The Making of Mrs. Hale

by Carolyn Miller

  “I suspect Jon would never have approved. I think his love for his sister was greater than any affection he had for his friend. Which is how it ought to be. If someone precious was taken from me, then I would do everything in my power to restore her to me.” He drew her nearer.

  “Which is the right answer,” she said, reaching up to kiss his jaw in the precise spot that elicited heat within.

  “Ah, Jewel, please do not tease …”

  “Who says I am teasing?” Her grin faded, a frown knit her brow. “Do you regret seeing your father?”

  “No. You were right, it had to be done.” It would just be good to have their future sorted. But love required patience, something he’d have to remember these upcoming days.

  THE NEXT DAY they returned to the hospice, where Thomas was drawn aside by the doctor who shared more about his father’s condition. It seemed he’d experienced some form of apoplectic fit, which, combined with underlying issues pertaining to dropsy, suggested he might not have long to live. “So, it be a good thing you finally returned home.”

  But the question of his home remained obscure. When he broached the idea of staying in the house, Father had grown quite agitated so that Thomas was inclined to drop further discussion. Except for Julia, he would have. She seemed to have taken Father’s measure, eyeing him as he spoke on the house now.

  “A fine old place. Needs a good caretaker, which is why I nabbed Peachtree.”

  “Oh!” she said, eyes wide. “You think him a good caretaker?”

  Father scowled. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Only that he is not there very often. Apparently, he visits only once a week.”

  “What? How do you know this?”

  “He told us when we went to visit you there,” Thomas said.

  “Fools. I’ve been here for months now.”

  Thomas drew in a deep breath. Patience. He would have to remember patience.

  “It is certainly a pretty-looking house, I suppose,” Julia continued, “but, I don’t know …”

  “What? You don’t think you’d want to live there?”

  “It seems a little small. And perhaps it might be damp.”

  “Damp? What would you know? Who be you to make such bold claims?”

  Had his father forgotten yesterday’s visit when Thomas had introduced Julia?

  She subtly waved off Thomas’s concern. “I am Julia, Thomas’s wife.”

  “Well! I did not know he was married.”

  “It was a sudden thing,” she said, smiling at Thomas. He grinned, despite himself.

  “And who be your family?”

  “My family name is Carlew. My brother and mother live in London.”

  “You can rest assured that that smelly place ain’t as nice as here. I ain’t been to London above twice in my life, and I’ve no desire to go back.” This moment of lucidity was followed by a gleaming, narrowed look. “Have you ever lived by the sea, miss?”

  “No.”

  “So, you have no idea if a house would be damp, do you?”

  “Well, I suppose not, but …”

  “Then you should live there and see. I would not have that Peachtree fellow thinking he has one over me …”

  EPILOGUE

  London

  April 1819

  CANDLELIGHT GLITTERED ACROSS the ballroom filled with the proud and the titled. Thomas nodded to his new colleagues and moved to the balcony, grasping the balustrade firmly. He felt his exhaustion keenly, but would not admit to any tiredness for all the world. Julia was here, finally in the echelon of society that she deserved, and he refused to give cause for her to feel the need to steal away. So he watched the dancers twirling below, glad his injured status gave excuse to not participate, although he entertained hopes of yet obtaining a waltz with his wife.

  What a wondrous day today had been. What a wondrous few months he had lived. His heart was full, his life with Julia and young Charles like an impossible dream. He felt almost deliriously happy, his nightmares near forgotten.

  Who would have thought he could find happiness in the house of his youth? But he had, his home fast filling with new memories. Julia’s smiles. Young Charles’s laughter. So many good things. He was an expectant father. He had reconciled—of sorts—with his own father, and reunited with his sister and her increasing family. He’d never known just how agreeable the notion of family could be. And most of all he was growing in relationship with his heavenly Father, and learning something of the extraordinary grace that covered his shame.

  Nothing could be sweeter.

