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

  George shook his head. “Were there people in the factory at the time of it burning?”

  Both the Lord and Lady looked at him. Lord Chaplin looked at the newspaper and cleared his throat. “The article merely says that it was during the third shift. I suppose that means people were present, but it does not state any injuries.”

  “I dare say it probably will come tomorrow’s paper. It takes time for them to pull people out of the debris.” George frowned. “I would wager that no matter what time it burned there were people there. Those factories seem to never sleep.”

  Lord Chaplin grumbled, “Appalling.”

  “How so?” George lifted his cup of tea up as he spoke, holding it in midair. “Many families have to work day and night to simply survive. When one family member is working, another must be home with the children who are too small to work.”

  Lord Chaplin sighed. He gave George a considering look. “You sound as if you know those people well.”

  “I know those types of people well,” George admitted. “Many of my patients are among them.”

  Lady Chaplin put her hand over her heart. “My dear, Doctor Rowley, I had no idea you were such a generous man to devote your time to the poor.”

  “Why must I be generous? They need medicines and doctors as much as anyone else. The hospitals are too put upon and stretched thin to accommodate everyone. If more doctors worked with the masses then there would be less strain on the hospitals and clinics around London.” George noted right away the look on Lady Chaplin’s face but he took a slow sip of his tea. He had let a bit of his passion get away with him. “Forgive me, Lady Chaplin, I meant no disrespect to you.”

  Lady Chaplin tipped her head, a dainty gesture, as benevolent as the morning sunshine. “Do not apologise for feeling kindness toward your fellow man, Doctor Rowley. After all, would you be a doctor if you did not feel so?”

  George thought about some of his fellow doctors, the ones he had gone through school with and the ones who had taught them all. He did not have the heart to tell Lady Chaplin that a loving heart was a rare qualification for the medical profession. Most of the men he knew were forced into the trade by their families. Youngest sons of noble families who did not wish to join the military only had a few options if they wished to stay in society.

  They all fell into companionable silence, with even Lord Chaplin seeming to give up on keeping conversation flowing even with the expectations of a good host. George did not mind it at all. His mind had gone to his patients as he wondered if any of them had been among the victims of that fire.

  He found his appetite waning at the thought of his patients who may have been in that fire. George excused himself and stood up. “I find that I am not nearly as hungry as I thought I was. I think I shall retire to my room for the time being.”

  Lord Chaplin gave George a look that could have been concern, or really any number of things the way the man’s brows were constantly furrowed. George pondered if it was having daughters that had left the man with such a prominent furrow. Lord Chaplin nodded. “I have to be about my work as well. I have meetings with the harbormaster.”

  “Oh, but I thought you would be here today,” Lady Chaplin said with dismay. “Lord Ridlington is due.”

  Lord Chaplin stretched as if his back were very stiff. George thought the better of offering the man some treatment for the ailment. Lord Chaplin did not strike the man as someone who took treatments very willingly.

  Lord Chaplin chuckled at his wife’s apparent dismay. “Come now. I told you that I was to be out today.”

  “Perhaps you are right about that,” Lady Chaplin said with slight embarrassment.

  Lord Chaplin scooped up his wife’s hand in his own large meaty hand and gave her hand a kiss. “There now. You’ve been beside yourself with worry over Priscilla. I dare say you might not have heard me.”

  George smiled at the tenderness between the couple as he gave them a bow to excuse himself. He left the room as Lady Chaplin thanked her husband for his kindness. George was glad that his patient had a loving family.

  The thought of that loving family brought a shadow over George’s own heart. He had once had a loving family, so perfect that it would have left Lord and Lady Chaplin wanting, and yet it was a hollow thing now. That was nothing to lay at the feet of Lord and Lady Chaplin. George shook his head, barely paying attention to where his feet carried him.

  He had grown rather accustomed to the house. George wagered that his fast assimilation came from how similar the house was in feel and design to his own childhood home. There were a few rooms that were out of place, but overall it was a very familiar floor plan.

  His room was an inviting sanctuary amid the bustling household. George sat down at his writing desk. There before him lay an unfinished letter to his brother. How many times over the last few days had he begun to write it, only to stop? More than George cared to think about.

  Nathaniel had been hospitable about George’s failure to visit. Nathaniel’s words about having something to tell George put him on edge, but Nathaniel had not worded it as if it was anything bad. Quite the opposite - George got the impression that his brother was rather enthusiastic.

  George could not fathom why that would be. Perhaps the crops had given a good yield and Nathaniel had come up with some new project to use the excess gains on. George frowned at the paper as if it were responsible for his confusion. If he had returned home though, there would be no confusion. He lifted his eyes to the real cause of his woes and eyed his own reflection.

