The Making of Mrs. Hale Read online

  Julia.

  His heart panged anew, his feelings tipping as surely as the movement of ocean beneath them. Was her hair as fair as he remembered? Were her eyes as blue? Did she still hold secrets in her eyes, in her skin? How he wished he remembered her scent. He stifled a groan. Torturous dreams. Torturous memories. It could not do any good to linger on these. She would be sure to cast him aside, as she must think he had done with her.

  But thoughts of her would not submerge; she was like a lifeline, calling him home. To what, exactly, he did not dare think on. Their future would be so uncertain, but it always had been. He grimaced, forced the guilt down. He would see her, perhaps not as soon as he wished, but he would see her. One of these days. Please God, he dared pray. Soon.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “NOW, HOLD STILL.”

  Julia did as requested. While cradling the little boy in her arms, she eyed Serena as the smell of linseed oil filled the room.

  The past fortnight had gained a new routine of mornings spent playing with Charles and deciding what to wear, and afternoons visiting Hyde Park and doing her best to avoid the visitors that occasionally called at Bevington House. Julia was pleased to find that Serena and Henry did not entertain overly, that Serena seemed to prefer to spend her time painting in the room at the back of the house designated as her studio. That was, when she was not playing with little Charles herself. He had filled out so quickly, growing plumper, more lively, more willing to interact with those around him, his cheeks pushing wide in pink delight whenever he drew attention. Such animation contrasted mightily with the lethargy of the previous two months, as if distress had masked his personality before, his now-happy nature wrenching renewed tenderness from within.

  Serena had even requested to paint him, and while Julia had her doubts about his ability to hold still, she had agreed to pose for a painting which Serena was working on most afternoons. When she wasn’t playing with little Charles, that is.

  Julia wondered about the light that crept into Serena’s face whenever she saw the little boy. Did she wish for a child of her own? There was obviously a great deal of affection between Serena and Henry, she saw the loving glances, the loving touches, actions that fueled envy and regret, and made her wonder why her own husband had not demonstrated his regard in such a way. Perhaps he had, and she couldn’t remember anymore. Such things seemed an eternity ago.

  Her thoughts churned on as she contemplated her own failure of a marriage. Had it been doomed from the start? Thomas had seemed so affectionate when they were in Bath, his words so sweet, his attention proving a tender balm at a time when she felt besieged by her family’s opposition and unwillingness to believe she had a mind of her own and could be trusted with her own choices. Of course, now she wondered just how wise had been that decision to run away to Gretna Green with the man who had proved to offer little beyond sweet sayings.

  She shook her head. Wallowing in the past would not help. She had to look to the future—including facing Mama and Jon when they returned, as their recent letter promised. Or was it threatened?

  “Julia, I’m afraid you simply must keep still if I’m to have any hope of finishing this picture this year.” Serena’s eyes shaded with a look of concern. “Or is Charles proving a little heavy?”

  “He’s not heavy,” she lied, hefting him back into position.

  A raised brow suggested the artist’s mistrust, so she sought to change the topic, asking again about Jon and Catherine’s child. It still seemed so impossible to believe she was an aunt.

  Serena answered in a noncommittal way that made Julia wonder.

  “Are you looking forward to having your own children?”

  Serena paled, her movements at the easel stilling. “I …” She visibly swallowed. “If God so blesses us, then yes. Very much so.”

  Julia waited, uncertainty knotting her stomach. Such a personal question should never be asked. No wonder the experts in deportment had always washed their hands of her. “Forgive me. I should not—”

  “No, I suppose I should learn to deal with such questions.” Serena gave a wry-looking smile, and raised her brows. “I believe every new bride must face enquiries of that nature. Is that not so?”

  Julia forced herself to nod, remembering once again that Serena and Henry were married but a few months ago. How different their experience would prove to hers. Here, in society’s eye, news of an upcoming birth would be welcomed nearly as warmly as the excitement surrounding the birth of a royal baby; Henry and Serena’s child—if a boy—would be heir to one of England’s great families and estates. As for her own situation back in Scotland, nobody had known their newlywed status; fear of being discovered had led them to present themselves as married for several years, amidst other falsehoods.

  Conscious that Serena was looking at her as if in anticipation of further response, she murmured, “I believe that is often the case.”

  Serena gave her a shrewd glance before eyeing little Charles with that intensity that prickled alarm within. What if she were to guess? How would she explain herself? Would they understand why her lie was necessary? She lowered her gaze in case the truth be dragged out by those too-discerning blue eyes.

  There was silence for a while, so long that Julia believed the subject had been closed. Then Serena said, “I … I do not know if it is possible.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I … have a condition that makes conception … challenging.”

  A knot loosed inside, chased by a rush of compassion. Perhaps that explained why she gazed with such avidity at little Charles. “But you have only been married for a few months, have you not? It is early days still.”

  Serena offered a twisted smile. “That may be true, but it doesn’t stop me wishing I could give Henry his heir, that the unknown was not quite so … unknown.”

