“And she definitely received my note?”
“Of course.” McKinley looked at him with something like pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hale. This must be very hard for you to accept.”
What, that his wife had left him? That he now had to track her to England’s capital? He shook his head, still feeling a measure of strange reluctance to believe such a thing of Julia. Had she indeed left him, or was it easier to believe that his friend could look him in the eye and lie so blatantly? He pushed away the plate, unwilling to be indebted to the other man for a second longer.
“Like I said, my friend, I’m very sorry for you. You seem to have had a rough time of things.”
Thomas gave a bark of laughter. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
But something about the widened eyes, the pity he could see lurking there, made Thomas reluctant to share all his suffering. In fact, for a moment, it seemed as if a look of satisfaction had crept onto McKinley’s rather toad-like face. But why would his old comrade be glad about Thomas’s present suffering? They had served together, had been brothers-in-arms. He’d always counted him a friend. Could his old friend be lying?
“And when you spoke with her she said nothing of her plans?”
“No. I’m so sorry.” McKinley offered a sympathetic smile. “You plan to find her then?”
“Of course.”
“I, er, hesitate to ask concerning what might be considered something of a delicate matter, but have you enough in the way of funds to ensure your safe arrival?”
“Naturally,” he lied.
McKinley eyed him askance, but said nothing.
Thomas pushed back his chair, muttered something of his obligation and turned away before he said something he would forever regret. But before he could flee, the shorter man was clasping him in an awkward half embrace, patting his back.
“It has been good to see you. For old times’ sake.”
Thomas forced a smile. “And you. Thank you for all that you’ve done.”
“It was nothing.” McKinley offered a bow and a smile, and then his attention was quickly reclaimed by his former associates.
Thomas escaped the room, escaped the weight of obligation and unease, though they hurried his steps as he ventured onto the street. He closed his eyes, drinking in the frigid air, before setting his mind to the onerous task that lay ahead.
This interview had left him with only one choice: he was going to have to track down his wife and get the truth at last. He should’ve known that she would never be content with him. He should never have allowed himself to trust her, to trust that what they had would last. He should never have believed her lies when she said that she loved him.
It was time to learn the truth, one way or the other.
CHAPTER TEN
“JULIA, I REALLY think it is time for us to release dear Henry and Serena from any sense of obligation so they can return north. It has been very kind of them to have you stay, but I believe it is time to return to your family.”
I know, she wanted to say, but refrained. Where would she go? She knew her mother meant for her to return to live at the town house in Portman Square, but something within bucked at the thought of being swallowed up into her mother’s desires once more. It was almost like Mother had forgotten what happened these past months, had forgotten that Julia was a married woman, and someone who might have a mind of her own and independent wishes to fulfill. Even if she lacked the means to fulfill them.
But yesterday had convinced her all the more of the ever-deepening bond between little Charles and Serena. It seemed Henry and Catherine were also aware of Serena’s growing fixation with the child, which no doubt accounted for their shared desire to see Henry and Serena return north. And while Julia was reluctant to inflict pain upon someone who had helped so much, it probably was best that she leave, and probably best she stayed at Mother’s, at least for the short while.
She had wondered at the way Catherine moved, if perhaps her brother was to become a father again. Nothing had been said, but from the secret glances they exchanged with each other she wondered if something might be said soon. And she was sure if something like that was the case, the last thing they needed was a troubled Julia in their midst, especially one with a child who last night seemed to have forgotten how to sleep, and had taken to waking at all hours.
No, the sooner she and Charles left the better.
THE NEWS WAS broached that evening. Henry’s look of relief was quickly replaced by his usual affability. Serena’s face looked rather less than serene, but she, too, managed to assume a social mask. Catherine’s response, however, was the most unexpected.
“Forgive me, Lady Harkness, but I wonder about the wisdom of such a plan. You are very sociable, and your house is often filled with guests. Julia may need some more time before she is introduced back into society, if indeed she would wish to go into society at all.”
“And why would she not?” Mother asked. “She is my daughter after all.”
“Mother,” Jon said in his deep voice, “I think Catherine is right.”
“Of course you do,” was the grumbled response.
“It is not as if we can pretend the last year and a half did not happen,” her brother continued. “People will know what occurred, and there will be questions, awkward questions. I think we need a little more time before Julia has to face such things.”
Julia eyed the table. Did they not realize she was sitting here? That she might have an opinion of her own? Why did everybody treat her as if she were irresponsible?
“It is such a shame that we announced in the newspapers that Julia had lately married and moved to Scotland. If we hadn’t, we could have pretended that the last year or so hadn’t transpired, and have the marriage annulled.”
“But I can’t pretend it didn’t happen,” Julia said loudly. “Nor do I want to. I loved him. Sometimes I think I still do.”
An awkward silence fell, finally broken by her mother’s sigh. “How you can after all he did—”
“And what’s more”—Julia lifted her chin obstinately—“if we pretended the last year had not taken place, then what would that mean about poor Charles?”
Somebody exhaled. Jon frowned. Catherine chewed her lip.
Her mother shrugged. “We could say you are looking after him for a friend.”
