Page 142 of The Bachelor Spy
But like a woman who knew she was loved.
And loved in return.
It was incredibly sweet and perfect and exactly as a story should end, Grace thought. Except, perhaps, Gothic stories. Or maybe some horror novels. And biographies rarely ended with such cheerfulness, did they?
“We’re getting married,” Blake said, as casually as if he were discussing the weather.
Frederick choked on his tea. “You’rewhat?”
“Getting married,” Evie confirmed, a hint of color rising in her cheeks. “Assuming we both survive the meeting with Director Lark, of course.”
“Of course,” Blake agreed. He reached over and took Evie’s hand in his. “Survival first, then matrimony. It’s the sensible order of operations.”
“Oh my goodness!” Grace brought her hands together with her laugh. “This is wonderful news.” She looked over at Frederick, who still sat somewhat slack jawed. “Isn’t this wonderful?”
“It’s something,” Frederick said, clearly still recovering from the shock. “Blake, you do realize you’re proposing to marry a woman who shot you?”
“In my defense,” Evie interjected, her eyes alight with humor, “I was aiming for his shoulder. If I’d wanted him dead, he’d be dead.”
“How romantic,” Grace said, delighted. “Like something from a novel!”
“A very strange novel,” Frederick muttered, but his expression had softened. He raised his teacup toward them. “To the happy couple, then. May your marriage involve significantly less gunfire than your courtship.”
“We’re hoping for at least seventy percent less,” Blake said solemnly. “Though Evie refuses to make any promises.”
“If it’s anything like my parents’ marriage,” Evie observed, “the gunfire only escalatedaftermatrimony.”
Grace nearly coughed out her tea.
Frederick froze with his cup to his lips.
And Blake—well, one would’ve thought Evie had spouted poetry, from the look of unveiled adoration on his face.
All right, perhaps it was a stranger novel than usual, but … God wrote all sorts of stories, didn’t He?
Even between spies.
Or between second-choice sisters and second-born earls.
He was in the business of making the most troublesome or heartbreaking or surprising situations turn out in the most unexpected of ways.
For His children’s good.
For His glory.
And for an ultimately beautiful ending.
Her free hand moved to rest on her stomach.
Or perhaps a beautiful new beginning.
Epilogue
Four months later
“Thank you for allowing us to stop over on our way to Scotland.” Stephen Blake drew out the chair for his bride, Evelyn Blake, as they took their seats in Havensbrooke’s dining room.
Grace was particularly proud of her Christmas decorations this year.