  Julia nodded. How well she understood. The unknown filled her future and her past. The future seemed so vast, so overwhelmingly weighty with its questions, with decisions to be made, with her options—well, did she truly have any? And as for the past …

  The past few months had been filled with wondering, the helpmeet of worry. The quest for answers had taken her through parts of Edinburgh she hadn’t known existed, all the while her thoughts churning “he might be here, he might be there, just one more attempt to find him.” Thinking she had glimpsed him. Chasing a man down the street only to discover him a stranger. Believing she heard his voice. Her heart battling between hope and despair, hope the tiny white-frothed crest of all-too-harsh waves that pummeled reality into her soul.

  He had gone. He had abandoned her. He did not love her anymore, if indeed he ever had.

  The now-familiar sting burned in her soul. Was thinking herself abandoned better than thinking him dead? That was a trail she had also pursued, one her pride shouted had to be the truth. If he was dead, she would be freed to regain something of a future. Mother and Jon would be far better pleased by that outcome. Was Thomas dead?

  She blinked against the burn, swallowed the tightness in her throat, lifted her chin to approximate the position Serena had chosen for her pose. The unknown of her future must be faced, regardless. And at least here in London it seemed she would no longer have to face it on her own.

  The door opened and Henry walked into the room, greeting his wife with a kiss, Julia with a smile, and Charles with a tickle.

  “How goes your painting, my love?”

  Serena murmured something of her dissatisfaction with the rendering of light.

  “I see,” he said, frowning slightly as he studied the progress she had made. His gaze lifted to Julia. “I’m afraid I had no notion you would prove such an obstreperous subject to paint.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He smiled. “My wife can take a likeness in an instant, but it seems your picture is one she must labor over.”

  “Do you not remember the pains I took with your picture?” Serena asked her husband.

  “Of cou
rse I do,” he said, eyes now fixed on his wife. “They remain some of my favorite memories.” They exchanged a look of tender affection, an action that again fueled envy, but also strange gladness for her brother’s friend.

  Julia watched him surreptitiously. How different he seemed to what she remembered. The jokester friend of her brother was still there, but he possessed a new maturity now, a gravity no doubt forced upon him by the circumstances of his father’s ill-health, as Serena had explained, and perhaps by his marriage. Like her mother, Julia had always enjoyed Henry’s polished manners, manners that some might consider flirtatious. He was good company, his good humor still quite at the fore even as he discussed the news of politics. He could make her smile, could obviously make his wife smile, and when he was in that good humor, she enjoyed their company immensely.

  As the couple murmured together, regrets nibbled her soul. Had she failed in not discerning her husband’s character before agreeing to wed? Wise people might say yes. Wiser people had tried to warn her, but had she listened? Certainly, Catherine, Jon’s wife, had tried to help her see the consequences of such an action. Perhaps she should have heeded the gentle remonstrance. Catherine had proved to be one of the few people Julia had been able to trust back in Bath. She could not but be grateful that her good-hearted brother had at long last found a woman who loved him in the way he deserved.

  Her spirits dipped, her lips twisted. Perhaps in marrying Thomas Hale she had married a man whom she deserved.

  “Julia?” Serena’s face held a tinge of worry. “Are you quite well?”

  “Just reminiscing,” Julia said, offering a smile to assure. It was always best to turn attention away from herself, to turn a question back onto the enquirer, to ensure people did not get too close to the truth. She knew she would have to admit everything soon, but this bubble of near peace was one she was loath to lose. Besides, there had been so much to catch up on, things that had happened to her friends, to her family, even to the Royal family, that sharing all her secrets seemed a little … unnecessary. One day she would fully share her heart. Just not yet.

  “Now, Miss Julia,” said Henry. “Are you ready to pay attention?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “And so you should,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “I fear you have been ignoring my extremely engaging remarks.”

  “They cannot have been so engaging, my love, if Julia is not engaged,” murmured Serena, who had once more picked up her paintbrush, and was eyeing Julia with a frown of concentration.

  “Ah, what can I do but to agree with my wife? She is so eminently sensible; do you not agree?”

  “You are blessed with a wife as sensible and as creative as she is beautiful.”

  “Now that is a sensible thing to say,” said Serena, the corners of her mouth lifting with amusement.

  Henry laughed, the sound jerking awake the babe in her arms. His brown eyes widened, and he glanced between them as if unsure whether to laugh or cry.

  “There is nothing to worry about, my little love,” said Serena, swooping forward to draw him away. “You are quite well here.”

  Julia caught the worry shading Henry’s eyes. Was he starting to wonder whether his wife was growing too attached to the little boy? For herself, she was in two minds. Staying here, being cared for in this way, had relieved her of much pressure. She scarcely need make a decision except for what to wear, and even then Anna was more than happy to oblige. But perhaps she should not stay much longer if doing so proved injurious to Serena’s state of emotions.

