The Making of Mrs. Hale

by Carolyn Miller

  “Forget him,” Hawkesbury said. “My men outside will give chase. I think there might be a few people more interested in having a chat with the colonel there. Perhaps he might be able to explain what he was doing with such a villain.”

  Harry cleared his throat. “A chat isn’t the only thing one might wish to happen with the colonel.”

  Hawkesbury’s smile glinted, but he said, “I think it best to respectfully request the colonel to attend the office of Lord Bathurst with me. I am sure he would like to understand why one of his men has been engaged in activities that reek of corruption. Perhaps, General, as you were witness to a particular conversation concerning a threat against me, you might be willing to attend as well? Major Hale, I’m sure you would also have some interesting things to contribute.” He glanced around the room again. “My apologies, gentlemen, for interrupting your afternoon in such dramatic fashion. I’m sure you understand my desire to see an innocent man spared.”

  There was a chorus of approbation, and Thomas was struck by the number of people who seemed genuinely pleased for him. It seemed that Fallbright was an unpopular figure, his exit from the room being treated with the ultimate of put-downs, as man after man turned their back on him as he was escorted past. By contrast, Thomas’s flight to the border seemed to have been forgotten, as his limped passage to the door was accompanied by many of the gentlemen members who shook his hand or murmured encouragement.

  When he attained the entrance, the doorman was waiting for him, his widened eyes and doffed cap telling Thomas he had certainly risen in his standing at least.

  “Ah, Major,” said Hawkesbury, from beside his curricle. “I hope you will not find it too challenging to continue with proceedings for a little while longer. I do not wish for today to place too much of a strain upon you, but I’m sure you are as keen as me to see matters resolved as quickly as possible.”

  His mind flashed back to an offer made several months ago. “I know of some others who might be willing to testify about this man’s corruption.”

  “Excellent! Who are they?”

  Thomas reminded him about Harrow and Smith.

  “Of course.” Hawkesbury assisted him into the curricle, and they followed the hackney which contained the general and Harry, who were keeping careful watch on the vehicle’s other occupant, Colonel Fallbright.

  “Things did not go quite as we planned,” Hawkesbury said, snapping the reins gently. “It appears McKinley evaded capture, but I have every confidence he will be found soon. But as Fallbright is our main suspect, I think we have done well. I confess that I was a little perturbed to receive McHendricks’s summons to White’s, but really, such a public dressing down could not have been more perfectly placed than at the club where England’s peers are guaranteed to talk.”

  Thomas chuckled. “And there I was, praying that God would keep me from being recognized.”

  “God answers our prayers in the way He sees fit, which is far better than what we ask or imagine. Tell me, how did the general get involved?”

  Thomas explained, to the earl’s low whistle.

  “I was not aware that you knew him, but how wonderful that he was there at that precise moment.”

  “One could almost say providential,” Thomas murmured.

  “One could,” said the earl with a laugh, before giving Thomas a sideways look. “And if God can do miracles with this situation, what is to say He will not provide another of a more personal nature?”

  Thomas swallowed, nodded. God help him trust that His love would extend that far, too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Cambridgeshire

  Two days later

  “… AND THAT IS what happened.”

  Julia released breath that seemed to have been held for years. “And this Fallbright person is behind bars?”

  “He is awaiting trial, but it would appear that imprisonment is a certainty,” Jon continued.

  “And Thomas is safe?”

  Jon shrugged.

  Her heart clenched. Somehow, his dismissive action hurt her like a pressed bruise.

  “And Lord Hawkesbury?”

  “He plans to drive over here in the next day or so.” He seemed to hesitate, studying her, his frown creasing perceptibly.

  “What is it, Jon?”

  “Forgive me, but have you made any decisions about your future?”

  “I told you, until I speak with Thomas I can promise nothing.”

  He shook his head. “Just don’t let him deceive you.”

