The Making of Mrs. Hale Page 6

“Thank you, sir.” Harrow smiled. “I trust your wife will be pleased to see you, sir.”

  “I trust that, too,” he said, with an attempt at a grin.

  “And I trust that your wife will never find out how you got us out of jail,” Benson said, sneering.

  Thomas’s neck prickled, his good humor melting faster than summer snow.

  Harrow’s brow creased, his look anxious as he glanced between them. “What’s that supposed to mean, Benson?”

  “Just that your high and mighty savior did the low and dirty deed with the Spanish whore in that jail.”

  Thomas stared at him, the coldness sweeping over him giving way to a fury clamoring loudly within his chest. “You do not know of what you speak,” he said in a low voice.

  “Really? Don’t think we didn’t see you, or notice how she lusted after you, filthy cow that she was.” Benson laughed, a sound with more than a note of hysteria in it.

  His fingers clenched. There’d already been too much fighting tonight, but he’d be hanged—

  “Pay no attention to him, sir,” urged Harrow. “He’s always been a mite unhinged.”

  “Wouldn’t it be funny if you got that Spanish cow pregnant?” Benson gave another wild shriek. “’Twould be even funnier if your wife found out!”

  Crack!

  Benson crumpled to the ground, a smear of blood trickling from his mouth to his fair hair.

  Thomas massaged his hand, looked sideways at an open-mouthed Harrow, who closed his jaw with a snap. Remorse stole through him. “I shouldn’t—”

  Harrow shook his red head. “He deserved it, useless cur. How dare he treat you so, complaining like he’s done, ’specially after all you did for us? And as for threatening you …” He shook his head again. “He had it coming.”

  Smith murmured agreement.

  Thomas shook his head. “I could not listen to him anymore. I could not bear for Julia to hear such things.”

  “Well, she won’t be hearing such things from us two, believe you me,” said Harrow. “Now, probably best we move him.”

  Thomas watched as the short, squat Harrow, supported feebly by Smith, dragged Benson’s slim frame to the darkest part of the alley, back behind a row of large crates. “I shouldn’t have …” He shook his head again.

  “Never mind now. I’ll keep an eye on him, sir. We’ll both be going back to London anyway. Whereas you and Smith ’ere need to catch that coach north to Scotland. I’ll be saying goodbye now, sir. Smith.” Harrow offered them both his hand.

  “Goodbye.”

  “If ever you need assistance, you know who to call on.”

  “I will. Thank you, Harrow.”

  Thomas gave him a nod and, together with Smith, exited the alley, staying in the shadows until he drew close to a far more reputable-looking establishment. He quickly secured passage for himself and Smith on a northbound carriage that left early the following day.

  He glanced at Smith. The poor lad looked hardly fit to stay on his feet. Biting back a sigh, he bespoke a room for Smith and two hot meals to be served as soon as possible. When Smith protested, Thomas merely shook his head and ignored his inner qualms. So what if he no longer had enough to pay for his trip to Edinburgh? At least if Smith got some rest he might return home alive.

  Besides, Julia would not know his return had been delayed an extra day or so. His note of explanation written so long ago had mentioned the possibility of an absence of weeks, not months. His heart pounded. He just hoped she still missed him and was looking forward to his return, like he dreamed about returning to her, seeing her smile, holding her in his arms, remembering the warmth of her, the scent of her, the taste …

  He forced his thoughts away. Delectable as they might be, they would only lead to frustration.

  Instead, he forced his thoughts to how he could attain more funds before the coach left on the morrow.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THROUGH THE DRAWING ROOM windows Julia could see the small park centering the bleak square, the heavy skies and wintry wind tossing the branches and a few dead leaves. Today seemed a day made for misery. Hourly she lived in dreaded anticipation of seeing her relatives, of hearing their accusations, their censure. Her lips twisted. And the worst of it was that she could not pass the responsibility for such censure to anyone else.

