The Awakening 0f A Forbidden Passion (Historical Regency Romance) Page 14

  “Well, young lady,” he said with a smile. “You appear perfectly healthy other than that nasty bump on your head. Have you had any lingering headaches or dizziness? Is your stomach upset?”

  Priscilla nodded. “I have had some headaches and dizziness, but I only felt sick to my stomach that first day.”

  Doctor Henson patted her on the shoulder, his hand gentle like the way her grandfather had patted her as a child before his death. “I shall confer with Doctor Rowley, but he is a fine young doctor. I daresay he is probably more learned on concussed heads than I am. Years of being a country doctor have softened me from the rigors of war wounds and such.”

  “As long as you think that I will recover,” Priscilla said with a smile.

  He nodded. “Good chance of that.” Doctor Henson frowned. “Have you put off the wedding entirely? Seems to me that married life would be a nice stability for you to recuperate in.”

  A knot formed in her stomach. Her breath caught in her throat. She shook her head. “I—”

  “Miss Morton, are you well?” Doctor Henson caught her around the shoulders as she tipped to one side.

  She could hear Gwen and the doctor talking to her, but it felt so far away. She was so cold. Then it all went black. There was just nothing‘it was peaceful and she sank into it with relief.

  The next time her eyes blinked open she saw her ceiling. She groaned and put her hand on her head. “What happened?” She did not ask anyone in particular but suddenly Doctor Rowley was near her.

  He leaned over her and held open her eyelids to look at her eyes. “You passed out, Miss Morton,” he told her. “You gave your maid quite the scare.”

  Priscilla frowned. “Where is she? I do hope that I did not scare her too badly. Poor Gwen.”

  “She is having tea, per my orders.” Doctor Rowley’s hand was on her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  Priscilla sat up with Doctor Rowley’s help. “I feel embarrassed mainly, Doctor Rowley. I do not know what happened. I just felt so cold.”

  His face was a vision of worry. He pulled up a chair near the bed and eyed her calmly. “I think it was stress, Miss Morton. Doctor Henson and I have decided that whatever you are going through must take precedence. Until we work through your memories, I would advise against any major life changes.”

  “We need to postpone the wedding,” Priscilla whispered. “For how long?” She was relieved, but worried that Lord Ridlington might feel the opposite way about these events. She would hate to bring shame upon her family, but she was not breaking any bonds with the man.

  Doctor Rowley sighed. “I know this is difficult. I wish that I could tell you what was triggering these episodes, Miss Morton, but I do think we should work to find out. That has to take precedence right now.”

  “I understand,” Priscilla said in a soft voice.

  Doctor Rowley’s face softened. “You worry that your fiancé might not understand.”

  There it was again. He had seemingly read her thoughts. Perhaps he was a sorcerer like in those old tales. Priscilla nodded, not trusting her voice.

  Doctor Rowley clapped his hands together as if he were resigning himself to something he did not really want to do. “Allow me to speak with him. I shall tell him my recommendations and surely he will see that any ire he has should be directed at myself and Doctor Henson.”

  “Thank you,” Priscilla said in a rush of breath. “It is not that Lord Ridlington is an unreasonable man. I just do not know if I can stand to see that look of disappointment on his face.”

  Doctor Rowley nodded. “I understand perfectly. Such matters can be very delicate.”

  Priscilla breathed out a sigh of relief. At least the doctor would not think her a horrible person. That was at least one soul who would not judge her poorly.

  It was not her fault though. She had not chosen this. And surely Philip would understand that. She really should force herself to think of him as Lord Ridlington and not that boy she used to know. He was a man now, entirely different from that boy.

  She just wished that she could recall more of the man and less of the boy. Doctor Rowley was speaking, his soothing voice beckoning her to listen. “I had been going to suggest you start a daily walk, but I would hate for you to collapse with your maid out in the gardens.”

  “I could take one of the lads along with me?” Priscilla hated to hear that her walks were being taken away before she had ever truly had them. “Or better yet, you could accompany me.”

  Doctor Rowley nodded. “Perhaps. Today, however, I wish you to rest.”

  Priscilla sank back against her pillows. She knew her face was sullen but she did not have the strength to put it back in line. Doctor Rowley did not seem to mind her sullenness. He merely gave her a smile and left her alone in the room.

  The stillness of the room, punctuated only by the gentle lifting of the lace curtains in the breeze, made her eyelids feel heavy. She stretched and nestled down in her pillows. She supposed that resting would do her some good. After all, she was very tired.

