The earl’s brow remained knit a moment longer, as he resumed his seat and glanced at Thomas again. “Lavinia has something of a resolute nature.”
“A wife of resolution is a blessing,” Thomas said, thinking of his own. Would Julia resolve to stay with him, after all that had happened? Conscious the earl still wore a frown, he said, “Lady Hawkesbury has been all consideration.”
“Yes.” Lord Hawkesbury shook his head as if clearing away concern, and said, “And knowing her as I do it probably is best we follow her advice, lest I find myself in trouble later.”
“Heaven forbid,” Thomas murmured.
A smile tweaked the earl’s lips, before his mien took on a more serious aspect. “It would seem that young Smith is prepared to confirm your testimony. My investigator is preparing a written statement as we speak, and I am hopeful that this, along with what those in Scotland have offered, will persuade those in authority to listen to our cause.”
“That is good news.”
“Matters seem to be progressing, at least.” Hawkesbury took a sip of wine and eyed him over the rim of the glass. “Is there any word from Winthrop? He has not returned?”
“Not as yet.” He forced down his apprehension, his great desire to flee the strictures of these walls and find his Julia and ensure her safety once more. But frustration only fueled foolishness, and he would not do anything to jeopardize her safety, or compromise Hawkesbury’s investigation.
“I’m sure he will let us know as soon as he can.” Hawkesbury’s smile glinted. “I’m equally certain that his news could not have been imparted to a more grateful recipient.”
“It would help ease her mind,” Thomas acknowledged. At least, he hoped it would. He could not help but feel hurt that she would so quickly turn to another man for solace. Who was this Amherst person, anyway? So far, Harry’s enquiries had turned up nothing to indicate that he was anything but a neighbor of the Aynsleys, the younger son of an earl. Is that why she had turned to him, for his noble connections? But what if, somehow, he was in the employ of Fallbright …
Dear God, have mercy.
“And how are you feeling today?” Hawkesbury asked, his forehead wrinkling.
Thomas gingerly shifted his right knee. Bit back a curse at the pain. “Things appear to be improving.” Marginally improving, but something was better than nothing.
“Hmm. I may have to see if we can get a doctor to examine you. There might be some exercises that can help.”
“Any help would be welcome,” Thomas said. “Although I feel like I have used up everyone’s generous acts of service already.”
“Nonsense. You should know by now that you are merely a pawn in my game, another reason for me to more fully investigate matters and hopefully see the Foreign Office finally cleared of the corruption I fear exists within its walls.”
“You make yourself sound like an arch manipulator, my lord.”
“I prefer the term tactician.”
Thomas released a chuckle. “Of course.”
Hawkesbury took on a pleased look. “I am glad to see you finally smile. I know matters are somewhat desperate, but I tend to find a measure of humor helps leaven the pain.”
“I agree.”
They continued with their meal, the conversation shifting to other things: political doings, the dissent of workers in the north.
The tablecloth had been removed when the door opened, and a footman announced the arrival of Lord Winthrop.
Hawkesbury instructed a plate be prepared for him, and within the minute, Julia’s brother strode in, his weariness evident in face and posture.
“Any news?”
“They are safe.”
Thomas exhaled. “And Julia?”
“Seems to have suffered no adverse effects from that episode in the park.”
“Thank goodness,” Thomas said, heart easing a mite.
“Thank God,” Hawkesbury said. “And the Amherst man?”
“I visited him as well. He denies having any knowledge of Fallbright and McKinley, and for my part, I am inclined to believe him. It appears that he is truly who Harry says he was: a friend of the Aynsleys.”
Another internal sigh of relief. But while it was good to know Amherst was not part of his attackers’ game, and their plan was not filled with extremely deep subterfuge as he had feared, he still couldn’t help the doubt that asked why Julia had been spending time with the man.
He forced his thoughts to the present, to what still begged to be done. “So, what now?”
“I intend on visiting Fallbright in London, and I’m hopeful that he will release some information about you.”
“And I suppose I stay here again?”
“You cannot afford to be seen, my friend. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go check on my wife.” The earl pushed to his feet, made his bow, and departed, leaving him with Jon.
That man now studied Thomas with a lowered brow.
His skin prickled with apprehension. Why did Jon look so grave? “What is it?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Julia is well, isn’t she?”
The gaze grew hard, arctic. “My mother had something interesting to say.”
Thomas blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “Did she?”
“Yes. She said Julia had been more than a little nauseous of late.”
“Oh. Poor thing.” Regret gnawed at him. If only he had been there to comfort her—
“You seem to be a trifle oblivious as to what this might mean. Perhaps I should make myself clearer. But I cannot decide if I should or not—whether this is any of my business, or if it is something that you should speak of with your wife.”
This last was said with an edge Thomas had not heard since that initial encounter upon his return from Spain. “Perhaps it is best if I speak with her.”
“Yes, I should think there are a number of things you might wish to discuss with her.”
