return.”

“You will someday when you're better.” He patted her shoulder reassuringly.

“Will my heart ever heal?” she asked in a weak, faltering voice.

“If you want it to, if you pray and try with all your might to trust, to let go of

the past, you can grieve for a season, and then begin to improve. I've seen it.” He

seemed to consider for a moment. “Have you ever been loved?” he asked at last.

“Before my mother's death, she loved me.” For a moment, Katerina could

have sworn that warm, soothing arms wrapped around her.

“Then there's hope,” the bishop said with a sad smile. “Remember her love.

It will show you the way.”

That makes sense, but I'll have to consider it later. I'm at the end of mystrength. “Yes.”

“And it really wasn't Mr. Bennett who hurt you?” he asked again.

“No. It really wasn't,” she choked out.

“All right. You rest then. I need to talk to him and to my nephew. I think, in

the morning, you'll be free of this danger for good.”

“Thank you.” Glad she no longer needed to remain conscious, Katerina

finally passed out.

The Right Reverend William Cary wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and

left her to rest, following his nephew and Christopher to the kitchen. There, he

found James slurping a bowl of soup at the rough-hewn table. Christopher

leaned uncomfortably against the wall between the doorway and the cookstove where the remnants of the bishop’s supper still simmered on a low flame. He stared gloomily into a glass of brandy.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, they both looked up.

“Well?”

“Calm yourself, son,” he told Christopher gently. “I'll issue the license. I'll perform the wedding in the morning. Are you sure you want to do this? She'll be

years recovering if she ever does.”

“And if she dies because I did nothing? What then?” he asked fiercely.

“It's a terrible burden,” the bishop replied, his mouth set in a grim line. “I know exactly how terrible, but we can't save everyone. Laws must be changed first.”

“That will take years,” Christopher reminded him. “So, in the meanwhile, I

can save this woman. Will you let me?”

“Uncle,” James interjected, looking up from his bowl, “listen, I know this girl. I danced with her. I had no idea. I thought she was just shy. Christopher saw

right through it. I think there's something… special between them. Maybe he was always meant to be her savior.”

“Perhaps,” The Right Reverend Cary conceded as he retrieved a dish and

spoon. “He certainly wants to be.”

“Is she all right?” Christopher demanded.

“She's sleeping now. I've left her to it. I'm sure she needs the rest. I've said

I'll perform the wedding, and I will. Here, have something to eat.” He offered the

bowl.

Christopher waved it away. “I'm too upset to eat.”

“Yes, I imagine,” the bishop replied, ladling himself a serving. He took a seat

and regarded Christopher before adding, “You're heroic to try and help.”

The comment stuck Christopher as wrong, setting the pit of his stomach roiling

in disgust. Hero, ha. A real hero would have done something before this happened. “That's not what this is about.”

The Right Reverend Cary rose from the table and crossed the room to clap Christopher on the shoulder. “I know. I hope this fierce attraction and

protectiveness turns into a deep and mutual love someday.”

Christopher met his eyes, sure his anguish was far too visible for comfort. “I

have to believe it.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly. “Yes. Well if you're not going to

eat, put the brandy down. It will do you no good to be hungover for your wedding. Why don't you try to rest a little? I have a guest room made up.”

Christopher sighed deeply. “Very well.”