The Bishop's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

the daughter of a bishop.
    "Oh, no, Papa," Kate said. Harry, after his own fashion, had ever behaved like a gentleman.
    "You have developed a preference for this young man?" The bishop asked.
    Kate blushed. "I—I enjoy his company." It had been a mild way to express the whirlwind effect that Harry frequently had upon her heart.
    But even that admission was enough to bring a worried frown to Papa's brow, which Kate hated to see. The bishop had looked tired and ill so much of late.
    Papa settled back in his chair, trying to suspend his judgment, waiting for Kate to explain what qualifications Harry possessed to make him suitable as a husband.
    Kate knew her father well enough to realize he did not mean worldly possessions such as title or fortune. She stared down at the floor, embarrassed. What could she say, that Harry was like rays of sun streaking through a gray sky, that he could always make her laugh, that being with him was like waltzing through a world that was all holiday. Such fanciful considerations would not weigh with Papa, even as Kate knew she must not allow them to weigh with herself.
    When she remained silent, her father began to patiently point out his own reservations. The bishop was never one to visit the sins of the father upon the child, but it was well known that old Lord Lytton, Harry's father, had been a man of great wickedness, steeped in vice. He had led his son down the same path, gaming, hard drinking and indulging every wild sport while all duty had been set aside.
    But Papa said nothing that Kate's own sensible mind had not already told her. Indeed, Lord Harry was too irresponsible and too reckless to make a proper mate for a bishop's daughter. She and Harry were too unlike, coming from two very different worlds.
    To have accepted Harry would have been to disappoint and worry her father, at a time when he was already seriously ill. She had tried to explain all that to Harry, but he would not understand. His comprehension was limited to one question. Did she love him or not?
    Kate had made up her mind that she could not possibly love Harry, but she never realized what self-possession it would take to look him in the eye and tell him so.
    I don't love you, my lord.
    Could she have ever pronounced those words if she had not distanced herself from him by using his title? Even now Kate was not sure. Harry had not noticed her avoidance of his name. There had only been a flicker of something in his eyes. Disappointment? A deeper pain?
    He had not behaved as though his heart was broken. If anything he had been more talkative, more teasing than ever escorting her back to the carriage. It had been the last time she had ever seen him. Perhaps Harry had been relieved himself by her refusal, finally realizing how wise she had been.
    Then why didn't she feel wise? Kate thought bleakly, standing here on Harry's hillside, waiting for his memorial to be unveiled and her throat burning with unshed tears.
    She took little notice when a tall man shouldered his way past her. The sound of the vicar's voice droned on as though from a great distance. Would Adolphus Thorpe never make an end? Kate swayed on her feet, only wanting this ordeal to be over before she utterly disgraced herself.
    When the memorial was unveiled at last, Kate spared the statue one brief glance. A hot blush stole into her cheeks as she averted her gaze. What an outrage! What an affront to Harry's memory.
    But suddenly, so clearly in her mind, she could hear the echo of Harry's teasing voice, almost feel him chucking her playfully under the chin as he had been wont to do. "Come, Kate, smile. You take things much too seriously."
    The recollection was so vivid, it nearly brought the tears spilling over at last. The statue was horrid. But how Harry would have laughed! She could almost hear him. . . .
    It took Kate a few seconds to realize the deep booming sound was not a product of her mind. Someone actually was roaring with laughing.  It was the tall