Lord Ridlington smiled at her. Priscilla looked down at her teacup. She was cradling it, soaking up its warmth into her hand. She took a sip of the sweet, warm liquid and relaxed.
Philip was an odd man, but he certainly did not deserve this dread that she felt. He deserved someone that appreciated him and who was overjoyed to see him. Had she been that young woman?
Priscilla’s eyes met Philip’s green eyes. “When do you think that your physician could come and examine me?”
He seemed to contemplate the question before he said, “I think he should be able to come within the next two days. He usually is happy to help me out.”
Priscilla thought that probably had to do with Philip’s family and wealth, but she kept that to herself. No doubt Philip held the man in great esteem. She thought of how her father had been with their own aging doctor. Only now had he seemed to admit that the doctor perhaps was getting on in years, when the doctor himself had begun to talk of retiring.
People tended to cling to doctors much as they did religion and ideas. It was comforting to have that same doctor, tell you the same things, and commend you on following their orders. Everything was fine, of course, it was… lovely reassurance.
She supposed she was doing the same thing to Doctor Rowley, but she felt that if one more thing changed she might lose her balance altogether. Every bit of progress she had made might simply fall away from her if she lost sight of her goal. Doctor Rowley seemed a cornerstone to that.
His face had been the first that she had seen upon waking and she felt very like those little ducklings at the pond that imprinted upon the first thing they had seen. Priscilla had imprinted on Doctor Rowley and she needed him. It was that simple, only it was not simple at all.
She was no duckling, and she could not express to others how it made her feel to know that Doctor Rowley was around. He did not have to stand over her. She just had to have the knowledge that he was following her progress to feel as if she could relax. She could breathe because Doctor Rowley would tell her if she needed to do otherwise.
“Are you well?” Philip—Lord Ridlington—asked her. She tried to reaffirmed in her mind that he was a duke now, not that child she had known. She tried to call him by his title, but Philip slipped in through the cracks of her mind.
She nodded at him. “Yes. I was just thinking about doctors and how it is that we all grow attached to certain ones. We are such odd creatures.”
To her relief, Lord Ridlington smiled. “I am glad to see that you have begun to regain your amusing disposition.”
“You know me well,” Priscilla said softly. “Perhaps you could help me remember things, as you did that first day.”
Lord Ridlington seemed pleased that she sought his aid. “What shall we speak of to remind you of yourself?”
“Tell me what you know of me,” Priscilla said with eagerness. If he could show her how much he knew her then it would prove to her beyond a shadow of a doubt that they really were happy. They had to have been happy.
Lord Ridlington tapped his bearded chin and hummed. “Surely you remember yourself.”
“I do,” Priscilla said with a softness. “But sometimes how one sees themselves is different to how others do so.”
A grin spread across his face. “I remember the first time I saw you at the ball.”
Priscilla felt a warmth at the look on his face. This was what she needed. She just needed to remember the man she fell in love with. Surely she loved this man. Not that one had to love their husband, sometimes a warm acceptance was enough. Yet, Priscilla hoped it had been love.
“You were dressed in blue,” Lord Ridlington told her. His voice held fascination as if he were remembering how enamored he had been. “You seemed to glow. I think every man in that room wanted to dance with you.”
Priscilla waved off his silliness. She was certain that every man had not wanted to dance with her, but it warmed her blood to hear him say it. He must truly adore her. She had no idea that he felt such feelings for her. How torturous it must be to know that she did not recall any of it.
“This must be so hard for you,” Priscilla whispered. “I wish that I could make it easier.”
Lord Ridlington shook his head. “You shall remember me. And then all will be well.”
“I remember bits and pieces. I do recall being at balls and I do remember you vaguely there.” Priscilla sighed. “I wish that I could give you more, but it is lost behind a fog that I cannot see through.”
He assured her, “The fog will lift and I will be here waiting.”
Priscilla smiled at him. Why had she felt such dread for such a wonderful man? She should have trusted Gwen’s words and everyone else’s words. She had loved this man. She would love him again.
***
George stared at Lord Ridlington. The man had caught George while he was walking towards the kitchen to get some tea. “This is really something that you would have to run by Lord Chaplin,” George said yet again.
Lord Ridlington nodded. “Yet he is not here. Miss Priscilla is most agreeable to it and I thought that if you also agreed we could just go ahead and set things in motion.”
