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

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  The hallways of East Estate were covered in Parisian prints that George found enchanting. His home was covered in scenes of reeds and quails due to his father’s love of the hunt. The scenes of picnics and parasols were whimsical ones that George felt certain the ladies of the house had been responsible for installing.

  He was on his way to see Miss Morton when Lady Chaplin appeared around a corner, as if she had been lying in wait for him. “Ah, Doctor Rowley!” The woman’s voice was so pleased that George wondered if he had indeed stumbled into a trap she had laid. “On your way to see my daughter?”

  “Lady Chaplin,” George said in greeting accompanied by a dip of his head. “I was, yes, heading to see Miss Morton.”

  “She is resting,” Lady Chaplin said as she looped her arm through his and drew him back the way he had come down the hallway. “I was wondering if I could trouble you for a moment. I wanted to speak to you about my daughter’s situation.”

  George did not like the sound of that. This was one of the reasons he preferred the lower classes. Things were much simpler with people who had no time for such intrigues. “What about your daughter’s situation were you wanting to discuss, Lady Chaplin?”

  She gave him a pleased smile as they walked. “As you know, my daughter was set to marry the Duke of Ridlington. His Grace has been most understanding about the whole thing, but the situation is hardly a fair one to any involved. I have spoken to my daughter about perhaps going ahead with the wedding, and continuing her treatment afterwards.”

  George frowned. “That sounds as if it is a family matter, Lady Chaplin. I do not see how I could help with that.” It sounded like a horrible idea, but it was not George’s place to interfere with families. High society often had its own nonsensical rules that George remained oblivious to.

  “She trusts you, Doctor Rowley. If you were to tell her that you think it is a good idea, then I am sure she would give it more consideration,” Lady Chaplin said, her voice full of buttery sweetness.

  And there was her aim. George shook his head. “Lady Chaplin, your daughter has been through a horrid accident. She is confused and I cannot in good conscience advise her to do something that might cause her more stress.”

  Lady Chaplin’s face fell. Her pleased tone seemed to disappear with his refusal to go along with her schemes. “I see,” she said in a clipped tone as she relinquished his arm. “I understand your professional disposition, Doctor Rowley. I do hope you come to see that it might be best for my daughter to be in a stable situation.”

  “I think her situation is quite stable now,” George replied, not the least bit put out by Lady Chaplin’s obvious displeasure with him.

  Lady Chaplin sighed. “You must think me awful.”

  “Not at all, Lady Chaplin,” George told her. “I see families go through things all the time and it is very difficult to say what one would do until one has been in those situations. I find families do the best they can, as I am sure you are trying to do for your daughter. Give her some time, and I am sure Miss Morton will make the right decision for herself.”

  Lady Chaplin frowned, then gave a resigned nod. “You are right. Thank you, Doctor Rowley.”

  George bid the woman farewell and turned himself back toward Miss Morton’s room. Lady Chaplin had said she was resting, but there was no reason he could not pop in to check on her. George had become quite used to sneaking into patients’ rooms and not disturbing them while doing his rounds at the hospital.

  He listened at her door and heard what sounded like voices. So much for resting, George thought wryly. He gave the door a gentle knock.

  When it opened he saw the red-headed maid, whose name was Gwen if he recalled correctly. She gave him a smile and stepped aside to allow him entrance. “Doctor Rowley to see you, Miss,” she said as she waved George into the room.

  Miss Morton smiled at him. George inclined his head to her. “Are you tired of people asking how you are feeling yet?”

  The brown-haired girl covered a laugh with her hand. She gave a slight nod of her head. “I do think I have covered most of what I could possibly be feeling.”

  “I promise not to ask you anymore today. If you do have any changes, more pain or dizziness, do let me know, will you not?” George waited until he saw her nod her head again before he continued, “Just relax and let me check your vitals.”

  George listened to her breathing and her heart. “Heartbeat is a bit fast but normal,” George told her. There was a twinkle in her eyes as if he had just said something amusing. It struck him that she always looked at him as if she were in the midst of some sort of game that George did not know they were playing. He wrote it off as a youthful exercise of boredom.

  He pondered how old the girl was as he checked her eyes. She was certainly well-developed. George felt annoyed that he had noticed, to be honest, but she was indeed a young lady in full bloom.

  When he finished his examination, George sat down in a chair that was pulled close to the bed. The wooden chair creaked a bit as he settled, but it held firm. “Have you recalled anything more since our last talk?”

