The Making of Mrs. Hale Read online

  Something—annoyance? regret?—flickered across his commanding officer’s face before he said slowly, “Of course I am grateful for your help in Poona, Hale, but we cannot live under obligation for the rest of our lives.”

  His words weaseled into Thomas’s efforts at mollification. If he returned with no money, what would Julia say? What would her mother say? “I’m not asking for a favor based on obligation,” he managed, before desperation drove him further, “simply asking for what I and my men are due according to your word!”

  The words rang through the chamber. Thomas noted with dismay that the colonel’s face closed up, his features blanking to impassivity. Frustration lashed him. Why was the man so reluctant to assist him?

  “Wheeler!”

  The door opened behind Thomas. “Yes, sir?”

  “Escort the major out.”

  “Sir, please,” Thomas tried one more time. What did it matter if he appeared to beg? “The men are relying on this—”

  “I’ve given you my answer, Hale. Goodbye.”

  His arm was grasped; Thomas shook it off. “Sir, if you do not, then I shall be forced to take matters to a higher authority. I will speak with Lord Bathurst.”

  “I rather doubt the Secretary of State will have time for you.”

  “Then I will speak with Undersecretary Goulburn.”

  Fallbright smiled. “As you wish. But you will not get far. Do you really think anyone will listen to a man like you, a known gambler and rake, when they will hear the truth from me?”

  “The truth?” His fists clenched, he took a step closer to the pompous little man. “You have said nothing but lies!”

  A hand was clamped over his mouth, and he was yanked off his feet, his arms pinioned behind by another man. Thomas wrested his shoulder free, jerked his head away to shout. Seconds later a vicious blow splintered fire across his forehead, felling him to the floor. His head met the corner of a brass fireplace fender in a fresh burst of pain followed by merciful blackness.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HE HAD NOT come.

  He did not love her.

  He was a liar, a bamboozler. He had used her—used her body—then abandoned her.

  Again.

  The enormity of his duplicity ballooned again within her chest, the heated pain threatening to crack her ribs. She closed her eyes against the trickling moisture, and drew in a breath. Released it. Drew in another breath. Caught the scent of Charlie’s freshly washed hair. Forced her clutch on him to loosen a fraction, though she kept him close to her heart. His presence was solid comfort at a time when all else seemed unclear.

  It was the knowledge that she had blithely allowed herself to be betrayed yet again that almost caused the greater sting. How could she be gulled once more? Her brother and mother had been proved right; her tears last night wretched acknowledgment of the fact.

  The despair she had felt yesterday had this morning given way to something even more painful: the realization that she could no longer rely on her ability to sense right from wrong. Was her judgment so very poor? Had it always been this way? Mother seemed to think so, her endless complaints about the man who had stolen her only daughter’s virtue gradually boring into Julia’s ability to reason, her memories of why she had done what she had done.

  Round and round the accusations circled, the only bright spot being the moment when little Charlie had been brought to her, and for a few precious minutes she could pretend that the past hours had been but an awful dream.

  She closed her eyes, felt his tiny fingers brush her cheek. Her heart ached. Oh, that she could experience this sacred place of tenderness forever. Oh, that she could open her eyes and pretend this nightmare done. Was her mother right in desiring Julia’s marriage to be annulled? What would have happened if she had never met Thomas, and fallen under his spell?

  Her thoughts traced back to the first time she had seen him. Jon, newly returned from India, had brought his two friends with him to the house in Portman Square. Lord Carmichael had instantly impressed both her mother and herself with his title and smooth mix of polished manners and flattering attention.