  Last week’s news from Hawkesbury had only compounded such joy. Magdalena had lied; there was no baby. Hawkesbury’s investigator had learned she had fled to a neighboring village and recently married a shipwright’s eldest son. She was not Thomas’s responsibility anymore. Breath released, in a sigh that seemed to come from his toes.

  “That is the look of gladness if ever I saw one.”

  Thomas acknowledged Jon’s words with a handshake and a smile. “I am enjoying the evening.”

  “It is well deserved. Now I hesitate to speculate whether you stand here because you feel drawn to matters of work or away from laboring in another field.”

  “Your hesitation to speculate on such matters does you credit.”

  Jon laughed. “I am pleased to see Mother seems a great deal warmer to you today.”

  Understatement indeed. “Julia made her sentiments very plain.”

  “I admit to feeling no small measure of gladness at the return of her spirit. For too long she seemed but a shadow of herself.”

  Thomas said carefully, “I think she is learning when such spirit is necessary, and when, perhaps, it is not.”

  “Your influence?” Jon said with a raised brow.

  “God’s influence. She—we—have been spending much time in learning more about God’s character and His ways.”

  Jon’s face relaxed into warmth. “I cannot ever thank you enough for helping my sister find salvation. And to see how under your spiritual stewardship Julia is growing in her faith.”

  Pleasure unfurled across his chest like a banner. How good to hear approbation from Jon. He knew he was loved by God, but sometimes it felt necessary to hear words of approval from men, too. Good men, whose words he valued, like Jon and Lord Hawkesbury. And …

  “Harry? Have you spoken with him lately? How are he and Lady Bevington?”

  “The last time I saw Harry he seemed to be in high altitudes—no, not drunk, just ridiculously happy. It seems his good wife will need to take a break from her paintings in several months, in order to attend to matters that have more direct impact on the future of the earldom.”

  “She is increasing?”

  “Yes.”

  Thomas smiled. “Well, that is good news.”

  “You have no idea how good. Now, tell me, do you plan to stand here all night or will you come downstairs with me? I promise you I shall not allow my mother to eat you.”

  “Julia has already made me that same promise, you may be interested to hear. But I assure you, I am merely conserving my energies.”

  “I was sure it must be so. I did not think a man brave enough to face a charging elephant would lose courage at facing his wife’s mother.”

  They shared grins, and once again Thomas thanked God for the change wrought in his friend. For truly he and Jon were friends again.

  Jon nodded and departed, leaving Thomas once more to his perusal of the dancers. As he observed, he listened to the chatter of those around him, many of whom had already congratulated him on the day’s chief news, his new appointment, and some of whom had congratulated him several times already.

  “There he is!”

  He tensed, then forced himself to relax as his mother-in-law drew near. Perhaps one day he might be able to enjoy, not merely endure, her company. Julia, trailing in her mother’s wake, smiled sympathetically at him.

  “Oh, my dear Major—I mean, Lieutenant Colonel Hale!
Oh, how proud we all are of you.” Lady Harkness patted his arm. “A commendation from Lord Liverpool, and an invitation from the Prince Regent. I never …”

  As her mother stumbled to a conversational pause, Julia met his glance, amusement in her eyes. “It is good to see Thomas rewarded for his endeavors.”

  “Indeed, it is,” Lady Harkness said fervently, as if she’d never expressed a doubt about him. Since that horrid day in Cambridgeshire, she’d slowly come to regard Thomas in the light of a hero, which made him by turns pleased yet uncomfortable, as he certainly did not see himself in that way at all. But she’d grown so insistent that his actions had saved Julia—“so heroic, as if walking to your death!”—that neither of them had wanted to admit that, but for Julia’s quick thinking, the outcome might have been very different.

  “Ah! The man himself. Congratulations, Lieutenant Colonel, on your new posting and new address.” Lord Hawkesbury shook Thomas’s hand. “I am more pleased than you can ever know.”

  “I thank you again, sir, for all you have done.”