  Miss Morton’s brow furrowed together. “No,” she whispered. “Every time I think about it, I just feel sick and get a headache. Is that normal?”

  “It can be, yes,” George assured her. He was a bit concerned that she felt physically ill, but there was no due cause to alarm her about it. It could be her nerves. “I would like to start walking you through what happened leading up to your accident. We can start weeks out if you wish.”

  Miss Morton frowned. George noted how she wrung her hands. She was certainly anxious about something. He wondered if she was aware of it. “Is there something the matter?” George motioned toward her hands.

  The young lady looked down at her hands as if she had never seen them before. “Oh,” she whispered. “No.” She stopped wringing her hands and put them very deliberately on either side of her against the bedsheets. “There is nothing wrong.”

  George sighed and assured her, “Miss Morton whatever you are feeling is normal. There is no need to hide your anxiety from me. If you get a sense of something, please do tell me. It might be important.”

  She did not look eager to talk. But she whispered, “I will, I promise.”

  That was all he could ask really. She had to be willing to let him in and to tell him what was wrong, otherwise it would be just guesswork. As much as George liked puzzles, he did not feel inclined to play games with the health of the girl out of some sense of manners.

  The maid gave her mistress an encouraging smile. The two seemed close and George pondered if perhaps the maid might have some of the answers that Miss Morton did not have.

  “Gwen, is it?” George asked the maid.

  The maid bobbed her head. “It is, Sir.”

  “Would you mind talking with me for a moment?” George stood up and told Miss Morton, “You try and rest. Tomorrow we shall begin going through the weeks and trying to jog your memories.”

  Miss Morton looked at Gwen then back at George. “Is that why you need to talk to Gwen?”

  “Yes. I was not around you for those weeks, and I am hoping she can help me figure out where to start,” George said honestly. That was indeed what he was doing. If the maid could provide answers as well to why Miss Morton seemed so anxious, then all the better.

  Miss Morton gave him a smile. “I do hope that I do not disappoint you, Doctor Rowley. I shall try to remember.”

  “It is not possible for you to disappoint me, Miss Morton,” George assured her. “As long as you are putting in the effort then I shall be quite pleased by the results.”

  His words seemed to light up Miss Morton’s face. She gave him a smile that probably was a bit too bold for a young lady, but George did not hold it against her. He inclined his head to her and then waved for Gwen to follow him.

  The maid assented and went with George into the hallway. “What is it that I can do to help?” Her voice was eager
and worried.

  George drew in a breath, wondering how to pose his question. “Well, I do wish you to tell me of Miss Morton’s activities, and anything important over the last couple of weeks that I can use to help guide her through her memories.” He cleared his throat. “There was one other thing, Gwen. Miss Morton seems unusually stressed and nervous when she tries to remember things. Was there something worrying her right before the accident? Something that might make her not want to remember?”

  Gwen fretted her lip a bit with her teeth. “She honestly had settled almost everything. Her mother was giving her a bit of grief.”

  “Why was that?” George watched the maid closely.

  She shifted from foot to foot. “It wasn’t anything major. Her sister was throwing a tantrum because she didn’t like that fact that my mistress was getting married first.” Gwen sighed heavily. “She was trying to reconcile with her sister and get her to be a part of the wedding.”

  George pondered that. He still had only briefly met the sister. It is possible that she and Miss Morton had had an argument of some sort. “Thank you,” George said with a smile. The maid seemed relieved that George was not going to ask her more. “I shall talk with you again about those events leading up to the accident that I might need to know about.”

  Gwen bobbed her head. “Of course, Sir. I will do whatever I can to help.”

  Chapter 5

  That night there was a storm. Priscilla watched the storm raging outside her window. She should have been sleeping, but she had awakened from a nightmare and been unable to go back to sleep.

  Or at least Priscilla thought it had been a nightmare. She could not recall what it was that she had dreamed exactly, but she had woken up covered in sweat, still shaking from whatever had gripped her during her dreams. Priscilla dared not go back to sleep.

  All thoughts of fatigue had vanished at the idea that she might have to go back and face whatever monster lurked in her mind. She sat beside her window and pressed her hand to the glass. The rain pelted against it, the percussion of the drops causing vibrations to ripple down her hand. She cringed as lightning ripped the sky in two.

  She tugged the blanket around her to ward off the shiver brought on by the lightning. Thunder crashed around the walls of the house, rattling the pane of the window in its frame. She stared out at the storm as she huddled in the safety of her room.