Julia gasped. Had Mother suspected? Fortunately, the other occupants of the room suspected a different reason for her response.
“Lady Harkness, you cannot ask a mother to give up her child,” Catherine said.
“It would be unconscionable,” murmured Serena.
“I’m sure I do not want to appear hard-hearted,” said Mother, doing her best to look penitent. “I’m just trying to think of Julia’s best. And with no sign of that scoundrel, one can only assume he is dead. Which is quite the best outcome, I believe.”
A burn began at the back of Julia’s eyes. She wanted to believe the best, that Thomas was out there looking for her, wanting to return. But perhaps thinking he was dead was the best option. At least it would mean she could bury any semblance of hope, and somehow find in her heart a way to move forward.
“Yes, I think it quite the best thing,” Mother continued. “I shall have my solicitors look into whether that man can be declared dead—”
“Forgive me, Lady Harkness, I hate to bring such matters of law into consideration,” Henry said. “But does not the law of Scotland hold that Julia is still married? Forgive me, but I fail to understand how assuming Hale is dead is going to help Julia. He may be dead, but until we are certain, we cannot allow Julia to be thought a widow, for what should happen if he suddenly returns?”
Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I will need to look into this.”
“I believe Julia would be far better off returning to Gloucestershire or even farther afield until she can return to society and not be subject to vicious lies and rumors,” Henry said.
“I agree,” said Catherine, turning to look at Jon. “Jon, perhaps Julia can come and stay with us.”
“Oh, but—”
“Mother, I know you wish to help, but Carmichael raises some valid points. We do not want to court unnecessary speculation if we can avoid it.” Jon turned to her. “Julia, where do you want to live?”
Oh, so they were finally going to ask her? “Thank you for asking my opinion.”
“Now don’t get in a miff. We’re only trying to help you.”
“By managing me?”
“I forgot you don’t like to be managed,” Jon said, a sardonic glint in his eye.
“Do you appreciate the interference of others in your affairs?” she asked him, putting up her brows.
“Nobody does,” said Catherine softly.
“And you forget, Julia, that these matters don’t just affect you. They reflect on the rest of us as well.”
She drew in a deep breath, forced her fingers not to clench. “Then perhaps it would be best if I moved someplace far away where my reputation will have no impact on yours.” Hope lit her heart. “I could be satisfied with a little cottage—”
“You?”
“What is the point in asking me if you don’t want to know my feelings on this matter?”
“How would you afford it?”
“Perhaps if my dowry was released—”
“I utterly refuse to let that man have a penny of your settlements.”
“But, Mother—”
“No. Your removal far away cannot be countenanced. You cannot know what it is like to think your only daughter lost to you.”
Guilt massed again, heavy on her chest, forcing her to aim for a more conciliatory tone. “I am no longer a child—”
“We know that,” Mother interrupted. “We simply care about you, and want to ensure you are safe.”
How could she fight against such concern? Was she so ungrateful? But she could see her future narrowing to only her mother’s and brother’s interests. “I know you care, but sometimes it seems like you have forgotten that I am married—” Their faces blurred. Frustration lashed her chest. Tears would not help her claims of maturity.
Catherine rose and gave her a hug. “I’m so sorry, Julia. Nobody wants to make things more difficult for you. If only we knew where Hale was, then so much would be clearer. But know that you are very welcome to come and live with us, should you wish,” she added in a whisper.
“Thank you,” Julia murmured. She glanced at her mother whose face had tightened with checked anger.
“Don’t look at me like that, my girl. Don’t expect me to rejoice in the fact that my daughter wishes to live far away from me.”
“Mama—”
“And do not ever think I will welcome that man into my home. I would sooner see him hang.”
Her chest constricted. Catherine’s arms tightened. How could Mother be so cruel?
“What would you like to do?” Catherine murmured near her ear.
What she would like to do would be to flee to a cottage by the sea, and live freely with little Charles, and not succumb to any pressure of familial obligation. But such a thing seemed impossible. At least for now.
After a moment to regain her composure, Julia said to the room, “I suppose I shall stay with Mother for the moment”—the words tasted like gall—“at least until circumstances become clearer.” Or until circumstances made it impossible for her to live with her parent.
Amid her mother’s and brother’s vocal approbation, she whispered to her sister-in-law, “But if your offer remains open, then perhaps I will come for an extended visit. We could get to know little Elizabeth better.”
Catherine’s eyes lit. “It would be wonderful for the little cousins to become friends.”
Guilt knotted her heart. One day she was going to have to explain the truth, but not on a day of such drama. She glanced at Mother, whose unyielding look had eased into something approaching taut cordiality. Julia forced a smile. Perhaps staying with Mother would be best, at least for the moment. Besides, she couldn’t really see her husband returning to find her anytime soon.
Thomas’s teeth chattered as he clung precariously to his seat atop the stagecoach roof. He hoped to high heaven he need never travel in such misery again. But the knowledge that he must escape the wretchedness of Scotland and get to London as quickly as he could had led him to once again find what methods he could afford. And he could afford so little, even with the money he’d won in a midnight gambling session, and the mysterious ten pounds he’d found in his greatcoat pocket, a surprising gesture he suspected to be of McKinley’s doing. He had too much pride—or was it too little?—to return to see if his army friend had truly slipped it inside his pocket during their last exchange.