The hard gaze sent a chill up his spine. “What are you implying?”
“My sister mentioned she had recently received another visitor. A Lieutenant Harrow—”
“Harrow? Why, he’s the best of chaps.”
Jon’s brows rose. “Apparently this ‘best of chaps’ spoke of a Spanish woman you were … friendly with.”
Dear God, no. How could Harrow of all people speak of Thomas’s shame?
“Yes,” Jon continued, his gaze narrowed and formidable. “In talking later with my mother I was given to understand that my sister’s husband was less than faithful to her while he was in Spain.” He leaned forward in a sudden savage movement. “Can you deny this?”
Thomas swallowed, forcing himself to meet the censure in his friend’s eyes. “I cannot.”
Jon swore, something which Thomas had never heard him do. “If you were not already injured, I would ensure you received a beating at least as good as what you got up north. How could you betray Julia like that?”
He forced his gaze not to waver, forced the words out, “I have no excuses.”
“No excuses? You just happened to forget your marriage vows and took another woman?”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“No? Then how was it? Not that I really care to know. All I care about is my sister’s well-being, and I don’t mind telling you I think she would be happier in the long term if you truly were dead as everyone supposes!”
The words lashed inside. Jon was right. Thomas was wrong, all wrong for Julia. Hadn’t his actions always proved it?
Jon’s eyes were like granite. “I have promised my help to Julia and Hawkesbury, which I will fulfill. As for you—” He muttered something under his breath. “I cannot abide the thought that my actions will benefit you in any way, but know that I will do all I can to keep her away from you when this is all finally sorted.”
Thomas examined the remains of Jon’s meal on the table. “You were right.”
“About what?”
He lifted his gaze.
“That this is something I should discuss with my wife.”
Jon uttered an expression of disgust and walked out.
Thomas exhaled, sank his head into his hands. Pain heavier than that lacing his body settled in his soul. He could not blame his—former—friend for his words. He could not blame him for his future action. He could only blame himself for his choices, his misdeeds, his sins. The words rang in his head with recriminations.
He was at fault. He was to blame. Julia would be better off without him. Everyone would be better off if he no longer existed. He was a failure. A sinner. An adulterer.
He’d be better off dead.
The words circled the room, encircling his heart, birds of prey seeking to devour.
The knife remained upon the plate. He eyed it, wondering …
“There you are.” Hawkesbury returned to the room. “I thought I heard raised voices, and caught Winthrop as he was exiting.”
So now his one advocate knew his sin.
“He said nothing, save that he needed to leave immediately.” Hawkesbury frowned. “Did something happen?”
“I have … done something to upset him.”
“You? You haven’t left here in days.”
“It happened before, in Spain.”
“I don’t understand.”
Thomas’s gaze lowered to the emptied wineglass, and, half relieved at finally sharing his burden, half despising himself for speaking of something that concerned Julia that he still had not had the chance to speak with her about, he told him.
He finished and awaited the condemnation.
But the earl said nothing.
When he finally braved to look up, Lord Hawkesbury’s face was a picture of concern. “Well?”
The earl shook his head. “You do not need to tell me of your remorse. It is written all over you.”
“I wish I was dead, that Julia could be freed from being married to such a burden.”
“You cannot mean that.”
“I can. I do!”
Silence.
“You can have no idea what it is like to live with regret, to wish the past changed.”
A beat. “You do not know my past.”
“You have not betrayed your wife!”
“But regret is something I am all too familiar with.” Hawkesbury gave a wry smile. “What soldier does not wear some measure of guilt?”
Perhaps. But this felt so much more weighty, so much more critical, than anything he’d faced before. “Jon knows; he detests me. He’s determined not to promote my cause with Julia anymore.”
“That is understandable. He is a loyal brother.”
“He will always despise me.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
Thomas kneaded his brow with his fingers, wishing he could press away his heart pain.
He was a failure. A sinner. An adulterer. What had his father said? Thomas was a wastrel, a blasphemer, a drunkard. A blight on their existence. He’d surely proved a blight on Julia’s existence. He shoved his face into his hands and groaned.
Silence filled the room, despair drowning his heart. Would a merciful God allow him to die?
The earl cleared his throat. “In addition to a loyal brother’s natural indignation, you might make allowances for the fact that he is not familiar with conditions during a war, especially those that pertain to imprisonment and torture.”
“No. He will never forgive me.” He shook his head. “Julia will never …” His eyes burned. He shuddered out a breath. If only he might show her how much he regretted the past, how much he still loved her.
Loved her.
How could the depths of regret reveal the extent of his love for Julia? He knew now, in a way he never had before, just how precious she was. More than just her beauty, he now had new appreciation for a myriad of other qualities: her strength, her compassion, her spirit, all proved in her willingness to care for poor Meggie’s child, and her long and desperate flight from Edinburgh to London. What other woman would have done such a thing?
