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C atherine was hysterical, and Morgan knew that no matter what happened to him, he would have justice for her.

"I'm so sorry," she wept. "She is right, I am so awful."

"Do not say that, Catherine. She does not know what she is saying."

"But it is true. That is why you have truly kept me away for so long, is it not?"

"No, it was because of your illness."

"Then let us go out now," she replied. "Take me to the park this instant, for I am no longer unwell."

Morgan shifted uncomfortably, knowing that she had at last realized the true reason for her being kept away.

"Catherine, it is not as simple as that."

"Yes it is. If you are not ashamed of me, and you do not think that I am a burden, then why can I not go outside?"

"Because, I– look, Catherine, I am not ashamed of you.

I love you as if you were my own daughter, but it is dangerous for you to enter society.

You will meet more people like Lady Annabelle, and they will say unkind things to and about you.

Think about how you feel right now. You will feel that way each and every time you step outside.

I have kept you away from it all, not because I do not want them to know you but because I want to protect you. "

She sat quietly for a minute, sniffling, and Morgan wished that there was more he could say. All that he could truly give her was the truth, and it was not the sort of thing that she deserved to hear.

"Thank you, Uncle Morgan," she said gently. "I do not thank you enough."

"You do not need to."

"Yes I do. You did not have to keep me. You could have sent me away to a children's home. Lady Annabelle told me that."

"What else has she told you?"

"That Aunt Dorothy wanted to send me to one, but I did not believe that. Aunt Dorothy likes me. She is my friend."

"She adores you," he agreed. "Lady Annabelle was lying to you, for she never would have done that."

"I am pleased to hear that, because I really like living here. I wish that I was your daughter, then I could have been like all the other little girls."

"You are like them," he protested. "There is nothing about you that makes you any different to the other children in London.

Catherine, I am not going to hide you here for the rest of your life.

I only want to be certain that, when you do go out into society, you are ready for what may come your way. "

She softened, leaning against him. Morgan did not want any more harm to come to her, as she had already been through more than most adults. He wished that he could shield her from every bad thing that existed.

But he could not, and he had to accept that.

After a while, Dorothy entered. She held herself upright for a while, but then she tumbled onto a chaise, collapsing into a heap.

"Aunt Dorothy?" Catherine asked in shock. "What has happened? Are you all right?"

"I am fine," she replied, unmoving. "That was simply a very long and difficult conversation."

"Where is she?" Morgan asked, and she pulled herself into a sitting position.

"She… well, she will not be bothering us again."

Morgan blinked. She was speaking as though threats had been made, and that she had scared Lady Annabelle away from them altogether, but that was not the lady he knew.

Dorothy was not the sort of lady that made such threats as the ones that would have been necessary to make someone as determined as Lady Annabelle leave.

"Is she collecting her belongings?" he asked.

"It would not appear so. I thought you might like to decide what happened with them, for if it were up to me they would all be sold, or perhaps thrown into a fireplace."

He looked at his wife, exhausted from whatever had taken place between herself and Lady Annabelle, and felt a rush of love toward her. He had sworn to protect his family, at any cost, and it was clear that she had done the same. He moved over to her, taking her in his arms.

"Is what happened not for small ears?" he asked, and she nodded. "Very well. Catherine, might you go and see Mrs. Herrington for a while? She has most certainly missed you this last while."

Catherine continued to look at Dorothy warily, as if something was very wrong with her.

"I am fine," Dorothy promised. "Your uncle and I simply need to discuss a few things. I will come and read with you in a while, if you like?"

The little girl nodded, and went to find Mrs. Herrington. As soon as she left, Dorothy sighed and put her head in her hands.

"Dorothy, what have you done exactly?"

"I will tell you, but know that I am not proud of it."

He looked at her uncertainly, but he trusted her. He was also aware that she was a very sensitive lady, one that would more than likely be concerned for Lady Annabelle, in spite of everything that had happened.

She explained everything to him, and as she did so he was more and more surprised. He never would have expected her to say such things, and when she finished she looked at him as though she expected him to chastise her, to be ashamed of her for the way she had acted.

"Dorothy," he said gently. "Dorothy, I think you are the most marvelous woman."

She froze, her eyes wide as she looked at him.

"But I was so unkind to her!"

"Yes, and I will not pretend that she was undeserving of it. After everything that she has done to you, you should have shown her true cruelty. Instead, you carried yourself perfectly. If you are expecting me to be upset about what you have done, then you are very much mistaken."

She exhaled heavily, leaning forward with her eyes closed. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. She had done everything to protect their family, and he was prepared to do anything to protect her in return.

"How is Catherine?" she asked after a while. "It must have been awful to hear something so vile said about you."

"She is fine, though it has certainly given me a lot to think about. I do not want to hide her away anymore."

Dorothy pulled away, sitting up straight and looking at him with determination.

"Very well," she agreed. "I have an idea, but you shall have to trust me."

"I do, more than anyone."

"Good, because it involves a visit to my parents."

He grimaced, not wanting to do that but knowing that his wife would have her reasons.

They took a day to be a family, and it was precisely what they needed.

They enjoyed a picnic in the garden, and laid in the sun for a while.

In spite of what Catherine had been called, she was coping well and had quickly returned to the little girl she had been before.

Morgan marveled at her resilience, and wondered just how she was so grown up.

She had changed so much since he married Dorothy, and he had not noticed until that moment.

"Catherine," Dorothy began gently, "I was wondering if you might like to visit my mother and father tomorrow?"

"I would love to!" she beamed. "Do they… do they know about me?"