  But it was upon being introduced to Jon’s other friend that she’d felt a tug, almost like a profound sense of recognition. Major Thomas Hale might not have the viscount’s easy manner, nor the features most young ladies found attractive, but he possessed a certain something in his dark brown eyes that made her thrill whenever he gazed in her direction. She rather suspected those eyes had seen far more of the world than Jon had—his family, when questioned by Mother, was indeed less well connected and financed than hers. Those eyes had held a magnetic quality, one which made her quite unable to look away. And when he spoke—not with the flattering charm of Lord Carmichael, but with a wryness almost tinged with pain—something within her leapt to hear more, and all the poise she’d learned at Miss Ingham’s Seminary for Young Ladies seemed to drain away, and she could only meet his enigmatic sayings with soft giggles and mild confusion. She must have seemed so very naïve to him. Was that why he had pursued her, made her fall in love with him? Were Mother and Jon right, that Thomas only wanted her for the fortune she would inherit when she came of age?

  At the sound of a knock at the door her eyes snapped open. Was he here now? Oh, all might be forgiven if he appeared, begged her forgiveness for his delay, and explained his absence these past months …

  A sound of muffled voices at the door, then it was closed with a rather large bang. Had Mother refused him entry? Indignation filled her, forcing her to rise, being careful not to wake the sleeping child at her breast, as she peered through lace curtains to the street.

  A peddler.

  Her sigh woke poor Charlie, who stirred, his look of confusion swiftly followed by puckered lips which could only mean it was time for his next feed. His crying soon returned Crabbit to the parlor, and Julia was not at all sorry to relinquish her charge to the nurse. Not if it meant she could return to her contemplations from before, to consider what she would say or do if—or when—Thomas returned.

  What would happen if Mother’s threats to annul the marriage took on legal ramifications? Would Thomas really be sent to prison? She had heard of other men prosecuted for luring young ladies to a runaway marriage—some had even been hung for such an offense!

  No—she shook her head—she might not understand all his reasons for abandoning her, but she could never wish such a fate for him.

  “Ah, here you are,” her mother said, entering the room. “How are you today?”

  Julia eyed her dispassionately. Did her mother wish her to pretend all was well? She could not lie, so she said nothing.

  “I do hope this resentment will not continue forever, my dear. Such childishness has carried on long enough.”

  Furious words burned within. She bit them back, to not give credence to her mother’s accusation, and willed her face to neutrality.

  Her mother’s expression softened a mite. “I know this has been very hard for you, my dear, and I’m sure you feel a little confused at times. But I do hope you know Jon and I only want what is best for you.”

  “I know that, Mama,” she said, her heart softening at the gratified look in her mother’s eye. “But what if what is best for me is to be married to Thomas?”

  That pleased look vanished. “You cannot be serious. He has proved his lack of honor one too many times, my girl. You did not seriously think he would return?”

  “He is my husband,” she pleaded.

  “But barely,” her mother sniffed.

  The door opened and Jon entered the room, greeting Mother with a kiss on the cheek and Julia with a bow that seemed a little strained. She forced a smile. She did not want to create further estrangement between her brother and herself, not after finally being reunited after these past two years apart.

  “Good morning, Poppet.”

  His use of the old endearment suggested he felt the same, and stirred further feelings of conciliation. “Hello, Jon.”
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  “Still no word?”

  “Nothing,” Mother confirmed.

  His look spoke volumes of his resignation; his words confirming it all the more. “You know I am not surprised. I am sorry, Julia, but I cannot like what he is doing to you. You would be far better off to forget him, and we shall endeavor to purchase a divorce—”

  “No, Jon. Marriage vows are sacred! Surely you must believe so.”

  A startled look crossed his features, as if he’d not previously contemplated her marriage in such terms. Hope rose. If only he could be brought to realize—

  “Did you even make vows?” Mother questioned, a frown marring her brow. “I did not think a marriage would be considered sacred when not made within a church.” Her frown plunged deeper. “You had no minister, did you? Not even a Scottish one?”

  “No,” she said in a small voice.

  “Then I can hardly think God would be paying attention—”

  “Mother.”

  Jon’s deep voice brought their mother to a halt. She closed her mouth and looked at Jon with a puzzled air. “Yes?”