“I am never opposed to my patients getting a second opinion, Your Grace. I just do not wish to overstep my bounds. This is Lord Chaplin’s household and not my own. I am sure that he will be agreeable to it, but until he says so, I fear that my own hands are tied in the matter.” George gave the man one of his most professional smiles. He could understand the man’s worries over his beloved, but surely he had to see that George simply had no power in the situation.
Lord Ridlington sighed heavily. “Yes, I suppose I do see what you mean. You are a wise man who knows his place in the world, Doctor Rowley.”
George knew that the man’s words were probably not meant to smart, but they made George’s eye twitch. He, indeed, did know his place in the world. Lord Ridlington apparently thought he knew his place as well.
He inclined his head and shoulders in a slight bow to the duke. “Pardon me, Your Grace, but if you will excuse me.”
“Of course. Forgive me for keeping you from your tea,” Lord Ridlington gave George a nod before he strode away. George rolled his eyes at the man’s retreating back. He was quite used to husbands and significant others of his patients interfering and he mostly did not hold it against them. If only the duke was a bit more subtle it would aid in George not finding him so grating.
The cook looked up from her stirring as he entered the kitchens. “Doctor Rowley,” the old woman said with a toothy grin. “Be coming for your tea, I assume?”
“Right you are, Mrs. Sandler,” George said with a nod. “How is your arthritis?"
The cook’s head bobbed as she lifted the teapot. “Quite better, Sir,” she said as she put the teapot on a tray. “Will ya be taking your tea in the dining hall?”
“I think I just might,” George agreed. “The view out of the windows is lovely.”
“That it is,” she said with a nod. “You should see it in the winter. I do so love wintertime, even with all me aches.”
George smiled at the woman. He took the tray from her. “I can carry it myself and save your aching elbows.”
The cook gave him a grateful smile and a nod. “Enjoy your tea, Doctor Rowley.”
He left her with a wave of a finger, which was all he could spare with the weight of the tea tray. The dining hall was just through the swinging doors, thankfully. He was relieved to set the tray down on the sturdy wooden table. His relief vanished as the dining hall door swung open.
Lord Chaplin strode in. “Ah, you had the same notion as myself, Lord Rowley.”
“I thought you were still at your meeting, Sir.” George waved his hand toward the tray. “Shall you join me?”
Lord Chaplin nodded. He rang a bell and a maid popped out of the kitchen straight away. He called to the maid, “Fetch a few more sandwiches so that I may join Doctor Rowley.” The maid was swiftly back through the swinging doors and Lo
rd Chaplin sat down heavily on a chair near George.
“You look very weary,” George noted as he offered the man a teacup.
Lord Chaplin took the tea and took a cursory sip. He frowned. “You take your tea like my wife, bitter and in need of sweetness.”
George chuckled. “I got out of the habit of over-sweetening when I was studying. We never had enough sugar to go around.”
“I know that doctors suffer for their education and craft, but that is ghastly,” Lord Chaplin declared.
A maid scurried into the room and placed a plate of cucumber sandwiches on the table near them. She curtseyed and then scurried right back out of the room as if she had never been there.
George laughed lightly at Lord Chaplin’s look of horror. “Yes, well, I do think the sleep deprivation was worse.”
Lord Chaplin seemed to ponder it. “I do not know which I would rather go without.”
George shook his head at the nobleman and took a sip of his tea. “Did you by any chance run into Lord Ridlington on your way in?”
Lord Chaplin’s head went up and down as he picked up a sandwich. “Ah yes. He mentioned that he wants another physician brought in. Said he had yours and Priscilla’s approval.” Lord Chaplin looked at George as if waiting for an acknowledgment. “Does he have your approval of this, Doctor Rowley?”
George nodded. “I see no reason to deny the man his peace of mind. If it will put him at ease about Miss Morton’s care then I think it would be worthwhile.”
“Yes,” Lord Chaplin agreed. “I’ll have him bring his doctor in then. I would prefer it over and done with so that my daughter can focus on getting better.”
George could definitely agree with that. Miss Morton’s health would benefit from a quiet, stable environment. As soon as the other doctor agreed then George could get back to helping her work through whatever was holding back her memories.
Lord Chaplin began talking of business and George listened with a polite ear. His brother was much the same way, always prone to suddenly rambling off about some venture he was enthralled with at the moment. “If an agreement can be met then we could very well have a foot in the door to the spice trade.”
“Spices can be volatile,” George warned. “Why, just last month I heard of some revolt in the Caribbean that had burned field upon field.”
Lord Chaplin nodded his head with a grim look on his face. “But if I can play my cards right, I shall have all the benefit with very little risk.”