"They do not yet, but they shall love you. I have not seen them in a while, and I was hoping that you might like to join us on our visit, as our daughter."

"Your daughter?" she asked, eyes wide. "But they will not believe that."

"I believe that they will, actually. We will see them tomorrow, and then you will see it for yourself."

Morgan trusted his wife, but he was uncertain of what was to come. He had not liked Dorothy's father, and he could not fathom why her mother had never said anything in her defense either. He would have to keep a civil tongue in front of Catherine, but he did not know how he would do that.

Dorothy kept a brave face, but she was deeply concerned about seeing her family again.

A lot had changed since her wedding day, but more than anything she had changed. She was no longer the meek little thing that she once was, but a fierce and loving wife. She feared that, when she saw them, she would go back to the person she was before.

They arrived at her childhood home, and she shivered at the sight of it.

She had not suffered as a child, not truly, but it was strange to see it again.

She set her shoulders back and approached the door, Morgan and Catherine close behind her.

The butler welcomed them in, and led them to the drawing room.

Her parents rose to their feet immediately, having not been expecting them.

"Good morning, Your Grace," her mother said quickly. "Hello, Dorothy. What a pleasant surprise."

"Good morning, Mother, Father. I should have written to you, but I did not think to do so. It is a rather impromptu visit, I will say. I have some news, you see, and I am hoping that you will be pleased about it."

Both of her parents looked at her expectantly for a moment, and then their eyes fell upon Catherine.

"This is Catherine," she explained. "We have adopted her, and she is our daughter now."

Both parents were in shock, that was evident, but they did not seem angry at all. Her mother was the first to move, walking toward the child and smiling gently at her.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," she said gently. "I am so pleased to be your grandmother."

Dorothy stopped herself from breathing a sigh of relief. She looked at her father expectantly, for she was not as certain that he would look upon her as kindly as her mother had. He was a proud man, and given all that had happened with Eleanor she knew that he was stricter than he had once been.

He studied the little girl, and then he knelt down in front of her.

"Do you like to read?" he asked, and she nodded.

"I also enjoy playing music, and speaking different languages. I particularly enjoy French."

"A talented little girl," he nodded. "Well, it is a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to join us for tea?"

They had tea together, and Dorothy watched as her parents spent time with her newly-titled daughter.

There was an apprehension about them, as though they were uncertain of what to do with her, but it was a start.

Morgan squeezed her hand gently, smiling at her.

It had been a risk to introduce Catherine as their daughter, but it was the right thing to do.

She had always been treated as their daughter, and so there was no reason to call her anything else.

They left Catherine with her new grandparents for a while, so that she could show them her skills with the pianoforte, and wandered the gardens for a while.

"I do not know how you coped with this," he joked. "There is hardly anything out here."

"Why do you think I enjoyed learning about plants so much? It was not as though I could look at any of them myself."

"No, I suppose that makes sense. You know, I was considering finding you a tutor, if you wish to have one?"

Dorothy smiled up at him warmly, grateful that he was the sort of gentleman to encourage her, rather than convince her to hide her passions away.

"I would love that," she nodded. "I do not believe that I will ever be satisfied with my knowledge, though."

"Then we shall have a tutor for a long time," he chuckled, turning to her with her hands in his. "I must admit, I was wary about your idea, but you were right. This is exactly what we need to do."

"You need not say that for my sake."

"I am not. There will be people that look upon her differently, and perhaps rumors will stem from her looking like me, but we can overcome that. No matter what anyone says, she is our daughter, and she shall be the most loved little girl in all of England."

He took her in an embrace, and she rested her head against his chest.

"I never could have imagined having such a wonderful marriage," she mumbled against him. "When my father told me he had found a husband for me, I thought the worst. I expected you to be a cruel and frightening beast of a man."

"I have disappointed you in that respect, I hope," he chuckled.

"Indeed you have, for there was nothing I wanted more than to loathe my husband entirely."

"Is that to say that you like me?"

"I would not say that," she replied, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Then just how do you feel about me?" he asked.

"You ask me as if you do not know."

"I would like you to humor me," he said gently into her ear. "You are yet to say the words, and I wish to hear them."

"And what words might those be? I have certainly not heard them from you, and so I could not possibly fathom what they are."

He grinned at her devilishly, and then lifted her up into the air. She shrieked, telling him to put her down, but he simply laughed at her, spinning her around.

"I love my wife," he proclaimed loudly. "My wife is Dorothy Lockheart, and I wholeheartedly adore her!"

"Morgan, stop," she giggled, and at last he relented, placing her back on her feet.

She was dizzy, partly from the spinning and partly from what he had said, but he steadied her, looking deeply into her eyes.

"There," he smiled. "Now it is your turn."

"Very well," she nodded, "though I cannot proclaim it as loudly as you."

"I do not want you to. I want to you to say however you feel, and to do so as it pleases you."

"Good, because I do not want you to think that I feel any less for you than you do for me.

I love you, Morgan. I have for a long time now.

I love that you protect those you care about, I love that you have rescued me from more than you could ever know, and I love that you would do anything to make me happy.

I love you Morgan, more than all the flowers on Earth. "

"All the flowers on Earth?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. "Do not say things that are not true. It is very unbecoming, and–"

She cut him off with a kiss, deep and passionate. His hands fell against her waist, and he returned her kiss with even more enthusiasm.

They left for home that evening, Catherine ecstatic to have even more family than she thought. Dorothy, meanwhile, rested against her husband and thought about how truly fortunate she was to have a family that loved her so much.

As well as one that she loved in equal measure.