  Her heart caught. “Is he coming, too?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Oh.” She turned away, so her brother would not see the trepidation his words provoked. Yes, she longed to see Thomas, but what would he say? What should she say? After so many weeks apart it seemed almost like they would meet for the first time. Only this time there was so much uncertainty, things to explain, things to confess …

  Like a baby.

  She placed a hand to her mouth, and moved to a seat.

  “Julia? Are you well? I hope this news isn’t too much of a shock.”

  “It … it is a little startling, that is true, but I am glad for everyone’s sake that matters seem to be resolved.”

  “I think we have a lot to thank Lord Hawkesbury for. There is talk in town that he will be given some new role in the Cabinet.”

  “Really?”

  “Apparently Lord Bathurst says he is just the man we need, someone of principle and action, who is not afraid of hard work or of taking responsibility to see a matter brought to its right conclusion.”

  “Well, that is good, I suppose. I wonder how Lavinia feels about such things?”

  “I believe she will be more than a match for the challenge. Hawkesbury chose well.”

  The implication being that she had not.

  Julia nodded, looking away through the door to where Crabbit was pushing little Charles in a baby carriage. Jon’s comments suggested that Thomas had been something of a hero—not that Jon would ever admit to such a thing. And despite his very obvious flaws, she couldn’t help but wonder: was she someone for whom it could be said that Thomas had chosen well in a wife?

  She was not heroic. She was not very clever with people or with conversation. In fact, the only thing she was good at was holding on to hope that she and Thomas could somehow see this marriage work out for good. Even if everyone around them seemed to wish otherwise.

  AFTERNOON SUNSHINE DRIFTED across fields white with snow. Outside was all slow calmness. Inside impatience writhed. Her brother’s words from yesterday had commenced a slow torment. How long now? Would Thomas come? What would she say?

  Gradually she became aware of a cry coming from the room next door. Julia forced herself to wait a moment, but when the cries did not cease, she tapped on the door and entered.

  Crabbit looked exhausted. “Oh, Miss Julia. I’m afraid Master Charles seems a trifle fractious. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “It is no bother,” she said, plucking him from the nursemaid’s arms. Attending to the child would provide distraction from her fears. “I’ll take him downstairs with me.”

  “Oh, thank you, miss. You are very good.” She frowned. “If you are sure he’s not too heavy?”

  “I will manage,” Julia assured her.

  She took him down to the small drawing room, the effort such that she needed to take a seat. “You are not so very little anymore, are you?”

  Charles gurgled at her, the sweetness of his dimpled smile drawing her own.

  Or perhaps it was just the fact that her lap seemed a tiny bit smaller than it used to be. She did not like to think just how big she could get, not when it was still early days, and she had been busy casting up her accounts each morning. But apart from Mother, nobody else seemed to know, although she wondered if Crabbit suspected, judging from her comment earlier.

  “Charlie, my little love. About to enjoy your first Christmas.” She cuddled him close, thinking of the gaily
wrapped gifts abandoned in their sudden flight from London. Catherine had promised the day after tomorrow would still be special, but how could it be, when so much remained uncertain?

  “Oh, Charlie.” He reached out to touch her face with his fingers, his dark eyes serious. Her heart panged. Poor Meggie. How sad she had not lived to see her child grow. “What are we going to do with you?”

  But what to do with him had become a question that refused to leave. She could only hope and pray that Thomas would understand what she had done, and be willing to raise him as their own. That was, if he could ever admit his sin, and she could ever forgive him.

  She lifted Charles to her shoulder, caressed the coppery curls, and kissed his plump little cheek.

  “That is a charming sight.”

  Julia glanced at the door, her pulse increasing to a rapid tattoo. “Thomas!”

  “Hello, Jewel.”

  Her heart caught as he limped toward her. Limped. Like an old man. Like an old broken man. “Oh, my goodness! I cannot believe—oh, how dreadful!”

  His lips twisted wryly. “Is it that bad to see me?”

