The Love Letter Read online

  ACCLAIM FOR RACHEL HAUCK

  The Writing Desk

  “Rachel Hauck enchants us again! Tenley and Birdie are bound together by the understanding that creativity is a guiding force and that their stories must be told. A tale both bittersweet and redemptive, The Writing Desk is your must-read.”

  —PATTI CALLAHAN HENRY, New York Times BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  The Wedding Shop

  “I adored The Wedding Shop! Rachel Hauck has created a tender, nostalgic story, weaving together two pairs of star-crossed lovers from the present and the past with the magical space that connects them. So full of heart and heartache and redemption, this book is one you’ll read long into the night, until the characters become your friends, and Heart’s Bend, Tennessee, your second hometown.”

  —BEATRIZ WILLIAMS, New York Times BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  “The Wedding Shop is the kind of book I love, complete with flawed yet realistic characters, dual timelines that intersect unexpectedly, a touch of magic, and a large dose of faith. Two breathtaking romances are the perfect bookends for this novel about love, forgiveness, and following your dreams. And a stunning, antique wedding dress with a secret of its own. This is more than just a good read—it’s a book to savor.”

  —KAREN WHITE, New York Times BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  “In The Wedding Shop, the storyline alternates between past and present, engrossing the reader in both timelines . . . and the ways that God’s provision is shown is heartwarming and can even increase the reader’s faith. The weaving in of characters and plot points from The Wedding Dress and The Wedding Chapel adds depth and meaning to the gorgeously rendered tale.”

  —RT Book Reviews, 4 STARS

  The Wedding Chapel

  “Hauck’s engaging novel about love, forgiveness, and new beginnings adeptly ties together multiple oscillating storylines of several generations of families. Interesting plot interweaves romance, real-life issues, and a dash of mystery . . . Recommend for mature fans of well-done historical fiction.”

  —CBA Retailers and Resources

  “Hauck tells another gorgeously rendered story. The raw, hidden emotions of Taylor and Jack are incredibly realistic and will resonate with readers. The way the entire tale comes together with the image of the chapel as holding the heartbeat of God is breathtaking and complements the romance of the story.”

  —RT Book Reviews, 4½ STARS AND A TOP PICK!

  The Wedding Dress

  “Hauck seamlessly switches back and forth in this redeeming tale of a shop with healing powers for the soul. As Cora and Haley search for solace and love, they find peace in the community of the charming shop. Hauck succeeds at blending similar themes across the time periods, grounding the plot twists in the main characters’ search for redemption and a reinvigoration of their wavering faith. In the third of her winsome wedding-themed standalone novels, Hauck focuses on the power of community to heal a broken heart.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “The Wedding Dress is a thought-provoking read and one of the best books I have read. Look forward to more . . .”

  —MICHELLE JOHNMAN, GOLD COAST, AUSTRALIA

  “I thank God for your talent and that you wrote The Wedding Dress. I will definitely come back to this book and read it again. And now I cannot wait to read Once Upon a Prince.”

  —AGATA FROM POLAND

  The Royal Wedding Series

  “Perfect for Valentine’s Day, Hauck’s latest inspirational romance offers an uplifting and emotionally rewarding tale that will delight her growing fan base.”

  —Library Journal, STARRED REVIEW

  “Hauck writes a feel-good novel that explores the trauma and love of the human heart . . . an example of patience and sacrifice that readers will adore.”

  —Romantic Times, 4 STARS

  “A stirring modern-day fairy tale about the power of true love.”

  —CINDY KIRK, AUTHOR OF Love at Mistletoe Inn

  “How to Catch a Prince is an enchanting story told with bold flavor and tender insight. Engaging characters come alive as romance blooms between a prince and his one true love. Hauck’s own brand of royal-style romance shines in this third installment of the Royal Wedding series.”

  —DENISE HUNTER, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE CHAPEL SPRINGS ROMANCE AND BLUE RIDGE ROMANCE SERIES

  “How to Catch a Prince contains all the elements I’ve come to love in Rachel Hauck’s Royal Wedding series: an ‘it don’t come easy’ happily ever after, a contemporary romance woven through with royal history, and a strong spiritual thread with an unexpected touch of the divine. Hauck’s smooth writing—and the way she wove life truths throughout the novel—made for a couldn’t-put-it-down read.”

  —BETH K. VOGT, AUTHOR OF Somebody Like You, ONE OF Publishers Weekly’S BEST BOOKS OF 2014

  “Rachel Hauck’s inspiring Royal Wedding series is one for which you should reserve space on your keeper shelf!”

  —USA Today

  “Hauck spins a surprisingly believable royal-meets-commoner love story. This is a modern and engaging tale with well-developed secondary characters that are entertaining and add a quirky touch. Hauck fans will find a gem of a tale.”