  Shivers rippled through her, and she moved from the windows to the crackling warmth of the fireplace. What would she say when she saw them? What should she say? For in all fairness she could not heap all the blame onto her runaway husband, although she had a very strong suspicion that nothing she could say would assuage their wrath towards him.

  The past nights had been filled with turmoil as she’d awaken when the watchmen called the early hours, wondering what to say, what her future held, until fatigue dragged her back to restless slumber. She knew she did not look her best; her eyes were heavy rimmed, her face pale, and anxiety had erupted on her skin. At least with regular and extremely satisfying meals she looked less like the scarecrow she must have seemed upon her arrival. But still, her appearance was so far removed from the carefree girl she once had been—the girl her mother would remember—that it was sure to give comment. But she was so very different, carefree no longer. Could never be carefree again, despite the prayers for peace Serena said she prayed.

  Julia caressed Charles’s auburn curls as he lay asleep, safely tucked in a cradle before the fire. Her heart swelled with tenderness toward him, with gratitude. She had changed so much, and much credit for changing her from the selfish, vain girl she had once been, to someone who cared about deeper things now, belonged to him. If Charles had not arrived in her life when he had, she might well have lost all hope, all sense of reason. His life entwined in hers was truly a blessing.

  She blinked back tears, forcing herself to control her breathing and focus on the child’s tranquil brow. He slept so peacefully, blissfully at rest. Thank God those initial days of exhausted confusion and countless tears had passed, and he knew now how to slumber. How she envied him. What would it be like to relax, to truly relax? What must it be like to know such innocence, to know no fear, to have every need attended instantly simply by the emitting of a cry? How wonderful it would be to slip back into those days of being cosseted and cared for. But how futile to think on such things, as her responsibilities would not, could not, allow them anymore.

  Her eyes closed, the broken night’s slumber making her long to sink into sleep also. The sound of her heartbeat, her slowing breathing, filled her ears.

  The stillness dissipated as the clatter of wheels on cobblestones drew her eyelids open. Her pulse picked up in pace, and she strained …

  A door opened. There came the faint sound of voices, low-pitched, high-pitched, the shutting of doors, the whinny as horses were driven away. Her pulse grew more frantic. Oh, when would—

  “Julia.”

  “Oh!”

  Two people Julia had never seen before entered the room behind Serena. Serena gave her a tiny helpless-looking shrug before saying, “Forgive me for intruding. A former school friend of mine has called, and I thought I might introduce you. Caroline, this is Mrs. Julia Hale. Julia, this is Lord Aynsley’s daughter, Miss Caroline Hatherleigh.”

  The young lady eyed Julia avidly, rather like a squirrel might eye a particularly tasty nut, but all she said was, “Pleased to meet you,” as they exchanged curtsies.

  The young gentleman standing beside her—sandy-haired, with an open, genial countenance—held a similar look of interest in his eye, almost like he had heard of Julia by reputation, a thought that made her stiffen and draw her shoulders back. His smile, however, possessed a warmth reflected in his eyes that was far more engaging.

  “And this is Mr. Amherst, Lord and Lady Aynsley’s neighbor from Somerset.”

  “How do you do?” He bowed, his look of interest melding into something that almost looked like appreciation, a look that disconcerted her as much as it seemed to dismay the young lady he accompanied.
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  Miss Hatherleigh glanced at Julia before returning her attention to Serena. “You must forgive me, but when I learned you were in town I could not pass up the opportunity to see you again. It has been so many months since Miss Haverstock’s, and I cannot but wish we had stayed in closer contact this past year.” She chattered about some of the on-dit of town before saying, “Oh, it is good to see you again, Serena.”

  Serena’s face had adopted the coolness Julia was fast learning masked her true feelings as she murmured something of her pleasure. Clearly, the wish for renewed acquaintanceship was not equally shared.

  As the conversation between the ladies continued, Julia became increasingly aware that Mr. Amherst’s attention was fixed on her. He smiled again upon her notice, and drew nearer. “It would seem that our presence is somewhat superfluous.”