  At some point, and Priscilla was not sure when it happened, she must have fallen asleep because her eyes fluttered back open to morning sunlight. She groaned as she straightened herself. There was a knock on the door and to her surprise, Bridgitte slipped into the room.

  Bridgitte looked at her in puzzlement. “What are you doing on the floor?”

  “I was watching the storm last night and I guess I must have fallen asleep down here,” Priscilla said as she eased herself up to her feet. The room only swayed slightly. She slowly made her way back to the bed. “I am glad to see you.”

  Bridgitte looked uncomfortable. “I should have come back sooner.”

  “I think this is taking everyone time to adjust. Mother said you felt bad, but I want you to know that you should not feel any guilt over this. Whatever happened, I am sure it was not your fault.” Priscilla felt as if she was rambling. She tried to stop herself.

  Bridgitte laughed. “You are very clumsy.”

  “I am,” Priscilla admitted. “I am just happy to see you.”

  A frown formed on Bridgitte’s face. “Is it true that you do not remember His Grace?”

  “I remember him as a child, but the man that I see now is not familiar to me,” Priscilla said, her anguish coming through every word. “I wish I could recall him. I wish I could find him in my head and know him again.”

  Bridgitte came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “The doctor thinks you will remember?”

  “He seems hopeful, yes,” Priscilla told her.

  She eyed Priscilla. “You do not seem that hopeful.”

  “I want to be,” Priscilla assured her sister. “Right now everything seems so alien. I did not even recognise my room right away. Now I recognise it, but so many weeks are gone from my head and it feels as if this is all one intricate jest to make me feel awful.”

  Bridgitte laughed. “That would be quite the jest. I do not think Father and Mother have enough humor between them to pull that off.”

  “You are probably right,” Priscilla agreed. It felt good to talk to Bridgitte, yet there was something wrong. She wanted to ask Bridgitte about that night. Had she seen her? “That night, do you recall it?”

  Bridgitte nodded. “I recall hearing you scream and then I ran out of my room.” Her face had gone pale. “Oh, Priss, there was nothing I could have done. You were already falling.”

  Priscilla reached out and grasped Bridgitte’s hand. “Do not vex yourself so over this. I am clumsy, remember?”

  There were tears in Bridgitte’s eyes and Priscilla was struck by how hard this was on her sister. “I just feel so guilty that I could not help you. If I had come out just a bit sooner.”

  “How could you have known to?” Priscilla gave Bridgitte’s hand a squeeze. “I do not hold a grudge against you. Please do not hold one against yourself.”

  Bridgitte wiped away a tear from her cheek with her free hand. “Thank you for being so kind.”

  “There is nothing to be cruel for,” Priscilla chided. “Accidents do happen.”

  Bridgitte nodded. “They do, but I want to try harder. I know I have been a pain, but I thought I had lost you. I do not want to fight anymore.”

  Warmth blossomed in Priscilla’s heart. “I would like that too.”

  When Bridgitte left, Priscilla kept the lightness in her heart. Perhaps something good would come of this, after all. She might end up having a closer relationship with her sister. Lord knows, she and Bridgitte had never been that close and it would be nice.

  She sighed. The doctor would be in to see her soon enough, she was sure. In the meantime, Gwen came in to bring her breakfast and get her ready for the day. They ate breakfast together at Priscilla’s insistence.

  “What did the doctor talk to you about?” Priscilla ate a bit of pear as she watched Gwen. There was a flinch, just for a second, and Priscilla pondered it.

  Gwen shrugged. “He wanted me to tell him about the weeks leading up to the accident.”

  “Is that all?” Priscilla pressed the issue, the flinch making her even more curious.

  Gwen sighed and admitted, “He wanted to know specifically if something had happened to make you anxious.”

  “Had something?” Priscilla thought it a question worth getting an answer to.

  With a laugh, Gwen said, “I told him that the only thing troubling you that day was that you were having trouble with your sister.” Priscilla frowned and Gwen explained, “Bridgitte was jealous that you were getting married first and she was refusing to be in the wedding. Your mother was after you to make up with Bridgitte and get her to agree to be in the wedding.”

  Priscilla said, “Oh, that is why Bridgitte was so upset. She said that she had been awful.”

  “You spoke with her?” Gwen paused with her teacup in mid-air.

  Priscilla nodded. “She came by here before you arrived. She wanted to apologise for how she had behaved and to start over with me.”

  “Well, wonders never cease,” Gwen laughed. “Perhaps getting hit on the head was your stroke of genius to bring everyone together again?”