  Breath caught on a sob as she placed little Charles on the rug and rushed to Thomas, wrapping him in her arms. For a moment, he seemed to teeter, then his arms encircled her. She closed her eyes, breathing in the old familiar scent of him, feeling his arms wrap tighter, his lips in her hair. Oh, how sweet it was to be reunited at last! How wonderful to know he was safe, even if, in that earlier glimpse he seemed almost frail. But still, he was here, his heart thumping reassuringly against her ear.

  “Darling Julia, how I’ve missed you.”

  “And I, you.”

  His arms released, he edged back, as his eyes—dark, soulful, yet somehow brighter than she remembered—drank her in. “I love you so much.”

  Her heart missed a beat. His words held a measure of reassurance, something she had not heard before, something that made her believe his love had somehow deepened these past weeks.

  And he tilted her head back, and leaned closer until his lips slowly, determinedly, possessed hers. Leaving her senses reeling, her thoughts scattered, her heart pounding. He held her like she was treasured, like she was precious, like she was everything he’d ever wanted, the only woman—

  But wait.

  She pulled away with a gasp. He had held another in his arms, had kissed another woman, had been intimate with someone else. She wrenched from his arms, and took several steps back, her chest heaving as she fought to find breath. “No. No.”

  His eyes shadowed, disappointment lined his face, wariness filled his features. “Julia, please—”

  “How could you?”

  “Please let me explain.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I thought seeing you would fix everything, but it doesn’t, it can’t, it won’t!”

  “Julia—”

  “I cannot help but picture you with someone else, kissing her …” Her heart wrenched. Moisture gathered in her eyes. “I trusted you.”

  His face seemed to suddenly age. “I’m so sorry. You will never know …”

  The ragged note in his voice, the glistening of his eyes—was it tears?—momentarily checked her anger. Was he truly holding back tears? The poor man—

  But no! She was the one sinned against, the one he had wronged. The resentment flared. “How could you do that to me? How can you say you love me when you did that with her?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  Her fingers clenched. “Then what was it like?”

  “Julia, please, let us talk about this later—”

  “How can I believe you? How can I believe anything you ever say?” Her voice was shaking. Blinking away the tears, she took two steps closer and hit his chest. “I hate what you did.” Another whack. “I hate you!”

  As the words echoed around the room he seemed to sag. For a moment she thought she saw his lips tremble. Then, in a broken whisper, he said, “Please forgive me.”

  The words pushed against her resentment, halting the invective that longed to flow. She eyed him. Who was this man? He seemed so broken, so different from what she remembered. She turned and picked up Charles, held him close, and finally dared to glance up.

  The door opened, and Lord Hawkesbury swept into the room. “Ah, Major Hale, there you are, and with your lovely wife and son. Mrs. Hale, how are you?”

  Julia blinked, working to get her bearings, as she dipped a flustered curtsy. “My lord! G-good afternoon.”

  “I’m sure it is a good afternoon, now your husband has returned.”

  Her smile grew strained as she murmured something noncommittal.

  “I hope you’ll forgive the interruption, heaven knows I’ve no inclination for being any kind of intrusion, but I cannot stay long, and I wanted to ensure you were appraised of all the facts.”

  “The facts?” she repeated.

  “Yes. I wanted you to know that the prime minister considers your husband to have proved quite the hero.”

  “Lord Liverpool said that?”

  “Indeed, he did, not a day ago.”

  “Oh!” She glanced at Thomas, who looked far from heroic with his downcast mien. Her heart wrenched again. She hardened herself, her gaze returning to the earl. “Thank you for coming to tell me.”

  “I wanted to ensure your husband arrived safely. He holds much courage, but I’m afraid I’ve rather wearied him in recent days, what with various interviews and matters concerning government and the like. To come here and have the opportunity to congratulate you on your husband’s success was simply an additional benefit.”

  She nodded, yet confusion remained. Did he not know what her husband had done?