  “I find I cannot subscribe to the notion that a marriage officiated outside of a church is anything less than valid in the eyes of the law. And it is the legality of the marriage that is in question here, not whether it is approved by God or not.”

  “Don’t you think God would want me to honor my husband?” Julia demanded.

  “I cannot think God would want you to honor vows made with a man who has proved himself to be a rake, if that is what you are asking.”

  There were footfalls, and the opened door widened, admitting another visitor.

  “Oh!” Julia’s gasp echoed that of her mother. Thomas’s face was lined with bruises, as if he had been in a scuffle and left for dead. Yet here he was. At last.

  Her heart pounded fiercely—finally, he was here!—but Thomas’s grave expression was reserved for Jon.

  “Good day, Lord Winthrop.” A muscle ticked in and out of his jaw. Clearly, he had heard the words his once-best friend had uttered. Clearly, he was angry. Clearly, he was saddened. “I am sorry to hear the proverbial eavesdropper’s lot is mine.”

  His gaze swept the room, including Mother in his small bow, before giving Julia a swift, strained smile. “I am glad to see you, my dear.”

  Julia forced a wobbly smile. Somehow standing there, before two members of the peerage, he seemed far more noble, his dignity high. This despite Mother’s scratches that glowed red amid the bruising darkening his cheek. He looked quiet, but not chastened; humble, but not shamed.

  “Excuse me, madam, but I believe I requested an interview with Julia initially.”

  Mother sniffed. “I do not recall you requesting an interview at all! Your high-handedness merely assumed one would be granted you!”

  He simply directed a steady gaze toward her.

  “And did you not say you would return in two hours? This is certainly not two hours, sir. And look at the state of you! Well, what have you got to say for yourself?”

  “As I said previously, madam, I wish to speak with my wife, where such matters will be explained.”

  “And you may do so now, we shall not stop you,” Mother said, settling in her chair with an air that suggested she would not be easily moved.

  “Lady Harkness, forgive me, but I wish to speak privately with my wife,” he replied, with a slight smile directed at Julia. “I have the right to speak with her.”

  “And I have wish to speak with you,” Julia finally said, in a voice loud enough and firm enough that she hoped would brook no opposition. “You may go, Jonathan. I do not need to speak with you. This is a private matter between my husband and myself.”

  “But—”

  “You may leave also, Mother. No, I am not a child, nor do I need a chaperone. If I require assistance I shall call for you, but at present I do not, so I beg for you to leave us alone.”

  “Julia, you are my daughter, and I simply—”

  “Will have to leave me to conduct my interview with my husband as I see fit! Or do you wish to never see me again?”

  Her mother blanched, Jon’s eyes narrowed, but neither of them said anything more. Under Jon’s escort, Mother left the room and the door shut behind them.

  Julia exhaled and met Thomas with a smile tinged by relief. “Stubbornness seems to run in my family.”

  “It does, indeed,” he said, moving forward to clasp her in a hug. “Oh, my dear. I trust they haven’t turned you away from me completely.”

  “No,” she murmured, her cheek pressed against his woolen coat. “But they tried.”

  Oh, how they had tried. Pointing out argument after argument for why she should avoid him, feeding on her doubts and insecurities, recalling all his faults and failures. Yesterday. Last night. This morning. And though she had felt herself waver, still something deep within begged her to give him one more chance.

  “I’m so sorry I did not return yesterday when I said I would. I imagine the past few hours haven’t been so very pleasant for you.” His arms loosened and he drew her to sit beside him on the sofa. “I should never have left you, but I figured you might need some time to … recover.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever ‘recover’ after such exertions. Nor that I want to.”

  He chuckled, and her heart eased a little. Perhaps there was a chance this might work out. She swallowed, offered up a silent prayer, and touched his bruised face. “What happened?”

  He shook his head. “Oh, my dearest, if only I could be sure …”

  “Sure of what? What is it you wanted to say?”

