priscilla turned her attention back to the room. A gentleman approached and Priscilla gave him only a passing glance. He was not here after her. Sure enough, the young man stopped in front of Bridgitte and gave her a bow.

  “May have the honor of this dance?” The young man extended his hand toward Bridgitte, hope beaming from his youthful face.

  Bridgitte must have been feeling generous, as she usually turned down the first man who approached her each dance. This time she accepted with a gentle smile and put her hand in his. “That sounds splendid,” Bridgitte breathed like a ray of sunshine and the young man’s face lit up as if he had won some prize.

  Priscilla lost interest in her sister’s escapades. Her eyes went back to where she had seen the handsome man. He was nowhere to be seen, however. Priscilla felt her heart grow heavy.

  It was a silly thing, yet there it was all the same. Her heart longed to see the young man yet again. She caught a
flash of dark brown hair and her lips quirked up into a smile.

  There he was talking with some other men. Priscilla felt the rush of blood in her veins and then her heart skipped a beat as his brown eyes met her own blue gaze. She had always felt quite ordinary, but caught in his gaze she felt beautiful.

  Priscilla looked away out of a sense of self-preservation. She put a hand on her chest. This was the oddest sensation. Was this how women fell into ill-repute?

  She should not have been staring at him so. That he had caught her was too much to think about it. Yet, she had felt no embarrassment when their gazes had connected.

  Priscilla turned on her heel and went to talk with a group of ladies that she recognised while staunchly pushing down the urge to look back over at the brown-haired man. Was he still looking? The question nagged at her.

  She conversed with friends and acquaintances. She even managed to forget about her mystery man for a time. Then, it happened that her gaze shifted across the shoulder of one of her companions and she found a most perplexing sight.

  The brown-haired man was standing across the room talking with a merchant that Priscilla was sure she knew, but the man’s name evaded her. His conversation was not what was peculiar, however. The strange part was that he had been looking at her, or at least in her direction. Had he been watching her?

  The man, seeing that he was caught in his reverie, looked away. A smile spread over Priscilla’s face as she turned her attention back to her companions. Perhaps finding a suitable husband would not be such a trying affair, after all?

  (Present – June)

  The tailoring shop owned by Miss Rowles was well known as the place to go for a beautiful dress. Priscilla was not disappointed when she came to Miss Rowles with her expectations about a wedding dress. Her maid tugged the dress and Priscilla laughed as the maid synched her up into the wedding dress.

  “I think you will be safely locked away in this until your husband sees fit to release you,” Gwen, her maid, said with a smile in the mirror.

  Priscilla had to agree. “Yes, I do not think I shall be able to free myself of it.”

  “Best not go running off then,” Gwen teased. The maid’s plump, freckled cheeks made dimples as she grinned.

  The idea of running away was not one that Priscilla had entertained. She gave Gwen a smile. “The very idea of Morton heiress running away from her duties is enough to call down the wrath of my whole family line.”

  “I think his Lordship did a fine job arranging your marriage,” Gwen said as if the words needed to be spoken.

  Priscilla gave a light shrug. “Philip is a good man.”

  “And a duke,” Gwen added, not that Priscilla needed reminding. Bridgitte had been a bit put out when their father, the Earl of Chaplin, had announced that Philip would marry Priscilla.

  Of course, Priscilla had been just as surprised. She had danced with, and spoke with, Philip, yes. Yet how could she view the man as anything but the boy she had grown up with?

  She thought of Philip, his gentle reassurances that things would work out just fine. “Just you wait and see,” as he always said.

  Priscilla frowned at her hair in the mirror’s reflection. “Do you think I should have my hair up for the wedding?”

  “Oh, yes,” Gwen enthused. “Perhaps with some flowers?”

  Priscilla liked that idea. “It might compliment the simpleness of my dress.” She looked down at her cream-colored dress. “You do not think it is too simple, do you?”

  “I think it is perfect for you, Miss.” Gwen brought Priscilla’s hair up in a twist. “Oh my, you will look like a princess.”

  “I do not know about that, but I know you will have me looking my best.” Priscilla frowned as a thought crossed her mind. “What if Philip did not get the date that I requested?”

  Gwen giggled. “I think he would have said something about that.”

  “You are probably right. I just am too used to worrying,” Priscilla said as she smoothed the silken skirt down.

  Priscilla felt Gwen’s hand on her arm and she looked around at her maid. “I do not know a bride alive that wasn’t worried over every little thing before her wedding. I think that’s just how God made women. We worry.”

  Gwen’s words brought a smile to Priscilla’s face. She nodded and looked back at herself in the mirror. “I suppose that is just the way of things.”

  “And a good thing too. With marriage and children come lots of worries,” Gwen said.

  Her words made Priscilla look around at her again. “I forget sometimes that you are married. I shall lean upon you heavily.”

  “Good thing that I was made to bear weight,” Gwen replied with a wink. “I am always at your side, Miss. I trust in His Grace’s good intentions to keep you safe.”

  Priscilla agreed with a nod of her head. “I think the tailor has done a fine job,” Priscilla said, as she really did not know what else to say.

  Gwen gave the dress a good once over. “Mmhmm. It looks like she knows her stitching. Shall I help you get back out of it?”

  “I would appreciate it,” Priscilla replied with a chuckle. “I would hate to tear it trying to get out of it.”

  Gwen whispered, “Mustn’t take away His Grace’s fun.”

  Priscilla gave a half-hearted laugh. Gwen did not seem to notice and Priscilla felt relief for that. The maid hummed a little song that Priscilla did not recognise as she worked to free Priscilla of the dress’ bondage.

  Once she was free and carefully made modest again, Priscilla felt better. The wedding was not far off, and yet it did not feel real. She hoped it became more so, but everything seemed so distant.

  Gwen carried on as if Priscilla were paying rapt attention. It felt nice to not have to respond. Priscilla could merely nod along with the maid and Gwen kept up a constant flow of chatter.

  While Gwen rambled on Priscilla’s mind wandered. It felt odd to hear Philip referred to as His Grace. That had always been Philip’s father. Philip was just Philip.

  Priscilla found it very hard to rationalise that the scrawny scamp she ran through fields with as a child was now the tall, handsome duke she was destined to marry. Was that not the perfect start to one of those dreamy romantic poems that her governess read all the time? Yet there was no romance between them.

  He was kind, considerate, cordial even. Yet Priscilla could only look upon him with warm thoughts of friendship. There were no breath-stealing moments or furtive glances.

  “Do you think His Grace will come to call upon you this evening?” Gwen’s question brought Priscilla back from her mind wandering.

  Her brows wrinkled as she thought about that. “It is likely. He said that he would be back from his outing and he seemed eager to stop by.”

  “Of course he is,” Gwen said with a grin. “Shall you bring the dress with you now or have it delivered?”

  Priscilla had always been a bit clumsy. “I think I shall let the tailor deliver it. There was that stitch that was loose, after all.”

  “Right,” Gwen said as she nodded her head. “I had forgotten about that completely, what with you looking so bedazzling in it.”

  Priscilla waved off Gwen’s foolishness. Her mother did not like how informal Gwen was at times to Priscilla, but there was only a few years difference between them. Priscilla thought of Gwen as a friend. They had known each other for years and Gwen had a lot more life experience than Priscilla. She was a natural ally in these strange times.

  “Gwen,” Priscilla said in low voice. “Did you love your husband before you were married?”

  Gwen hung the wedding dress carefully on the hook by the door before she turned around to eye Priscilla with amusement. “I didn’t even know him, Miss.”