  His expression gentled. “I know he has been looking forward to seeing you again. The doctor believes his determination to protect you a key factor in his recovery. It seems he loves you very much.”

  Her throat filled; she could say nothing.

  “In fact, I have it on good authority he has been dreaming about seeing you again.”

  She was surprised at the need to blink away the sudden tears. “H-how can you know that, my lord?”

  “As you likely know already, he mutters in his sleep.” He grinned. “When your husband was in the infirmary his midnight prattle became a source of much fascination among the nursing staff in Edinburgh.”

  “Really?” She eyed Thomas as his cheeks reddened.

  “I am reliably informed that yours was the name that brought great comfort,” the earl continued.

  “My lord—” Thomas interposed.

  “You should tell your wife all that I told you about such things. I believe you will find that truth will set you both free.” The earl smiled. “Now, I must away and return to my own hearth. If I leave now I should make home tonight. I know Lavinia will wish to add her good wishes to mine as to your continued healing and good health.”

  As Thomas shook his hand and murmured of his tremendous obligation, Julia’s heart continued its wrestle. How could this honorable man hold Thomas in esteem? It did not seem right, or fair. Didn’t he know what Thomas had done?

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Hale.” He bowed to her curtsy. “I hope and pray your reunion will be all that Thomas has dreamed it may be, and that God will guide and bless you both in your marriage.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And Hale, if I can be of service, you need only ask. Again, good day, and my best wishes for the season.”

  He exited, leaving her to stare wide-eyed at Thomas. “Does he know anything about your indiscretion?”

  Fatigue washed across his face. “He knows, Julia.”

  “And still he can say such things?”

  Thomas closed his eyes, and for a moment she thought he was going to crumple. She took a step toward him, then hesitated.

  “Julia—” He opened his eyes, eyes darkened by disillusionment. “I love you, but I understand you might not believe that right now. Please, I know we need to talk, but at this mo
ment I am so weary I doubt anything I say will make sense.”

  Remorse crossed her heart. Indeed, he seemed near exhaustion.

  “I know your brother resents me being here, and I am quite prepared to endure his and your mother’s hostility, but right now, all I want to do is go to sleep.”

  Compassion chased her earlier resentment. “Of course. I will see that a bedchamber—”

  “You would not consider—? No, of course not.”

  She swallowed. “I … I cannot think about … such things yet.”

  Wryness twisted his lips. “I can assure you I have no thought of such things, either.” His eyes closed, and again he seemed close to collapse before he jerked himself upright again. “Anywhere will do.”

  The disillusionment shading his eyes stole beneath her defenses, inducing her to say, “You can stay with me.”

  Again, she saw something glisten in his eyes, causing another heart twinge, as he rasped, “Thank you.”

  Moments later, she was giving instructions to the servants who took him upstairs to bathe and go to sleep, and she braced herself for her mother’s and brother’s reactions. Sure enough, they were horrified at her permitting Thomas to stay with her tonight.

  Jon shook his head. “It is exactly as I knew it would be. You are a prisoner to that man’s charm.”

  No, she was a prisoner to compassion.

  But she did not know just how deep she had plumbed the wells of her compassion until later that night, when she escaped after the evening meal and went to her room and found Thomas asleep in her bed. He had not been wrong; he was so deep in slumber that he did not stir when she finally braved sliding into bed beside him.

  Flickering candlelight showed that his nightshirt had twisted and tangled, something sure to disturb his rest later. She stretched out a hand to smooth it down, then stopped. She had not seen that scar before. Nor that one …

  Heart swelling her throat, she carefully lifted free the back of his garment, then gasped. His back was hatched with scars, whip lashes some of them, ones she had not noticed on their too-brief reunion two months ago. Oh, dear God! Why had she not noticed? These were not new; the welts had healed. He must have had them before, must have received them in Spain, but he’d said nothing. He’d said nothing … but neither had she noticed.