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

by Emily Honeyfield

  “I had not known she was married,” he said.

  Priscilla laughed lightly. “I do not suppose it comes up often outside of mine and her conversations.”

  Doctor Rowley nodded. “What were you two talking about that brought up children?”

  “We were talking about marriage and such,” Priscilla said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I told her that I would like to allow my children to choose their own spouses.”

  Doctor Rowley did not seem inclined to talk of marriage. She asked, “What are your thoughts?”

  He pushed his lips out as he thought. She watched him in amusement. Doctor Rowley finally said, “I think that it is a noble thing to allow your children to choose their own destinies.”

  “Would you allow your children to choose their spouses?” She pressed him because she was curious. It did not matter really. It was not as if she were going to marry him, so it certainly would not be her business.

  Doctor Rowley chuckled. “I suppose I might if they gave me the choice of doing so.”

  “Ah, you think your children are going to be scamps,” Priscilla said with a grin as she teased him.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps not, but I know how I am.”

  “So, you do not think of marriage at all then?” Priscilla knew that was not what he had said, but she took the privilege of misunderstanding so she could ask what she wanted to know.

  Doctor Rowley assured her, “I think everyone thinks of it. I do not know if it would be fair to any young lady to subject her to my schedule.”

  “Certainly your practice would change as your life changed,” Priscilla ventured.

  He seemed to consider her words. “It is possible that I might have to adjust some to circumstance, but my work is important to me.”

  She caught his gaze and gave him a smile. Doctor Rowley surprised her by continuing, “I do think of marriage at times. Watching my parents as I grew up showed me what love can be like. I would like a love like they had, pure and true.”

  “I do believe you are a romantic,” Priscilla teased. “I never much understood the poets and such. Yet, I think since I lost my memories that I have come to understand them greatly.”

  Doctor Rowley suggested, “Perhaps it seems to come easy because you already knew it, but have simply forgotten.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, even if she did not believe it in her heart.

  She wanted to say so much more, but her footing slipped. Priscilla gasped as she fell to the side and directly into Doctor Rowley’s waiting arms. She clung to him, but not really out of fear.

  His eyes looked into her, watched her. Kiss me, her mind begged him silently. Despite how much he seemed to know her thoughts he pulled her upright, seemingly unaware of her longing for him.

  “Steady?” He bent down and pulled up a stone and threw it off the path. “I have avenged you.”

  Priscilla laughed, but it felt thick in her throat. She wanted to just wrap her arms around the man and pull him back to her. She blushed at her scandalous thoughts.

  Doctor Rowley’s eyes were on her. Had he seen how she blushed? Priscilla turned her head away and cleared her throat. “I think I shall retire now. If the very rocks are against me, perhaps I should be warier.”

  “That might be a wise decision,” Doctor Rowley agreed. Priscilla had not wanted him to agree. She had wanted him to fight to keep her by his side.

  She lifted a helpless shoulder. “Escort me in?”

  “Of course,” Doctor Rowley said as he held out his arm.

  He was not rescuing her. He was simply helping her as a doctor would any patient. She pondered how many of his patients were lovely females. How many paid him in other ways?

  She blushed from her thoughts. What was wrong with her brain as of late? Perhaps she should ask Doctor Rowley if the knock on her head really did do her permanent damage.

  She might only think she felt these things, when in fact it was her injury. Priscilla kept her conflict to herself, forcing a pleasant smile on her face as he led her toward the stone steps of the patio.

  Priscilla kept her mind busy by going over in her head sheet music. She recited the notes mentally to keep herself separated from how lovely his arm felt under her hand. He might be a doctor, but he was not one of those feeble men that she often pictured.

  She could feel his muscles through his sleeve. The memory of how his arms had felt around her was all too clear in her mind. She leaned into him and he did not seem to notice.

  Of course he did not notice. She was just another patient to him. He was a saint of a man and she sought to stain him with her own desire. Priscilla felt relief and disappointment flow through her as her eyes landed on her door.

  “Thank you, Doctor Rowley,” she said thickly. “I can see myself into my room.”

  Doctor Rowley nodded and gave her a slight bow of his shoulders. “As long as you are steady on your feet, then I shall leave you to go make my rounds.”

  His rounds with his other patients, her mind echoed. She nodded. “Be safe,” she whispered. It was all she trusted herself to say.