  Hawkesbury held up a hand. “All your own merits, Hale. And I cannot think such a role could be in better hands.” The role being Fallbright’s old position at the Foreign Office, but with new responsibilities. “Lord Bathurst seems most impressed.”

  Something the Secretary of State for War and Colonies had said earlier to Thomas, during the ceremony at Whitehall. He smiled. “I am pleased this means that my men will finally see recompense.”

  “It is important to have men you can trust.”

  “Indeed.” Thomas cleared his throat. “I trust the young viscount is well?”

  Hawkesbury grinned. “Very well. Lavinia says he behaves just like his father, and my mother is inclined to agree, which is a thing so rare it is most wonderful to see.” He leaned closer, and said in a conspiratorial tone, “It is a blessing, is it not, when a mother finally approves their child’s marriage partner?”

  “I believe it will be,” he said.

  “I believe it already is,” Hawkesbury said, a smile glinting in his eye before he clapped Thomas on the shoulder and moved away.

  “Now, are you free, oh heroic one?” Julia smiled. “I have committed the most appalling social solecism by refusing to dance with everyone who asked, simply because I insist on dancing with my husband. But he’s proved such a popular man that I’ve barely had a chance to see him.”

  “My humblest apologies,” he said. “Had I known my wife wished to dance I would have told the Duke of Sussex that I had far more pressing matters to attend than listening to him.” He offered his arm, and they moved slowly down the stairs towards the musicians. “I trust this will be a waltz?”

  “Your trust will not be misplaced,” she said, smiling up at him in that way that caught his heart. Her gown of pale blue highlighted her eyes; her hair dressed high in a style that made her seem regal. The only sign she was a matron was the swelling of her stomach, and the confidence she wore brighter than a crown.

  It was like their first meeting: she, looking so fair and lovely; he, wondering how someone of his origins had stumbled into such a place. But this time, honor preceded him, and with his heavenly Father’s assurance ringing through his soul, he felt no shame, even though he knew himself to be the subject of some speculation from the wagging tongues behind fluttering fans.

  The music struck up, and he swung Julia onto the dance floor, holding her as close as propriety allowed. She smiled up at him. “How are you feeling?”

  “How I always feel when you’re in my arms: like I’ve found home.” He smiled as she sighed, her smile sweetening. “And how are you feeling, Mrs. Hale?”

  “So much better than those first few months. I thank God for so many things every day, and not having that nausea is one.”

  “I’m glad.”

  And he was. God had worked things out so much better than he could have asked or imagined. Tonight had even provided opportunity for him to meet Mr. Amherst, Julia’s one-time admirer, and that meeting had laid to rest any concerns Thomas might once have felt. Upon meeting them, and Thomas offering his appreciation for his valiance in protecting Julia on that day in Hyde Park, Mr. Amherst had flushed, and mumbled of his obligation for the major’s—no, the lieutenant colonel’s—forbearance in such a matter, before stumbling away to find his partner, one of the Aynsley girls, or so Julia said.

  “He could barely look at you!” Julia had whispered.

  “Am I so very frightening?”

  “No, but in that coat and neckcloth you do appear rather awe-inspiring and grand.”

  His lips curled to one corner. “Are you flattering me?”

  “I don’t think I need to, do I?”

  Thomas laughed. “Are you calling me proud?”

  “Never. Although I do admit to feeling rather proud of my brave and clever husband, especially as he is the handsomest man in the room.”

  But he—holding her now, a little closer than society’s matrons might approve—had no thought of his appearance, no thought of anything save how blessed he was to hold his wife amid the esteem of society and her family’s approbation.

  “You seem happy, Lieutenant Colonel.”

  “I am happy,” he said, smiling deep into her eyes. “And you?”

  “There is nowhere else I’d rather be when I’m with you.”

  Gossips be hanged—he kissed his Jewel, right in the middle of the dance floor.

  She laughed. “How scandalous you are, sir!”

  “’Twould be scandalous not to, in my way of thinking.”

  “I like your way of thinking,” she said, smiling mischievously at him. “I love you, Thomas.”