  Well, his was. She, at least, had been invited to be here. She forced a polite smile to cover her inner acerbity. “What brings you to London, sir?”

  “Miss Hatherleigh. Although, really, that makes it sound as though she drove me, when in fact it was quite the other way around. Not that I drove her, per se, because really, that would be considered quite untoward. I know her mama would have to have a fit of the vapors if she thought I was doing such a thing.”

  Julia blinked. What a rattlepate the man was!

  He smiled. “Did you know, Mrs. Hale, you have the loveliest blue eyes I have ever seen?”

  She took a startled step back. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your eyes. They are quite a lovely shade of blue.”

  “Oh! Well, er, thank you.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying so,” he continued in his lowered voice, with a conspiratorial glance at the other visitor. “I’m sure Caro would not mind me saying so, she is a good sort after all, and I do think it only proper to give a compliment when one can. This practice of paying homage to one after one’s death I find quite absurd. Surely the dead person would have preferred to know of such praise when they were still alive, would you not agree?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “That is why I felt you should know that you have very pretty eyes.” His smile took on a greater warmth.

  The moment stretched, her thoughts unable to form cohesion. It had been so long since she had been the object of any form of gallantry, she barely knew what to do. Which was in itself strange, especially when she had once been so deft at deflecting the interest of any young men who did not capture her fancy. Really, this young man with his disconcerting rapid-paced rabbit-trail-like comments was most peculiar. But he did possess a sweet smile.

  “And may I be so bold as to return your question?” he continued.

  Question? Had she asked a question?

  “Are you from London or visiting?”

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “I … I grew up in London, and have recently returned. To see family. Lady Harkness is my mother. She … and my brother, Lord Winthrop, they are arriving soon.”

  “Ah! I gather our timing has not been particularly judicious. Forgive us for taking up your time, but”—he leaned closer, a twinkle in his eye—“I cannot be unhappy that chance has led us to not be strangers.”

  Whether it was his cheeky comments, or the engaging nature of his smile, or the sparkle in his eyes, she could not help but smile back at him, conscious of a little ripple of pleasure such open admiration had evoked. Perhaps she was not as sadly hag-like as she’d imagined.

  He bowed, then turned to his companion. “Caro, I believe it is time for us to depart. Thank you, Lady Carmichael, for the chance to meet you and your lovely friend.”

  Serena inclined her head, in a gesture befitting a duchess, and murmured something of her pleasure at the unexpected visit, but made no mention of hopes for a return call.

  When they had left, Serena turned to Julia with a small sigh. “I am so sorry to have interrupted your afternoon in that way. Had I known that Caro would insist on staying so long I should never have invited her in. But she is one of those people who are forever pushing their way into other people’s affairs, but in a way it becomes increasingly difficult to know how to extricate oneself from their determined interest.”

  Julia managed a chuckle. “I think you managed very well. One look from your queenly stare …”

  Serena’s lips twitched. “That is what Henry says also.” The amusement slid from her face as her forehead puckered. “I do hope Caroline’s friend wasn’t being overly forward. I believe I heard something about blue eyes?”

  To her chagrin, Julia felt heat sweep her cheeks. “Just a bit of nonsense.”

  “Hmm. He seemed quite taken with you.”

  “He seems quite unusual.” She hurried on to avert the speculation in Serena’s eyes, “Is he betrothed to Miss Hatherleigh?”

  “I do not believe so. Why?”

  Oh dear. More unfounded speculation. “I just wondered, that is all. It seems most unusual for a gentleman to escort a young lady on a morning call when they are unrelated.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.” Serena eyed her carefully. “He is aware that you are married?”

  “He addressed me as such,” Julia said. “I cannot think he misunderstood.”

  “Well, I should not worry anymore—wait. Is that the sound of a carriage? Excuse me.”

  Serena exited, leaving Julia standing alone, her nerves from half an hour ago reigniting their harried patter. Was this to be the visit she had equally dreaded and longed for?

  She glanced at the sleeping baby—unnoticed by their previous guests. What would Mother say? What would Jon?

