cleric inspired such an enthusiastic flock, gave his attention to the robed forty-something clergyman who took up his position on the steps before the altar, smiled on his congregation, then raised his hands.
“Let us pray.”
Godfrey was only too ready to do so. As the service rolled on, through familiar hymns, lessons, and an engaging sermon, a sense of peacefulness stole over him.
A sense of belonging, of being in the right place and no longer needing to search to find that.
As he rose for the final hymn and, standing beside Ellie and sharing her hymnal, raised his voice to twine with hers, simple pleasure infused him. When the hymn ended, and they sat again, he stole a look at Ellie’s face.
Serene, assured, she was looking at the minister, but she felt Godfrey’s gaze, glanced his way, met his eyes, studied them for a second, then smiled softly and returned her attention to the minister.
Godfrey followed her gaze, yet his awareness had shifted; he looked inward, fascinated by the reality that had taken root within him. He liked it there, sitting beside Ellie as if he were a part of the Hinckley tribe. The family, the Hall, and its household had slipped into his soul and filled a yawning emptiness the existence of which he hadn’t previously understood. He’d always felt that inner emptiness, but until now, he hadn’t appreciated what the feeling stemmed from—a lack of belonging, of not being a vital part of something larger than himself.
If he surrendered to the compulsion that was urging him to pursue Ellie and succeeded in claiming her hand, he could secure and embrace all he’d recently found and permanently eradicate that deep-seated emptiness. That fundamental loneliness.
Yet to have a chance with Ellie, he first needed to successfully negotiate the challenge the Albertinelli represented.
What to do?
As he sat and listened to the minister introduce the final prayer, Godfrey finally grasped the entirety of what hinged on his decision, yet he could still not see the right path forward.
For a moment, his confidence faltered. His gaze came to rest on the minister as he called for bowed heads. Godfrey complied and decided he could do worse than ask for divine guidance.
He emptied his mind and let the words of the prayer flood in. Let the sentiments evoked well and flow through him.
When the prayer ended and the minister raised his hands and spoke the benediction, Godfrey blinked and looked inward again.
He didn’t find any answer waiting, yet despite that, he felt more settled, more certain.
Right and wrong weren’t nebulous concepts but active choices, and he knew which was which.
The service ended, and he rose with the Hinckleys, swapping places with Ellie so he could assist Mr. Hinckley back into the chair that Harry wheeled around.
At Mr. Hinckley’s insistence, Ellie, Godfrey, and Maggie went ahead up the aisle, falling in with the rest of the congregation, leaving Mr. Hinckley, attended by Harry, to talk with Morris and several others who paused to chat.
Feeling significantly more assured, Godfrey smiled charmingly when Ellie introduced him to the minister, Reverend Pearson. After shaking the man’s hand and complimenting him on his sermon, Godfrey offered Ellie his arm. Smiling, she took it, and together with Maggie, they stepped off the porch to mingle with the rest of the congregation on the snow-dappled lawn.
At Ellie’s direction, they strolled to where several couples were exchanging news. She was plainly well-known and was greeted with warmth and with interested and curious glances directed at Godfrey. She introduced him as a gentleman from London come to assist with a business decision of her father’s. Godfrey smiled and played to that role.
Glancing back at the church door, he saw Morris exit and stride purposefully away.
Godfrey bent and whispered in Ellie’s ear, “Morris just left. Should I go and help with your father?” There was a single step down from the porch to the lawn.
Ellie shook her head. “No need. Harry’s with him—they’ll manage.”
Godfrey inclined his head in acceptance and returned to the fray, answering a local lady’s question regarding what plays were currently exciting attention in the capital.
A moment later, he glanced back at the church—to see Harry wrestling with his father’s chair. The rear wheels had gone over the edge of the porch easily enough, but had bogged in the slushy snow.
Before Godfrey could move, the gentleman who had sat beside Morris strode out of the church, checked when he saw Harry, Mr. Hinckley, and the chair, and after a fractional hesitation, went to