Page 57 of The Mistletoe Countess
Her thoughts clung to the truth.Hope in God.Perhaps God was using these lonely moments to remind her that He was enough and that He’d made her just as she was, for His glory. Even if she’d never know which shoes to wear with a summer suit!
She drank in the sight of the beautiful old church. Its vine-covered rock walls and stained glass nestled between mature trees welcomed her with a sweet reminder—God was here, no matter where she moved among the world.
He was everywhere. Certainly He could help her find where she belonged.
“I hope you’ll allow me to play escort, my lady.” Blake came up behind her and tipped his head in her direction, offering his arm to walk.
“I didn’t know you were attending church with us this morning, Mr. Blake.”
“I’m a regular church attender, Lady Astley.” He tugged at his collar and shot her a wink. “But I usually arrive late and leave early. Too many marriageable ladies desperate to entrap a single man.”
Grace’s smile bloomed for the first time that morning. “I can think of worse places to find a future bride than in church.”
Blake shook his head, feigning a grimace. “Not to contradict your ladyship, but I’ve yet to find a perfect combination of devout, engaging, and somewhat easy on the eyes, present company excluded, of course.”
“I see where the direction of my prayers for you must go in the future.”
“Please allow me at least another year before you begin such entreat-ies, if you don’t mind. I’m inclined to appreciate my current status for a bit longer.”
It felt good to laugh.
“I hear you are in charge of decorating Havensbrooke for Christmas.” Blake’s brows rose in question.
“I am. Brandon and Mary searched for as many ornaments as they could find within the recesses of the house yesterday. And Elliott is helping me gather garland.” It had all been a very good distraction until lunch with Lady Moriah. “I just have to find a tree.”
“Might I offer a suggestion?”
“Please.”
“When I would spend time at Havensbrooke as a child, Grandfather would take us to the vista to locate a proper tree for the house. We never failed to discover an excellent choice.”
“The place where Frederick used to go with his grandparents?”
“Exactly.”
“Thank you for the advice, Mr. Blake.” Grace squeezed his arm. “And the company.”
Morning birdsong and the din of voices from the church ahead quieted their walk. The morning chill in the air held the scent of snow.
“I know it’s been a rough go since you arrived. And Lady Moriah, the dowager,” he corrected while covering her hand on his arm, “she brings more storm than sun into everyone’s lives. But Freddie will do right by you. He may not have his best foot forward in the beginning, but he’ll find the steps soon enough.”
Grace turned her attention back to her husband as he helped his mother through the church’s entry. Grace didn’t question his goodness, only his absence. And perhaps his priorities—especially since she didn’t seem to be part of them. “I want things to go well between us, Blake. Truly.”
His gaze softened into uncharacteristic sincerity. “I know you do, and so does Freddie, once he takes a hard look at things. To be honest, he’s rather dumbstruck by you.”
“By me? What on earth do you mean?”
“Your generosity of heart is an anomaly to a man who has always had to prove himself to the people who should have loved him best, only to have them reject him.” Blake gestured forward with his chin. “Freddie and Havensbrooke, they’re a lot alike, if you think about it. Both left to the weeds of the world and in need of patience and a tender hand to help them bloom again.” He wiggled his brows. “They may even need some unexpected creativity too.”
Her gaze followed his to the pair disappearing into the church. Tending hearts? What a beautiful idea.
She offered Blake a grin. “My good Mr. Blake, if I didn’t know better, I’d take your statement as almost sentimental.”
“Nonsense. A quote from the paper or some such, but regardless, Lady Astley, I have every faith in you. Weeds will have no power against your sunshine.” He tipped his hat and paused at the church door. “Now I shall leave you to meet the honorable Reverend Marshall.”
He spun away, nodding to a man wearing a white cassock and black preaching scarf as he passed.
“Lady Astley, welcome to St. James.” The reverend bowed his bald head in deference. “We are delighted to have you in Astlynn Commons.”