  “What trouble you cause yourself, Old Boy,” George told his reflection with a sigh.

  ***

  Priscilla had hoped she would get down to the library before the midday meal or early tea. However, her hopes had crashed down when Gwen had announced that Lord Ridlington was expecting her in the sitting room,

  “Oh, do not look so,” Gwen chided.

  Priscilla looked away from Gwen in shame. “It is silly of me to be upset that he is here, but I was so looking forward to playing the piano.”

  “Shall I tell him that you will meet him in the library?” Gwen gave Priscilla a smile, but Priscilla returned a frowned. “What is it now?”

  Priscilla sat forward. “I will just meet him in the sitting room.”

  “If that is your wish,” Gwen said with a nod. Her brow had creased though, that way she did when she was puzzled by something.

  Priscilla guessed that Gwen was right to be puzzled by her. After all, she had just been complaining about not getting to play the piano but had turned away the opportunity to play. Why had she done that? Priscilla could not put it into words.

  There was this wordless and more than likely ridiculous urge in her to keep her music to herself. Or perhaps it was just Philip that she wanted away? She had no idea why she felt so about Philip.

  Gwen was eyeing her still and Priscilla forced a smile onto her face. “Do not look at me that way. I shall meet him in the sitting room.”

  “Tell me what troubles you, Miss,” Gwen sat down gently on the bed beside her.

  Priscilla sighed and slid her legs off the bed on the opposite side. “I do not know what you are on about. I am fine.”

  “Really?” Gwen said the word in such a way that it rang with disbelief. It challenged Priscilla to explain herself.

  How could she explain when she did not know what she was feeling herself? “You know how you said that I had cold feet before the accident?” Priscilla asked the question with hesitancy as she felt her feet touch the cool floor.

  Gwen stood up and came to the side of the bed where Priscilla had come to sit. She looked down at her with an expression that held worry. “I do, Miss. But I told ya that you were over that. You were happy; well you were at least committed to the marriage.”

  “Maybe I was not, and I merely pretended to be,” Priscilla replied. She looked up at Gwen helplessly. “Everyone keeps telling me what I was feeling and how I was, but it does not match what I feel
inside. I fear something is wrong with me that perhaps the doctor has not seen yet.”

  Gwen put a hand on Priscilla’s shoulder. “Oh, Miss, it is probably just your nerves. It must be horrible to meet a man you can barely recall and be told he is to marry you.”

  “Horrible or not, it is my duty as a good daughter and fine young lady to do what is asked of me.” Priscilla tried to muster determination but all she got was a feeling of hopelessness. A tear slid down her cheek. “If I could just understand these feelings. Lord Ridlington has done nothing to me, yet I feel dread heavy in my stomach when I hear he is come to visit.”

  Gwen’s fingers squeezed her shoulder and Priscilla tried to imagine them instilling her with strength. Gwen shook her head at Priscilla, a curl of auburn hair defying the maid’s bonnet to caress her cheek. “None of us in this house can tell you how to feel. I just pray that you give His Grace time to help you back to that acceptance that you had earned right before the accident. You were happy, Miss. I just know you were.”

  “I wish I felt happy,” Priscilla whispered. “Anything would be better than this—whatever this is.”

  Gwen nodded. “He is waiting, Miss,” Gwen said in a soft voice as if she did not want to press too hard.

  Priscilla nodded back at the maid. “I know.” With Gwen’s help, she stood up. The room only shifted a bit. “It really is getting easier to be on my feet, so long as I am not tired.”

  “Your father was talking about one of those chairs with wheels that they get for the infirm.” Gwen’s mouth quirked up into a smile.

  Priscilla chuckled softly. “I think perhaps a cane or a strong arm would suffice,” Priscilla replied. “I do not know how much use a chair of that nature would be with all the stairs in this house.”

  “We could get two strapping young lads to carry you up and down them,” Gwen volunteered with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

  Priscilla had to grin at the image that brought to mind. “I do not know how Lord Ridlington would take such a thing.”

  “Oh, I think His Grace has enough ego to withstand such an assault,” Gwen assured Priscilla.

  Priscilla wished she remembered more of that Philip. Perhaps he did. He did not seem overly confident around Priscilla, but she supposed he must be a fairly confident man. He certainly was handsome enough to have an abundance of ego.

  Gwen offered Priscilla her arm and they walked slowly out of her bedroom. She mourned the loss of sanctuary but put on a brave face. She was, after all, going to see someone who adored her. She should at least appear to adore him.