  “Julia!”

  She looked up at the figure framed in the doorway, her heart dropping. “Mother.”

  “Oh, my darling girl!” Mother’s red-gold hair flashed under the afternoon light as she rushed towards Julia. “Oh, it is true! We came as soon as we heard.”

  Seconds later Julia was smothered in a hug, clasped to her mother’s breast like she herself sometimes held Charlie. As if she could never let go. As if, if she held on long enough, tight enough, somehow, she might be able to protect them from life’s harsh realities.

  It took a moment, then Julia realized that her mother, her beautiful, vibrant, ever-assured mother, was weeping. She had never seen her mother weep before. Her heart wrenched. Her throat cinched. What a bad daughter she had been.

  “Mama,” she finally managed to murmur against the bright hair, “I’m so very sorry.”

  “Oh, my darling daughter,” Mother said, “how I wish you had trusted me.”

  Julia silently agreed. If only she had trusted her mother, how much heartache might have been avoided. Her eyes filled, and she closed them tight to hold back the tears that begged to fall. Shame gnawed hard at the edges of self-control. If only she had not run away; if only she had not placed her trust in a scoundrel rather than those who truly cared about her. If only …

  It took another moment before Julia realized that someone else had entered the room. She peeked up from her mother’s embrace to see two someones: her brother and Catherine. Jon’s face lit with gladness, then he drew close and clasped them in his arms.

  “Julia.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear. “I’m overjoyed to see you are safe.”

  This time she could not hold back the tears; they leaked out, trickling past her nose. She knew her mother’s affection was real, but especially since her father’s death, she had known her brother’s concern stemmed from a weighty groundswell of love that held her best interests at heart. His disappointment in her seemed all the harder to bear.

  “You’ll never know how much I have regretted everything,” he said in a raspy voice.

  A giant knot of emotion clogged her throat. “It was never your fault.”

  His chin grazed the top of her head as he shook his head. “I will always blame myself. If only I’d never introduced you to Hale.”

  She kept her protest behind her teeth. How could she admit that it was her impetuous behavior and desire to
have things her own way that had led her to this? She couldn’t.

  Her mother eased back, allowing Jon to move in for a closer hug, where she could breathe his scent, and allow his warm strength to permeate her being. There was something so safe and comforting about receiving a hug from a tall man, the sign of affection something she’d craved since—

  No, she could not think on him, would not think on him. He would be as dead to her.

  “I missed you, little sister,” Jon continued in that deep low rumble. “Please forgive me for not listening to you.”

  “Only if you forgive me.”

  “You were forgiven long ago.” He eased back, gave her a small smile, and handed her his pocket handkerchief. As she mopped her cheeks he said, “Now, can I introduce you to my wife?”

  A chuckle broke through her tension. “I think we’ve been introduced. Hello, Catherine.”

  “Hello, Julia,” said Catherine. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

  She drew near for a hug, and again Julia was wrapped in security, reminded once more why she had confided in her nearly two years ago in Bath. She had the sense that in Catherine she had found a true friend, someone whose gentle demeanor masked a strong spirit, someone she knew capable of standing up to Jon’s domineering manner. Julia had seen her demonstrate such spirit before.

  “And this is our little girl,” Jon continued. “Elizabeth, come meet your Aunt Julia.”

  A tiny blonde girl who looked to be about five months of age was brought forward, held in the arms of a servant.

  “She is a dainty thing,” Julia said, marveling at the sweet expression on the child’s face.

  “And who is this?” Catherine asked, eyeing Charles, still blissfully asleep in the cradle.

  “Julia, tell me this is not—” Mother’s voice hitched.

  Julia fought a wince as she bent over, swept him from the cradle. Ah, the moment of truth, or at least partial truth. What should she say? She swallowed. “This is Charles.”

  “So sweet!” Mother stroked his downy curls, such maternal softness Julia could not recall ever seeing before. “Oh, look Catherine, he has my hair color!”