  ***

  George sat in the library and looked at old medical volumes that some eccentric relative of the Chaplin household had collected. They were mostly something for him to look at, as the ideas in the books were primitive at best. George set the book aside that he had been looking through.

  It was a volume on hysterics and the treatment of women. Truly some of the men who had a part in the creation of the book must have had a great hatred of women within themselves. George sighed up at the ceiling.

  He knew he had to walk her through the events leading up to her accident, yet he refrained. He kept putting it off. First it was to give her time to gain her strength, then to let her recover from her fainting spell. Now what was it that he was waiting on?

  George was worried about pushing her too hard. He was worried not just as her doctor; he was worried as a man. He did not wish her harm. She was such a fragile thing, it seemed.

  He pushed away the protectiveness in himself. He had to simply think like a physician and not as a man. Yet, every time he went to her, those golden eyes reminded him that he was a man of flesh and blood, not stone.

  George pushed himself up out of the chair, determination settling over him. He had to see this through for her sake. He turned and stopped cold.

  Miss Priscilla Morton stood clinging to the doorframe. It took him a full two seconds before he could move, then he was over to her. “You will overexert yourself,” George scolded.

  She blushed and George hated his harsh tone for causing her to do so. “Gwen helped me down the stairs. She is just behind me.”

  Sure enough, Gwen appeared a moment later. “Miss, I told you to wait in the chair,” Gwen whispered, but George overheard it without straining.

  Miss Morton laughed. “It was taking you a long while and it was just a short distance.”

  “You know how long-winded the housekeeper can be, you shoulda waited,” Gwen said, concern evident on her face.

  George sighed. “All’s well that ends well. She is safely here. So, let us get her to her desired location.” George offered her his arm, which Miss Morton gratefully leaned on.

  “Help me to the piano bench?”

  George nodded and helped her over to the piano bench. “We really should get you up and out so you do not get too unused to physical activity,” he said as he noted how she was breathing.

  Miss Morton laughed and shrugged. “That might be a good thing. I find myself quite lazy these days.”

  “Are you dizzy?” George asked because of how she had leaned on him, and how she leaned ever so slightly against the piano as she took a seat on the bench.

  Miss Morton admitted, “I am a bit. I do hope I am not going to faint again.”

  “I do not think you will, but if you feel lightheaded let me know straight away.” George dragged a chair up near the piano so that he could be close at hand.

  Gwen lingered by a chair near the door. “Do you need me to stay
, Doctor Rowley?”

  “No, we shall be quite fine here,” George told her.

  Gwen dipped into a curtsey and gave Miss Morton a smile. George thought the maid was very fond of her mistress. When Gwen was gone, Miss Morton asked, “Why did you become a doctor?”

  George put on his professional smile and gave her a light shrug of his shoulders. “Does it matter?”

  “You study me so much that I feel you must know me inside and out, and yet I barely know you.” Miss Morton gave him an impish smile.

  George laughed. “I suppose I see your point.”

  “And yet you do not tell me such a simple thing as what I asked,” Miss Morton said as her fingers lingered over the piano keys. One delicate finger dropped and a note rang out. She smiled at the key as if it had pleased her. He could please her like that, he reasoned.

  George frowned and folded his arms. “What makes you think that your question has a simple answer?”

  “It is a simple question,” Miss Morton countered. “Do they not usually have simple answers in return?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch with geese in flight on it. “My mother gave this to me,” he said, and he saw Miss Morton’s eyes go to the timepiece.

  “It is beautiful,” she said with a smile.

  George sighed and said, “I became a doctor to help those I love. I became a doctor to help people, as clichéd as that is.”

  “You lingered when you spoke of your mother,” Miss Morton said, a melody coming from the piano for a just a moment as if she were trying to remember how the song went.

  George smiled. “You are quite observant.”

  She laughed at his words. “That is a compliment coming from someone as all-knowing as you, Doctor Rowley.”

  George frowned. He leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the chair arms as he studied her.

  Her brown eyes held amusement. “You seem to know what I am thinking even if I have no idea how you do. It is as if you can peer straight into me.”

  He shook his head and assured her, “I cannot see into you. If I could, then I would simply tell you all the things you had forgotten.”

  “I suppose it is silly for me to feel that way then, but yet I do,” Miss Morton said as she lifted her shoulders helplessly.