  After a moment’s further cooing, Serena returned little Charles to Julia, and resumed her stance behind the easel. But still the worry gnawed, as Julia’s thoughts flicked to that earlier conversation. It must be so extremely hard to wish to have a child but be told such a thing was unlikely. Was their presence here a hindrance? Was staying here wise, after all? But if she left, where would she go? Perhaps it was best to hold off making any decisions until Jon and her mother returned. They would certainly not be backward in offering their opinions.

  “There you go again”—Henry’s eyes creased as he glanced at Julia—“off to dreamland.”

  “Forgive me. I … I was just wondering when we might expect to see Jon again.”

  “Soon, very soon,” Henry assured. “Jon’s letter suggested by the end of this week. He seems extremely eager to see you.”

  Unspoken was the degree of Julia’s eagerness to see him.

  “It will be good to see them,” she allowed, forcing her smile not to waver. Though what she would say when she finally did see them she still did not know. Rehearsing her explanations—her apologies—each night did not seem to help, only caused a tightness in her shoulders and a cramping in her stomach. Would they listen? Would they blame her? Or would they blame everything on the man they surely now despised—the man she had run away with to be his bride?

  She swallowed bile. And how could she cope with their platitudes, their “I-told-you-so”? How could she brazen out her humiliation so it was not quite so … humiliating?

  Henry cleared his throat. “Miss Julia?”

  Her attention snapped to his. “Oh, forgive me. I was wool-gathering.”

  “You know, I cannot quite picture you as a gatherer of wool. My experience of woolgatherers is that they tend to be rather less genteel-looking, though kindly, honest folk, of course.” He slid a look at his wife, who was manipulating the brush in deft movements. “We shall soon have opportunity to judge more precisely if I have misrepresented the woolgatherers we know.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What Henry is trying to say in his ever-elliptical way,” said Serena, looking up from the canvas, “is that we shall have to go north to Derbyshire before too many more weeks pass.”

  “Oh.” Julia bit back the protest. Tried to look understanding, and not like the thought of their departure filled her with misgiving. How could she withstand her mother and brother without the support of the Carmichaels?

  “Never fear, my dear,” Henry said. “I’m sure Jon will have returned by then.” He offered a smile that possessed less than its usual brightness. “It appears from today’s correspondence that circumstances draw me north to resume my responsibilities, among which are those sheep, whose wool the estate farmers like to gather. I would prefer to be there by Martinmas.”

  “Of course.” Her spirits sank. How nice it would have been to have the support of a friend while she had to undergo the barrage of questions her mother and brother would no doubt throw at her. She forced a smile to her lips. “I’m sure your family will be very glad to see you.”

  “It has been a little while, so perhaps they will.” His chuckle held no rancor. “One person they will all be glad to see is my wife—that was part of the reason I married her, you see. Their decided preference for Serena gave me hope that attaching her to myself might one day mean they overlook their decided non-preference for me.”

  Serena’s swift glance at the ceiling suggested this was more of her husband’s nonsense.

  Henry continued, “But whether the same can be said about her seeing them I rather suspect will depend on whether this painting is finished before we need to depart.”

  “A circumstance that may only occur if you cease from visiting every moment of the day,” Serena said, with a return to her most serene-like countenance. “Now go.”

  He sighed heavily, glancing at Julia. “See with what a Gorgon I must live?”

  “Your trials are heavy,” Julia said, shooting a quick glance at Serena, who seemed to be ignoring their byplay, save for the slight lifting of the corner of her mouth.

  “I am so pleased that someone in the room understands. Now, I must go before my fair Gorgon turns me to stone.” He made a theatrical bow, then quit the room, but not before Julia saw him exchange another tender smile with his wife.

  “He loves you very much,” Julia said, not without another wisp of envy.

  “He is a good man,” Serena agree
d, before meeting Julia’s gaze in that long, clear look she had. “Please do not fear that we shall depart before matters are fixed to a certainty with you.”

  “A certainty?” Julia gave a spurt of laughter edged with bitterness. “I do not believe anything as certain these days.”

  Serena eyed her for a moment longer, then placed the brush down and moved closer, putting out her hands for little Charles again, whose little pout bent into something approximating a smile. Relieved of her burden, Julia sank onto a nearby chair.

  Serena looked at her seriously. “Forgive me for asking what may seem an impertinent question, but do you want things to be resolved with your husband?”

  “Of course!”

  Her hostess studied her, one eyebrow aloft.

  “But he might be dead.”

  “I can understand that might be easier to accept.”

  Instead of knowing he rejected her? Of course it was. She gritted her teeth, forced the corners of her mouth to remain pinned in place as those blue eyes studied her for another long moment.

  “If he is alive, and he returned, would you be pleased to accept him into your life again?”

  “If he returned.” Serena’s gaze bored past Julia’s insouciance. “Well, yes, of course I would.”

  The appraisal continued, then Serena gave a slow nod. “I would find it hard to trust again, but I believe that is what God wants us to try to do.”

  God? What did He have to do with her marriage?

  Serena continued, “And what about beyond that? Would you wish to resume life in society again?”

  “I do not know. I might wish it, but it does not mean society would accept me again. Not that I care terribly much for what others may think.”