  “Besides this?” His lips settled on hers, quickly becoming insistent.

  She broke the kiss with a gasp. “Oh!” she drew in a shaky breath. “No, be serious. You cannot expect me to think that was all you wished to say.”

  “Perhaps it is all I wish to say,” he said, the lurking twinkle in his eyes fading, “but you are right. It is not all that I need to say.”

  Something fluttered in her stomach. “What do you need to say?”

  He moistened his bottom lip, the action one she remembered he would do whenever he felt nervous. “I need to tell you about the past six months.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  AS HE EXPLAINED, Thomas watched his wife, careful not to betray his anxiety, not to give her suspicion that what he spoke was not the entire truth. For he could not admit to his sordid encounter with Magdalena. He would never admit to such a thing. He was determined never even to think on her again. She might as well be buried like his mother, she had so passed into his past.

  “You were engaged as a spy?” Her eyes were wide, blue as an Indian sky.

  “I could not speak of it before.”

  “But now you can?”

  He swallowed. He could not admit to the entirety of this recent encounter, either. Not after his unfortunate run-in with Fallbright. “I cannot tell you the all, I’m afraid.”

  “Do you not trust me?” Her lips pushed into a pout.

  He had suspected she’d react emotionally. He hedged with, “I have no wish to distress you.”

  “It is perhaps a little late for that.” She gave a bitter sounding laugh.

  Fear arrowed through him. Please let Julia forgive me. “I’m so sorry.”

  “These past months have not been pleasant.”

  Was it true what Becky had said? Dear God, let it not be so. He possessed himself of her hands. “My darling, forgive me. It was never my intention to cause you a second of concern.”

  She studied him for a long moment, before finally nodding. “I knew it must be so. I could not believe it when he said you wished to leave.”

  “What? When who said?”

  “Oh, some man, he said he was a friend of yours. Apparently you had given him a message to pass on to me.”

  “Was his name McKinley? A squat man, with a frog-like face?”

  “Yes! That’s him.”

  “He did not give you my letter?”<
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  “You wrote a letter?”

  “Of course I did. You could not think I went away without telling you something of my intent.”

  “Well”—she glanced down, her lashes feathering her cheeks—“I did not want to believe it …”

  He could hear the “but.” He winced inside. “I wrote you a letter, Jewel. I gave it to McKinley along with an amount of money to give to you, knowing it might be a while until I could return—”

  “You left a letter and money?” Her eyes searched his. “I never got either.”

  His fingers clenched. How could such an innocent face lie? So, McKinley had lied all along. He swallowed the growl wishing to erupt from his throat. “He lied to me.”

  “You saw him?”

  He jerked a nod. “He said he saw you and gave you the money and the letter, but that you did not seem pleased.”

  She gasped. “He said that? Well, he lied! He gave me nothing. And as for being pleased, how could I be when I did not know where you were? When I cried every day wondering what had happened, half starving myself while I tried to sell every scrap we possessed—even my gowns—in order to pay the rent. Everything I kept was either too worthless or too precious to sell.”

  Just as Becky had said.

  “I’m sorry for ever trusting him.” He pulled her close so she could not see his frown as his thoughts tumbled over each other. How could his friend have betrayed him like that? What kind of gull did McKinley take him for? Surely he must have expected Thomas would find out the truth one day, then return for revenge another? What kind of game was the man playing at? And what game was Fallbright playing at? Why was he surrounded by evil men?

  “Thomas?” Julia pulled back. “What is it? You’re trembling.”

  “Forgive me.” He willed his smile to look genuine. “Is that better?”

  She shook her head slowly. “There is more you are not telling me.”

  He strove not to shrink from the too-perceptive blue eyes. There was so much he needed to hide, not least was the attack last night. “Darling, please trust me.”

  She studied him for a long moment before nodding. He opened his arms and she snuggled close, causing his breath to catch. If only he could be sure she would remain safe.