  George thought about what she had said. “It is not foolish. As doctors, we learn to listen to what people are not saying, as much as if not more than what they are actually saying.”

  “Then you are a very good doctor,” Miss Morton told him.

  Coming from her it was a grand compliment. George gave her a smile and was rewarded when she returned the gesture. She finally must have thought about how forward her smile was because she hid it behind her hand.

  After a time, Miss Morton’s hand left her embarrassed face and found the piano keys again. Her fingers found a tune and lured it out of the piano. George leaned back in the overstuffed chair he sat in and enjoyed the music.

  After several refrains of the song, he said, “That is a lovely song. You have quite the talent.”

  “My mother started me on lessons when I was very young, and I always enjoyed it, unlike my sister.” Miss Morton looked over at him. “Do you have any songs you prefer?”

  George laughed. “I am afraid you might find my choice of music rather dour.”

  “Is it hymnals that you prefer?” She grinned. “My mother likes those.”

  George shrugged off her laughter. “I do like a good hymn on occasion, but I prefer the old folk songs. I think it is from my being raised in the country,”

  “Ah,” Miss Morton said as her fingers tapped out a familiar tune on the keys. George recognised the Fox Hunting song and laughed.

  He shook his finger at her. “You were taught that in your learning?”

  She whispered, “My grandfather taught me. He loved to hunt.”

  “Sounds very much like my own grandfather,” George admitted.

  They stayed in the library until it was time for afternoon tea. They chatted while Miss Morton played various songs on the piano. George was impressed by the young lady’s skill and expansive musical knowledge.

  It seemed that no matter what song he came up with, she knew at least a bit of it, or could pick it up if George hummed a bit of the tune. Gwen brought them tea and sandwiches to refresh them.

  “That is just what the doctor ordered,” George declared when Gwen set the tray down on a low table nearby. “Come, Miss Morton, let your fingers and mind rest.”

  Miss Morton took George’s offered arm without complaint and allowed him to convey her to one of the soft chairs near the tray. George poured out tea in each of their cups. “Gwen, will you join us?” He looked up at the maid.

  The maid shook her head. “I have other things that call to my attention. Thank you kindly, Doctor Rowley.”

  Miss Morton said, “I had hoped you would come and listen to me play some, Gwen.”

  “I have heard you in passing, Miss. The housekeeper is giving us all a run for our money with tidying.” Gwen gave her mistress a smile.

  George interceded, “She won’t be playing much more anyway.” Miss Morton frowned. “You need to rest, and we have yet to really work on your memory today.”

  “I think the music was a wonderful memory game,” Miss Morton told him.

  George nodded and gave a wave to Gwen as the maid took her leave with a curtsey. “Music is good for the memory, but you already remember plenty from your childhood. Now if you could recall the music playing at a recent ball, or perhaps something from home in the days before the accident…”

  Miss Morton frowned as she sweetened her tea with honey. “I remember a country dance. It was recently, but it was May. Bridgitte and I were at a ball at Ruby House.”

  George paused in stirring his tea. His eyes came up and locked onto Miss Morton’s blue eyes. That was the dance where he had seen her. She looked away. “It was a jaunty tune. I did not dance to it, but I remember it,” she said, her voice soft but not quite a whisper.

  He cleared his throat. “The country dances are quite popular.”

  “My mother thinks them garish,” Miss Morton confided in him.

  George asked, “And what do you think of them?”

  She drew in a breath and let it out slowly as if weighing up the question and its answer. “I think that I do not dance enough to have an answer.”

  “Do you not like dancing?” George regarded her curiously. Now that he recounted that evening at Ruby House he did not remember he dancing very much, if at all.

  Miss Morton bit her lip as if she dreaded responding. She finally slumped her shoulders and admitted, “I do not fancy it much.”

  “One who loves music and yet does not like to dance,” George mused. “Dancing always struck me as the third sister when it came to music. The instruments playing, voices raised in song, and bodies moving to the rhythm of the melody all struck me as one and the same family.”

  Miss Morton hid a smile behind her teacup. “I suppose when you say it that way, it does seem rather silly. Perhaps I should give dancing another try someday.”

  “Perhaps you should,” George agreed. He pushed the urge away to offer her his hand right there and sweep her into a dance. He liked a good dance ever so often, even if he rarely got the chance to attend such things unless it was some holiday festivities that his patients threw to amuse themselves.