No, he’d needed to leave as quickly—and as cheaply—as he could manage. He had to find her, had to make her understand that he had tried, that he had not abandoned her, no matter what others might say. He had tried to be a good husband. Well, he had wanted to be. He just wasn’t a good husband. Indeed, his actions in recent months had proved he wasn’t any kind of husband at all. For what kind of man abandoned his wife for the lure of gold?
He glanced out across the fields where sheep grazed on lonely moors. He watched a distant shepherd, crook in hand, steer the sheep towards his goal. Never harsh, only gentle. Simply present, not hundreds of miles away. Regrets soared. A shepherd’s role was what he should have assumed, someone guarding his precious lamb, protecting her from the storms of life, guiding her to shelter. His actions were more that of leaving his prize sheep to the mercy of wild dogs, hoping that when he returned after six months that the sheep would remain as healthy and well as when he left it. What kind of man was he? A failure of a husband. A failure as a man.
“Miserable, is it not?” muttered the passenger perched alongside him.
“Indeed.” Thomas agreed with his fellow traveler, a young clerk named Sidden, whose frail frame seemed scarce strong enough to last the miles to the next posting house.
Little wonder he complained. The journey had been punctuated by delays as the carriage had been forced by treacherous mud to slow several times. Steep ascents had more than once necessitated the removal of all passengers and the employment of all able-bodied men in pushing it uphill, activity that had contributed to barked orders, shortened tempers, and mud-bespattered clothes.
Today had proved particularly challenging, as their early rousing from flea-ridden beds was followed by a chorus of complaint about the tepid tea and watery stew offered by the innkeeper eager to hurry them from his premises. As they’d waited in the stable yards, a portly gentleman fussed about losing a piece of gold in the straw-strewn floor, something Thomas was fairly sure he’d seen one of the ostlers surreptitiously bend to collect. Later, the same portly gentleman had eyed his fellow inside passengers warily before making a loud observation that the small boy traveling next to him looked as though he had measles-like spots. That observation was met with black looks and strident disapprobation from the boy’s mother, and their continued sounds of disharmony escaped the window as the miles rolled on. Thomas’s lips twisted. Perhaps there were some advantages to being an outside passenger, after all. Be they few.
Shivers rippled down his spine, and he hunched deeper into the greatcoat, rubbing his gloved hands against his sleeves. He’d heard of men who died of frostbite, some who literally froze to their perch, others who grew so numb that they could hold on no longer and tumbled a great height to the ground—and a broken neck.
But for a man with scarcely a sixpence to scratch with, this was the fastest, cheapest way, a route that—God willing—should see him in London in a few days, and in Julia’s arms shortly thereafter. He clenched his teeth to stop their clatter, and forced his attention back to those thoughts that fueled his purpose.
His first port of call: Henry Carmichael’s town house. He dare not presume to visit Jon Carlew straightaway; far better to find out from someone o
ther than Julia’s brother where she might be. Besides, he had no doubt Jon would refuse to see him, let alone give him any clues as to her whereabouts. Carmichael, on the other hand, might understand; he’d never been quite so exacting in his dealings with people. He’d seemed to understand a man could have flaws—did have flaws. Unlike Jon, whose rigid principles had always made him a little harsher in his judgments, a little less sympathetic towards those he thought lacked moral fiber.
Thomas’s mind flicked back to the last time they had spoken. Two years ago, when he had visited the new Baron Winthrop at his newly inherited Winthrop Manor. Thomas had murmured something about desiring to marry, and Jon had laughed at him. Laughed at him!
“You?” How well he remembered the contempt curling Jon’s lip. “I cannot conceive why you would wonder at a man’s hesitation in wanting to recommend someone in his care to your protection.”
The attitude, so reminiscent of his father’s, had stung. Then when he’d questioned Thomas’s sense of honor …
The old indignation surged. He’d vowed in that moment to prove his friend wrong. Wooing Julia had not been revenge; he had enjoyed her company, her spark of mischief one he could well understand. He knew too well what rigid strictures did to a young person’s soul, how it made them want to escape the confines of their life and discover what lay beyond what they’d always known. In Julia, overprotected, shielded Julia, it had not taken long to recognize the same sense of adventure he possessed, that spirit that had led him to join the army as soon as he was sixteen, then taken him to India when others sought glory on European battlefields. He’d had a wonderful time there, something he’d once imagined might even appeal to the woman he loved. But when he’d mentioned it to her she’d merely laughed, and said it seemed an impossible dream.
Well, perhaps it must always be so, a glimmer of hope from his past, something he could look back on to remind himself he’d once been braver than the man whose face he saw in the looking glass. But regrets also lived in the past. Too much time dwelling there and he would be tying himself in knots, wondering, despairing. Far better to focus on the future, on what could be done, on what yet needed to be done.
The Making of Mrs. Hale Page 9