  She should adore him, Priscilla’s mind informed her. There was no need for her not to adore him. Should she not adore the man? He was kind to her. He had sat with her and talked. Had she not promised to try for him? She had meant that promise at his last visit, and she should surely mean it now.

  They accomplished getting to the sitting room with no mishaps. It took a bit longer as they had to walk slowly, but it was nice to slow down and appreciate the simple act of walking. Priscilla did not take such a thing for granted anymore.

  Philip met them as they entered the sitting room and offered his much stronger arm for support. Priscilla accepted and was grateful to the man for his aid. She was beginning to tire and had been leaning on Gwen more heavily than she had wanted to do.

  “Thank you, Lord Ridlington. Your aid is well-timed. I fear that I was tiring Gwen out.” Priscilla put on a smile for the man who helped her into a chair.

  Gwen tutted. “Not at all, Miss.”

  Lord Ridlington frowned. “I should have come to aid you. I did not think about it.”

  “Worry not,” Priscilla said as she brushed away his concern. “I am here all well and sound.” She gestured at the sofa near her. “Please sit. I see the cook has sent some refreshments for us.”

  Lord Ridlington nodded. “Yes, Lady Chaplin thought you might need something after walking here.”

  “My mother is an angel,” Priscilla said with a genuine smile. Sometimes her mother had this knack for knowing just what Priscilla needed and it never failed to amaze Priscilla. Perhaps when she had children that latent ability would awaken within her as well.

  “Shall I pour?” Lord Ridlington reached for the teapot as Priscilla nodded.

  She watched the man’s nimble fingers pour her tea. He reached for the sugar and she eyed him. “I take honey,” she said softly.

  He nodded and gave her an embarrassed smile. “Forgive me. I fear that my brain is a bit addled this morning too.”

  “Is something bothering you?” Priscilla took the teacup that he held out to her with a grateful smile. She sipped it and eyed the man as he fixed his own cup of tea.

  Gwen sat in a chair near the door, out of the way, but within Priscilla’s line of sight. The maid gave her an encouraging smile that Priscilla tried to let bolster her spirit. She could do this. This was her future husband, after all. There had to be a bond here.

  Lord Ridlington gave her a smile that surely melted women’s hearts all through London. It was a nice smile, but her mind blended it with the haughty child he had been. The younger version was always sneering about some great triumph.

  “It is kind that you are concerned for me. Here you are recuperating and you think to ask me such a thing.” Lord Ridlington reached his hand out and Priscilla allowed him to capture her fingers in a gentle grip. He held her hand for a long moment, and Priscilla felt a blush rising to her cheeks.

  She pulled her fingers back to maintain propriety. If Lord Ridlington took offense then it did not show on his face. “I know that you do not remember picking out the date for the wedding, but I feel awful that we could not wed on the date you chose. I know such things are important to ladies.”

  “I do not even remember picking the date,” Priscilla told him. “Your worry over my state is sweet but unnecessary. We shall pick another date.”

  Lord Ridlington smiled at her with what she thought might be adoration. Was it adoration? Relief? Priscilla never had been that good at reading people and she was not as experienced with men as her sister. Perhaps she should enlist Bridgitte to help her in this matter.

  “I do hope that we can pick a date soon,” Lord Ridlington was saying when Priscilla cued back into the fact that the man was speaking.

  Priscilla nodded. “Yes. The doctor is hopeful that I shall recover fully.”

  There was a pause. “I do not know this doctor of yours very well. I do wish that your father would let my physician aid you.”

  “He is a fine doctor,” Priscilla said. She felt herself bristle. Doctor Rowley had been wonderful to her.

  Lord Ridlington sighed. “I do not wish to upset you. I merely want the best possible care for you.”

  Priscilla felt silly for getting angry with Philip. “No, it is I that should apologise. My emotions seem delicate things as of late.”

  “I do worry so at that. You were always such a level-headed young lady,” Lord Ridlington said as his forehead creased.

  Priscilla thought in amusement that she seemed to make everyone have wrinkles as of late. “If my father agrees, then I do not mind your doctor visiting me as well, but I insist that Doctor Rowley be in charge of my care. I do not think I could stand things being upended again.”

  “Of course not,” Lord Ridlington said fervently. “I never meant to cause you distress. I promise that Doctor Rowley will have say over your treatment. It would just make me feel better to get a second opinion from a doctor that I know.”

  Priscilla gave Philip a smile that she, for once, did not have to force. “If it will put your mind at ease then I see no reason to deny you such a simple request.”