  “And I love you, Jewel of my heart.”

  And he held her, and led her, and twirled her, all the time hoping this dance would never end.

  Their dance of love, that had taken so many turns in the wrong direction, had proved instead to have always been of their heavenly Father’s creation.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ELOPING TO GRETNA Green carried a massive social stigma during Regency times, yet hundreds of couples did so. But what happened afterwards? Could a runaway marriage be redeemed?

  I wanted to explore some of the possible consequences of such an action, so readers may find this book is perhaps a little more real, a little more raw, than some of my others. I hope, though, that you have still managed to enjoy the story, and gain a measure of hope that whatever situation you face, or people you may despair over, God’s grace is at work to bring all people to Himself.

  For part of my research into Regency elopements, I used Peter Hutchinson’s fabulous resource Chronicles of Gretna Green. Interestingly, a number of those who eloped did manage to obtain positions of influence, such as government office—there is hope for everyone!

  For my research into the British Indian Army, I used a number of online resources, including The Political History of India, from 1784– 1823 by Sir John Malcolm, which gave access to political events of the time as well as a suggestion of the style and address of contemporaries. I’d also like to acknowledge my friend Seema Khan for her firsthand knowledge of conditions in the Poona region, and her willingness to share this with me.

  While the characters in this book are purely fictional, I have used a few known names from British parliament, including Lord Liverpool, Lord Goulburn, and Lord Bathurst, who did indeed hold the positions mentioned in this story.

  I want to thank my publisher, Kregel Publications, for allowing this unusual love story to be incorporated into my Regency Brides series. We live in a disposable society, where it’s all too easy to give up on people or on institutions such as marriage, and to be led by feelings rather than vows uttered before God. I hope and pray that my readers will be encouraged to find strength and hope in God and His grace, and in the promise of hope found in the Bible, epitomized in the life and sacrificial death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

  May all who are lost come home.

  Fo
r behind-the-book details and the readers discussion guide, and to sign up for Carolyn’s newsletter, please visit www.carolynmillerauthor.com.

  If you have enjoyed reading this or any of the other books in the Regency Brides series, please consider leaving a review at Amazon, Goodreads, and/or your place of purchase.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  THANK YOU, GOD, for giving this gift of creativity, and the amazing opportunity to express it. Thank You for patiently loving us, and offering us grace and hope through Jesus Christ.

  Thank you, Joshua, for your love and encouragement. I appreciate you, and all the support you give in so many ways. I love you!

  Thank you, Caitlin, Jackson, Asher, and Tim—I love you, I’m so proud of you, and I’m grateful you understand why I spend so much time in imaginary worlds.

  To my family, church family, and friends, whose support, encouragement, and prayers I value and have needed—thank you. Big thanks to Roslyn and Jacqueline for patiently reading through so many of my manuscripts, and for offering suggestions to make my stories sing.

  Thank you, Tamela Hancock Murray, my agent, for helping this little Australian negotiate the big, wide American market.

  Thank you to the authors and bloggers who have endorsed, encouraged, and opened doors along the way: you are a blessing! Thanks to my Aussie writer friends—I appreciate you.

  To the Ladies of Influence—your support and encouragement are gold! Thank you to everyone who helps share the love!

  To the fabulous team at Kregel: thank you for believing in me, and for making The Making of Mrs. Hale shine.

  Finally, thank you to my readers. I treasure your kind messages of support and lovely reviews. I hope you enjoyed Julia’s story.

  God bless you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  London

  October 1818

  SURELY A PROSPECTIVE husband must elicit greater feeling than the comfort experienced when wearing one’s favorite slippers? Caroline Hatherleigh adjusted her skirts as the Berkeley Square door knocker tapped three times, and then glanced at the gentleman beside her. With his high shirt points and carefully sculpted sandy hair, the Honorable Edward Amherst looked the very picture of respectability. But then he should, being the second son of the Earl of Rovingham, and destined to enjoy the same social standing of which she also partook.