“Better you than I,” George said with a grin.
Lord Chaplin chuckled. “A doctor who gambles with life is frightened of a business deal?”
“On the contrary,” George corrected, “I never play with a patient’s life. I always hedge my bets.”
The nobleman grinned at George. “Ah, I do the same thing with my business ventures. Is your family much into trade?”
“My brother has his moments,” George said with a smile. “I always tell him that he is most welcome to it. He is by far the better at such things.”
Lord Chaplin bit into a sandwich as his eyes twinkled in amusement. “It is a wise man who knows his limits.”
George nodded. He was a wise man, as Lord Chaplin had said. A wise man who knew his place.
Chapter 7
Priscilla brushed out her brown hair. She had not made it to the library yesterday and her father had informed her that Lord Ridlington’s physician was due to see her today. She would likely be waiting upon the man all day long. She felt irritable that she seemed to have so little control over her life.
Priscilla let Gwen take the brush from her. She eyed the maid in the reflection of the vanity’s mirror. “Do you think that his doctor will be swift or do you think he will be one of those old dawdling ones?”
Gwen grinned and pulled Priscilla’s hair back. Her deft movements were hard to follow as Gwen braided Priscilla’s warm brunette locks. “I think you should remember that you are the one who agreed to his visit.”
Priscilla laughed. “You are right to scold me. I am a petulant child today, Gwen.” She sighed heavily. “I feel as if I am still a small child told where to go and how to sit.”
“I think all ladies feel like that sometimes,” Gwen agreed. “I certainly do from time to time.”
Priscilla eyed Gwen in the mirror. “I wish I could remember falling in love.”
Gwen shrugged. “Something like that cannot stay buried long.”
“That is what I tell myself. Love is such a powerful thing that surely I shall feel it through this fog and it shall burst forth as the sun through the clouds,” Priscilla looked out of the window. “One day everything will be as clear as that blue sky out there.”
Gwen turned her head toward the window. “Do you think the doctor will let you take a walk today?”
“He has mentioned that I need fresh air. I assume as soon as I am steady enough that I shall be forced into a convalescent walk or two every day.” Priscilla did not mind the sound of that. Especially if Doctor Rowley were there to help her. She pushed that thought away. “It would be nice to be outside.”
Gwen nodded. “Yes. You have been out so little since your accident.”
There was a knock at the door. Gwen and Priscilla turned in unison toward the door. It was already opening, which meant it had to be Bridgitte as she was the only one who did not wait for Priscilla to call her into the room.
Sure enough, Bridgitte’s blond head poked into the room. “Mother sent me to tell you that a Doctor Henson is here to see you.”
Priscilla nodded. “That must be Lord Ridlington’s physician. I am glad he came early and we can get this over with.”
“Mother said he would come up as soon as you were ready to see him.” Bridgitte eyed Priscilla. Her eyes were critical and Priscilla could tell that her sister had judged her lacking. It took all her good manners not to roll her eyes at her younger sister. “Are you ready?”
Priscilla sighed. “Send him up whenever you wish.”
Bridgitte shrugged and left the room. Gwen shook her head. “Better get you settled. She’ll be hoisting him on her back to get him up here.”
Priscilla chuckled at the image and eased back over to the bed. She settled down on the pillows that Gwen propped up behind her. To her amusement, no sooner had she gotten seated than there was another knock on the door.
Gwen and Priscilla shared a smile of amusement. Priscilla called out, “Come in!”
Bridgitte let the doctor into the room. He was an older man, but not as ancient as her father’s physician. “Doctor Henson, it is a delight to meet you.”
The man smoothed his waistcoat and gave her a warm smile. “And you, Miss Morton. Now, let me look you over so I can ease your betrothed’s heart.”
Bridgitte lingered in the doorway until Doctor Henson called to her, “Either close the door or get out, young lady. It is impolite to hold a door open during an examination. Let us maintain your sister’s modesty.”
Bridgitte colored a deep red and left the room. Doctor Henson did not seem to notice and Gwen looked like she was covering a smile behind her hand, or perhaps it was a laugh? Priscilla might find it amusing, but she knew her sister would probably take it out on her later.
Still, it did make her like Doctor Henson a bit more. He tutted and hummed to himself as he examined her head wound, and listened to her breathe and so on. When he finished he packed up his equipment and put his hands on his hips.
The Awakening 0f A Forbidden Passion (Historical Regency Romance) Page 13