  “I shall come to visit you again this evening, to make sure that you did not injure yourself in the fall,” he told her as she hurried to the door. Priscilla nodded.

  Once in her room, she leaned heavily on the door. Hope and shame were warring within her. She had so wanted him to kiss her. She was to be married! She could not harbor such feelings.

  Philip. Poor Philip. He had truly been more understanding than she had deserved. And now she does this to him?

  She did not want to feel like this, yet how could she not? Perhaps her feelings had been misplaced? Priscilla clung to that notion for a moment. She imagined that all those feelings she had for Doctor Rowley were really what she felt for Philip.

  Try as she might, she could not place those affections on the tall, green-eyed duke. No matter how handsome and charming the man might be, there simply was something amiss there. Perhaps there really was something wrong with her brain?

  Bridgitte might have a point about her. Priscilla sank into the glum realisation that perhaps she really was just a disaster. She seemed fated to ruin everyone’s lives.

  Priscilla rolled her eyes at herself. She was too old to be this dramatic. She was a young lady, not some performer. She shook herself out of her dreary self-pity.

  “I simply have to apply persistence and will to the situation,” Priscilla told her reflection. She plucked a leaf out of her hair and huffed. “He could have told me of that.”

  See, he had a bad quality. He was thoughtless enough to let her run about with a leaf in her hair. Or perhaps he was just polite enough to not mention it as she was heading to her room and he wagered it would not matter.

  Priscilla frowned at her reflection. “Stop making excuses for him,” she told her stubborn reflection.

  There was a knock at the door and Priscilla sighed in defeat. “Yes?”

  “Just me,” Gwen called. She popped her head in the door. “Ah, I thought I heard ya talking to someone.”

  Priscilla waved a hand at her reflection. “I was giving myself a stern talking to, as I well deserve.”

  “Lord Ridlington or your sister?” Gwen smirked as she came into the room and shut the door back.

  Priscilla heaved a sigh and said, “Neither. I fell like some doe-legged imbecile and I just feel ridiculous.”

  “Did you injure yourself again?” Gwen’s face had taken on an anxious expression.

  Priscilla raised her hand to ward off her worry. “I am fine. Even so, the doctor is coming to give me a look over again this evening to make doubly sure.”

  “As he well should,” Gwen said with a nod. “So why were you telling yourself off then?”

  Priscilla put her hands on her hips. “I just hate how foolishly I behave. Honestly, I wish my memories would return so I never had to see Doctor Rowley again!”

  Gwen’s eyebrows rose up so high that Priscilla wondered if the woman was ha
ving a brain fever of some sort. “And here I thought ya were against getting your memories back. Was that not what ya were going on about just the other day?”

  “I am allowed to change my mind,” Priscilla said with vexation. She deflated. “And I will likely change it again. I am just so frustrated.”

  “And I do not blame you for that, but is it right that you should take such venom out on the poor doctor?” Gwen clucked her tongue at Priscilla and it had the desired effect of making Priscilla ashamed of herself.

  Priscilla nodded. “You are right, of course.” It really was not Doctor Rowley’s fault that she was such a foolish girl. He did not deserve her besmirching his name. Gwen gave her a smile, which Priscilla hesitantly returned.

  Chapter 10

  George had gone back to check in on Miss Morton but found she had no sustained injuries or symptoms from her fall. He pondered over how embarrassed Miss Morton had seemed when he had visited the night before as he walked down the hallway of the Chaplin estate. He supposed that he might be embarrassed too if he had fallen in such a manner, but really it was such a little thing.

  He followed the sound of the piano to the library. George did not wish to disturb her, so he eased the door open and saw Miss Morton at the piano. She was beautiful, George’s errant mind informed him. He pushed the thought away, but the urge to take the young woman into his arms lingered.

  George drew in a breath and walked in. He cleared his throat as he did so to announce his presence. When she looked up, he gave her a smile. “And how are you feeling?”

  “Do you ever get tired of asking me that?” Miss Morton’s tone was teasing, and her smile was so sweet that George instantly forgave the teasing.

  George chuckled. “No. It is my job.”

  “Well, I am feeling just fine.” Miss Morton’s head was held high as if she expected him to attack the truth of her words.

  George smiled and asked, “Are you now?”

  “Perhaps a bit sore, but truly, I am fine.” Miss Morton gave a little shrug with her shoulders, lovely and delicate shoulders hidden under her green dress. The material looked soft, touchable.