Then there was her loyalty, which had looked past the months of his absence, had believed him in the teeth of opposition, had wanted him near when he’d fought to clear his name. Would her loyalty, would her love ever extend to the depths of forgiveness demanded by this betrayal of her trust? Could it?
He groaned again. “Dear God, have mercy.”
“Major Hale.”
Thomas shuddered out a breath, pried opened his eyes.
The earl’s gaze was grave. “I do not condone such actions, but I do know that God’s mercy is far wider and deeper than we realize it to be.”
“He can never forgive me.”
“Why? Do you believe your sins to be greater than what God can forgive?”
“Well, yes—no. Perhaps.”
“It may surprise you to know just how many people have thought themselves too sinful for God to ever forgive them.”
“But I am sinful.” His father’s words sang in his ears. He was a wastrel. A drunkard. A blight—
“As are we all. The Bible says no man is perfect, not one. Sins of pride and deceit and envy cast a shadow on our souls just as murder.”
Thomas snorted. “No, they don’t.”
“No? You are like God now, are you? Able to hold the measure of sin and grace in your hands and determine what is sin enough? How wonderful it must be to be you.”
His sarcasm prompted Thomas’s muttered, “Of course I don’t think that.”
“Are you sure? Exactly how bad does sin need to be before it is considered sin?”
Thomas looked away. How bad did sin need to be before it was considered sin?
His father had certainly thought some deeds worse than others, branding Thomas’s sins as wicked in the extreme. And that was before these latest had plunged Thomas into further depths of depravity. And didn’t God hate sinners?
But if what the earl said was true, that God considered every sin equally a shadow, whether it be a lie or adultery, then nobody could consider themselves righteous. Not even Thomas’s own father.
“My friend, we are all in need of God’s forgiveness. And no matter how much we might delude ourselves into thinking we are sinless, we have all done things we know are wrong.”
“Some of us more than others.”
“Some actions will have consequences far more readily known than others may, but it does not change the fact that we have all done wrong. Nor does it change the fact that God still holds out His olive branch to us, in hope that we will find the peace that is only found through Jesus Christ.”
“But—”
“There are no buts, my friend. Even the worst sinner in the world can find forgiveness and reconciliation with God through Jesus.” He smiled. “Ask me how I know.”
Thomas swallowed. “My father believes God hates sinners.”
“The Bible says that ‘God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’” The earl eyed him intently. “God loves you, Thomas.”
“He cannot,” he muttered.
“Are you God? How can you know what He thinks about you?”
“My father was a harsh, tyrannical man, yet had the nerve to preach on Sundays about a merciful God. Merciful? I could not see it.”
“Was your father always right?”
“No.”
“Can you not instead believe what the Bible says? Surely you, a minister’s son, know what the sixteenth verse in the third chapter of John’s gospel says?”
Long ago memories stirred.
“‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ God loved the world, His love for us, before we acknowledged our sin, prompted his sending of Jesus to be the propitiation for our sins.” The earl’s eyes softened. “God is not a tyrant, Thomas. God is love. He did not send Jesus to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him. One simply needs to believe.”
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br /> “I want to believe such a thing is possible, but I cannot think it is that easy.”
“It is not easy, in the sense that believing such a thing is not always simple. But it is easy in that God does not require anything from you other than your belief in Him and what Jesus has done.” The earl smiled. “And are you not tired of trying to do things your way? I know I was.”
Oh, yes, he was tired. So tired. But really, did God truly want this broken mess of a man? “You really think God loves us?”
“Yes.”
“But I’ll never be good enough—”
“And you don’t need to be. Jesus Christ, the only perfect man who ever lived, is good enough for you, for me, for all of us. That’s why He took our sins upon Himself and became the sacrifice God needed to restore relationship between us and Him.”
What a different point of view to that of his own earthly father, whose demands for perfection had led to Thomas’s running away all those years ago. “I don’t need to be good enough?”
“The Bible clearly states that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. But it also says that the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. God doesn’t demand perfection from His children; He knows we are frail. But He does stand with His arm stretched towards us, asking us to trust Him with our lives.” Another smile glinted. “And surely trusting Him has got to be better than whatever efforts we attempt.”
That was certainly true. Thomas’s efforts at righteousness were as foul as that filthy Spanish cell he longed to forget.
“God loves you, Thomas Hale.”
Tears pricked; he blinked them away.
“His Word is true.”
Something sown years ago whispered that this was indeed so.
“God wants you to trust Him. With your life, with your eternity, with your future, and with Julia.”
His spirit tugged. Yes, he wanted to believe. Something within him longed to believe.
“The Bible says that if we confess our sins He is faithful to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. You want to be clean, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said in a broken whisper. The thought of being clean, of not having any stain or blemish caused another heart tug.
“Then ask God to forgive you, and ask Him to be your Lord and Savior, ask Him to guide you into His plans for your life.”
The Making of Mrs. Hale Page 24
