They had both been at hand when I needed them; they had both been watchful since the fire; in their different ways they loved me. Godfrey tenderly, kindly, gently and perhaps dispassionately; perhaps he had chosen me because I would make a suitable wife. And Napier fiercely, possessively, desperately.
“Marry Godfrey,” my head told me. “Go right away from here and forget your nightmares. Live graciously…bring up a family in ideal surroundings…comfortable and easy.”
“But,” said my heart, “this is where you belong.” Nightmares, perhaps. Memories. Devils to fight, his and your own. Pietro to mock you for having once more followed the call of the heart.
And when Napier came to me and took my hands in his, different now, Napier the free man, he said: “Now I suppose you think you should marry Godfrey and settle down in your country vicarage while you await your bishopric. But you’re not going to.” And he laughed and I laughed with him. “You’re going to be a fool, Caroline. Everyone will tell you you’re a fool.”
“Not everyone,” I said.
And I was confident. My heart would always win.