  —Publishers Weekly STARRED REVIEW OF Once Upon a Prince

  ALSO BY RACHEL HAUCK

  The Writing Desk

  The Wedding Shop

  The Wedding Chapel

  The Wedding Dress

  NOVELLAS FOUND IN A YEAR OF WEDDINGS SERIES

  A March Bride (e-book only)

  A Brush with Love: A January Wedding Story (e-book only)

  THE ROYAL WEDDING SERIES

  Once Upon a Prince

  Princess Ever After

  How to Catch a Prince

  A Royal Christmas Wedding (novella)

  LOWCOUNTRY ROMANCE NOVELS

  Sweet Caroline

  Love Starts with Elle

  Dining with Joy

  NASHVILLE NOVELS

  Nashville Sweetheart (e-book only)

  Nashville Dreams (e-book only)

  With Sara Evans

  Sweet By and By

  Softly and Tenderly

  Love Lifted Me

  The Love Letter

  © 2018 by Rachel Hauck

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Scripture used is taken from the King James Bible. Public domain.

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  The author is represented by MacGregor Literary, Inc.

  Epub Edition May 2018 9780310351016

  Library edition ISBN: 978-0-7852-1668-1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hauck, Rachel, 1960-

  Title: The love letter / Rachel Hauck.

  Description: Nashville, Tennessee : Thomas Nelson, [2018]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017060982 | ISBN 9780310351009 (paperback)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Love stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3608.A866 L678 2018 | DDC 813/.6--dc2
3 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017060982

  Printed in the United States of America

  18 19 20 21 22 LSC 5 4 3 2 1

  For Tony

  Contents

  Acclaim for Rachel Hauck

  Also by Rachel Hauck

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Questions

  About Rachel Hauck

  Prologue

  HAMILTON

  Hannah’s Cowpens

  South Carolina Colony

  January 17, 1781

  He must finish. He must. Stumbling, he fell to the damp earth of the maple swamp with the click-slap of musket fire ringing through the cold dew, his breath billowing.

  The smoke of guns and cannons dulled the first light, and the stinging scent of gunpowder poisoned the fragrance of winter.

  He clung to the nearest tree, his back to the battle, dagger in hand. Blood from a saber slash stained his buckskin sleeve and pooled in his left hand.

  The battle persisted not thirty paces hence but he collapsed, weary, as if fighting for days.

  Finish, man, finish.

  Hamilton’s conflict had begun with Lieutenant Twimball long before today. And with the breath in his lungs, it would end with Twimball. Here. Now.

  For what that man had done. For the deeds done by all who donned the king’s redcoat.

  Spots swelled and burst before his eyes, and his head seemed to float above his body. Clinging to his rifle with his good arm, Hamilton tried to stand, his damaged left wing wrapped around the tree. But his legs . . . his legs refused to obey.

  Another volley of bullets drew his attention toward the battlefield. The British were charging as his brothers-in-arms retreated.

  Trying once again to stand, he collapsed against the tree, a sliver of stationery fluttering past the corner of his eye. His letter! He dropped the dagger, then patted his left pocket, his finger protruding though a slice made by the edge of a sword.

  The wind shuttled the solitary page over the cold, muddy terrain.

  He must . . . retrieve it. Hamilton stretched, barely grasping the edge of the page with the tips of his fingers, then losing his hold as he toppled forward to the earth.

  The fight waged above and around him. The shouts and cries of warring men clung to the bare January limbs as Hamilton Lightfoot faded away, dreaming of love, dreaming of her.

  1

  CHLOE

  Present-Day Hollywood

  August

  You see, love stories never worked for her. She never got the guy. In life or on-screen. Instead, she died. In nearly every major role she landed.

  Last year, Variety dubbed her “the queen of the death scene.” What a stellar endorsement.

  But today she determined to do something different. Stop waiting for change and go for what she wanted.

  Driving her ’64 red Mustang across Bel Air, the convertible top down, to the great Hollywood director Jeremiah Gonda’s home, Chloe had high hopes.

  Easing up to a red light, she powered up the radio.

  “What you want, baby, I got it . . .”

  The wind caught the loose ends of her ponytail as a black BMW pulled alongside. The driver, with his cut and chiseled profile, stared ahead, then glanced toward her with a flirting, cap-toothed smile. When their eyes met, his grin faded and he faced forward.

  Chloe snarled and boosted the music.

  “R-E-S-P-E-C-T.”

  The light flashed green, and he shot off the line. Poser. Like she’d want that fake-toothed pretty boy. Please. She’d eaten them for lunch when she was a teenager. (Not really, but that sounded good, didn’t it?)

  No, today was not about her past, the scandal (oh shudder), or her resumé of death and dying, but about what she wanted to accomplish. For the first time in her twenty-year career, she was asking for a part, not waiting to be called for an audition.

  Yeah, you bet she’d called in a family favor. Why be the daughter of Hollywood legends—Academy Award–winning director and actress—if she didn’t call in a few favors?

