fingers. “How on earth did you get to such a place? You barely know this girl.”
“I realize that. I didn't want to do it this way. The initial attraction was…
promising. I wanted to get to know her slowly. Court her. Marry her when the time was right, maybe in a year or so,” Christopher explained.
“That would have been the better way,” his father said dryly, one eyebrow winging toward his hairline.
“It couldn't be,” Christopher insisted. “I know she looks all right now, but you should have seen her yesterday. You should see what's under her dress. He
damn near killed her, Father. I'm not exaggerating that it was a matter of life and death. The beating she took to the belly alone could have been fatal, not to mention if one of the wounds on her back festered…” Christopher shuddered.
“She does not look all right now,” Adrian retorted. “She looks injured.”
“She is,” Christopher agreed, “but she's better than yesterday.”
Adrian frowned.
You can't hide it, you tender-hearted old man. It bothers you too. Where do
you think I learned my virtues from?
Then, with a sigh, Adrian shook off his dark contemplation. “Well, I can see
there's no undoing it. You're married, and, from the way you look at her, I would
guess, fully consummated as well.”
Christopher met his father's eyes with a challenging stare. “Yes.”
“So, there's nothing to do but move forward. How do you plan to turn a rescue into a marriage?” his father asked him, unfazed by his son's aggression.
Christopher flopped back against the chair. His port sloshed in the glass. “I'm
not really sure.” The sense of bewilderment he'd experienced earlier washed back over him. He took a sip of his drink and added, “I would appreciate some
advice.”
Adrian thought for a moment and then compressed his lips. “I don't know if I
have any to give. It seems to me that gratitude is not enough of a basis for a vital relationship.”
“No. I don't want us to remain mired in this sorrow forever.”
“Naturally.” Adrian pondered some more. “This thought occurred to me.
She's certainly not used to expressing her feelings or asking for what she wants,
so you run the risk of developing congenial parallel lives that don't touch each other.”
“How dreadful. I don't want that. How do I become… real to her?” He had
been toying moodily with his glass, but now he met his father's eyes.
“I don't know,” his father replied, blunt as always. “I suppose you're going to
have to observe her closely. She won't ask for anything, so you have to figure out
what she needs. It will be difficult, but if you don't do it, I'm rather sure she will withdraw from you and just live inside herself for the rest of her life. You'll need
to draw her out gently and slowly, so she doesn't panic. In short, son, you've undertaken a monumental task. I hope you're up to the challenge.”
Christopher rolled his eyes toward heaven. “So do I, Father.”
CHAPTER 9
“Y ou're not upset, are you, Mrs. Bennett?” Katerina asked as she
settled onto the bench of the harpsichord in the Bennetts' music
room. This room is my favorite in the house, the one where I feel
most comfortable.
“Upset, Katerina?” her mother-in-law replied, sinking onto the settee.
“About what? And please do not call me Mrs. Bennett. It's your name too now,