  George took his mind away from the woman’s dress. “How about we talk while you play?” George sat down on the bench beside Miss Morton, which held ample space but still felt far too intimate. He held to his decision and nodded toward the keys.

  Miss Morton gave a nod. George wondered if he had just imagined the reluctance. Her fingers traced the keys as if pondering where to start. “Have you had any further memories?”

  She shook her head. “No…”

  The way her voice trailed off caught George’s attention. “Is something bothering you?”

  “Of course not,” Miss Morton said with a smile that was just a touch too bright to be believed.

  George put his hands on the bench and turned his head to the side to eye her with interest. “Confession is good for the soul, Miss Morton.”

  “Are you a priest too?” Miss Morton’s face held amusement.

  He gave a laugh. “A doctor is not that far removed from a priest at times.” George sighed. “If something is weighing on you, then you should say what it is. It might get in the way of your memories being recovered.”

  She chewed her lip as her hands sank back into her lap, the music forgotten for a moment. “It is probably nothing. Some silly thing in my broken brain.”

  “Your brain is not broken and if it is upsetting you this much then I doubt it is silly,” George assured her.

  She shook her head and turned toward him on the bench. She whispered, “It is about my betrothed.” George nodded and she continued, “I cannot place what is wrong, but I just feel something is amiss with Lord Ridlington.” Her voice cracked with the emotion behind it. “I find that I do not want to marry him.”

  George eyed her for a long moment. He could see her self-doubt bubbling up to the surface as she started to turn away. George put his hand gently on her shoulder to stop her. “Do not take my silence for judgment, Miss Morton.”

  “What should I take it for then, Doctor Rowley?” Miss Morton watched him with those stormy sea eyes of hers. Those eyes pleaded with him for truth and comfort.

  George hesitated before he said, “I do not think that you should marry blindly. If you are not sure of things, then you should not marry him.”

  Miss Morton seemed closer. They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, George could take the urge in his blood no longer and he reached out to Miss Morton. She came into his arms willingly, and George found himself kissing her.

  What surprised him was that she kissed him back as eagerly as he kissed her. Her hands were on his back as if pleading for him to stay close, and George had no will to fight. He held her close to him and kissed her thoroughly.

  George heard a noise. Footsteps, his brain informed him. It was like ice water being thrown over him and George was on his feet so swiftly that Miss Morton nearly fell forward.

  She gave him a look that he could not read. George smoothed down his vest as the door to the library came open and Gwen came in. “Gwen,” Miss Morton said, as she patted her hair, even though it was still all perfectly in place.

  Gwen gave her mistress a smile. “Indeed, it is me. Came to see about your tea. Shall ya be taking it in here?”

  “Yes, that will be fine,” Miss Morton said. Did George just imagine the relief in her voice?

  Gwen dipped into a curtsey and gave George a bob of her head before she turned on her heel and left. Her presence and then her absence left a gaping silence hanging in the air. George cleared his throat but could think of nothing to say.

  He had done such an atrocious thing that he could think of no way to save face for it. What had he been thinking? The truth was he had not been thinking.

  “I do not know what to say,” Miss Morton said into the silence between them.

  George shook his head. “I should apologise.”

  “No,” Miss Morton said quickly, so quickly that George was taken aback by it. “Why would you apologise? Did I not lean into your embrace?”

  “Miss Morton,” George said with a sigh. “I am a doctor. You are my patient.”

  She nodded. “That is very true, but we are also just people. A man and a woman. I am not saying that I am proud of how I behaved, Doctor Rowley, but I will not deny how I feel.”

  “What are you saying?” George put his hand on the piano as he eyed her carefully.

  Miss Morton’s eyes looked right through the pitiful wall of propriety that he strove to build around himself. The sea of her eyes washed in through the cracks and he could not deny the truth there. She whispered, “Do you really think that I should not marry Lord Ridlington?”

  George nodded slowly. “I think that you deserve to be happy, Miss Morton. Whatever form that takes, you deserve it.”

  “You are a good man, George,” Miss Morton said. The use of his given name clearly caused her amusement, and George had to smile back at her for it.

  George nodded. “I sometimes wish I were a better man.”

  “Saint Doctor Rowley,” Miss Morton teased. Her hand patted the seat next to her, but George hesitated to accept the offer.