  Her sordid career had her dying all over stage and screen. Not in slasher flicks or horror shows but on soap operas, coming-of-age films, Broadway, and one Shakespeare in the Park.

  She’d turned down at least three roles due to the dying nature of the character she was offered. Because at twenty-nine, she began to wonder if she’d cursed herself.

  Dying so many times, had she made some unspoken agreement with death? She died a hundred and fifty times her year on Broadway. A hundred and fifty!

  Could such a role produce an unseen effect on her life? On her soul?

  Because after Broadway came the scandal. The death of her reputation. Chloe turned the music up louder, forcing the ugly ordeal to the back of her mind.

  Pulling up to the Gondas’ gate, she pressed the speaker button.

  “Chloe Daschle to see Mr. Gonda.”

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  Chloe lowered the radio volume. “Chloe Daschle to see Mr. Gonda.”

  With a click, the ornate iron gate swung open and Chloe eased up the stone driveway, following the curve to park in the shadow by the front door.

  Jeremiah and Laura Gonda, another dynamic duo, were like her parents, an award-winning director married to an Oscar-winning actress.

  They were one of Hollywood’s anomalies. Happily, faithfully married for twenty years and raising seven kids practically made them a sideshow.

  Chloe’s parents, also happily together for thirty-five years, had never married.

  Stepping out of the car, Chloe released her ponytail, fingered the knots from her hair, and reached for her bag. At the door, she rang the bell, then stood back, waiting, the thump of her heartbeat drowning her thoughts.

  Hey, Jeremiah, I’ d like to read for Esther.

  Surprise! Listen, I got hold of this script, Bound by Love. Have you cast Esther yet?

  Please, please, please let me read for this part.

  She’d heard of Jeremiah’s latest film from a friend of hers, Smitty Barone, an actor-slash-Realtor in town who popped into her life every now and then. She couldn’t even remember where she first met him. Acting class?

  The breeze kicked up, and Chloe glanced toward the trees lining the gated grounds. Bel Air hosted a legend of stars in its day. Mary Pickford, Ingrid Bergman, George Reeves, Jerry Lewis, Johnny Carson. Even the Beatles during their ’65 tour.

  In years to come, her parents would become part of Hollywood’s storied past. But she, Chloe Daschle, didn’t ache for immortality. She wanted to work, do something meaningful with her craft, impact hearts for good.

  And if she was so blessed, break the mysterious curse of death she’d somehow enacted in her life and find personal happiness and true love. Was that too much to ask? To believe in?

  The door of the angular, glass Frank Lloyd Wright–home swung open. Jeremiah stood on the other side with his newest daughter, eight-month-old Eva.

  “Chloe, come in, come in.” He stepped aside, smiling. The grand marble foyer featured a Gone with the Wind staircase, a high, wood-beam ceiling, and a nine-foot chan
delier. “Thanks for coming to the house. Laura’s reshooting some scenes this week, so I’m on deck all day.”

  “I’d rather come here than your office.” She wrapped Eva’s little hand around her finger. “You’re so beautiful.”

  “And she knows it too. Ezra?” Jer called to his oldest. “Come take your sister.” A gangly, cute blond teenager came around the corner, stuffing a piece of sandwich meat in his mouth, and reached for the baby.

  “The nanny has the middle kids at gymnastics and dance.” Jer motioned for Chloe to follow him. “So we’ll have some quiet.” He entered his office, the western wall of glass framing a spectacular view of the valley. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Um—” Chloe hesitated, her leather bag swinging from her elbow. This was crazy. If he wanted her to audition for the part he’d have called. But he hadn’t. No, instead, he called the likes of Ginger Winters and Sabrina Fox.

  Even if he miraculously wanted to cast her, the studio would balk. She was, to her regret, typecast. The girl who dies. He’d be crazy to—

  “Chloe? Something to drink?” Jer stood by the fridge built into the wall.

  “Um, sorry, yes, please, Diet Coke.” She entered the room, set her bag on a plush leather chair, and strolled to the window. “I’m not sure I’ll ever tire of this view.” Her father’s office at the Daschle mansion had the same one. But from her apartment in the mansion’s north wing, Chloe saw only backyard trees and the guesthouse.

  “Laura and I love to come in here at night after the kids are in bed, put on some music, and just watch the lights.” Jer dropped ice cubes in a crystal glass and popped open the Diet Coke before handing it to Chloe. He retrieved a bottle of Perrier for himself, coming around to the long, deep red couch. “So you’re interested in Esther?”

  Chloe joined him, taking the time to sip her drink before setting it on a coaster.

  “Am I too late?”

  He shook his head. “You’re not. She’s the only one we’ve not cast. Did your agent send you the script?”

  “No. A friend of mine, Smitty Barone.” She’d run into him one Sunday. After church. Which he did not attend on a regular basis. But in the last five years, she’d grown accustomed to Smitty’s strange comings and goings. “He said the screenplay was from a new writer. Said I should go for it.”