A Lass for Christmas (Tenacious Trents Novella) Read online

  A Lass for Christmas

  Copyright © 2012 by Jane Charles

  Cover Design by Lily Smith

  Smashwords Edition

  Night Shift Publishing

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the author’s imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any event, locale or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To the wonderful authors from A Summons to Yorkshire,

  A Summons from the Duke, A Summons from the Castle and

  A Summons from His Grace. The individual authors took an idea

  proposed by Ava Stone, Jerrica Knight-Catania and myself

  and together we wrote twelve wonderful Christmas stories

  from which my Tenacious Trent Series was born.

  .

  Bentley Manor, 1805

  Lady Madeline Trent stared up at her father, fear quaked through her body. She knew better than to disturb him. It had been over a year since she had felt the sting of the willow switch but some memories were never forgotten.

  “Ladies do not race through the house,” he yelled. “Ladies do not run down the stairs.” His voice grew louder. “Ladies do not scream.” With each sentence Madeline backed further and further away from him. She wanted to look for her mother but knew better than to break eye contact with Father.

  This was all Jordan’s fault. If he hadn’t been chasing and teasing her, she wouldn’t have been running down the stairs. But Jordan wouldn’t be in trouble. He never was. Father loved him best, next to Clay.

  Matthew, another brother stuck his head out the library door and quickly disappeared again. But he didn’t close the door, and she sensed he was out of sight, listening. Nobody wanted to be around Father when he was angry, and they found places to hide when necessary. Though her brothers were grown up and could leave if they wished, since they each had places they could stay in London, she couldn’t go anywhere. Her life was at Bentley Manor, dull and boring, except when her brothers were visiting.

  “Go to your room and pack your belongings.”

  She swallowed. He was going to kick her out of the house? She was only twelve. Where would she live? Would Clay or Jordan let her stay with them in Town?

  “I am sending you to The Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies.”

  Father was sending her off to school, just like her brothers when they were her age. Excitement fluttered in her chest.

  “They have an excellent reputation. Though they usually don’t take girls younger than fourteen, they made an exception in your case.”

  “No.”

  Madeline turned toward her mother’s gasp.

  “She is too young. You can’t send her away.”

  “If you had raised her properly, I wouldn’t need to,” her father shouted.

  Madeline’s stomach tightened like it so often did when her parents fought. She had to intervene or soon her mother would be in tears, and if the argument was bad enough, her mother wouldn’t leave her room for days. Madeline often wondered what happened while her mother was alone because Mother usually had a fading bruise somewhere on her face when she did finally come out. Madeline had to make this right so her mother wasn’t hurt again.

  “It is all right, Mother.”

  Tears sparkled in her mother’s eyes.” You are just a baby.”

  “She is a young lady,” her father barked, causing Madeline to jump.

  It would be nice to be away from him for a while. Hopefully nobody yelled at the school she was going to, but she couldn’t be certain. Clay, her eldest brother complained that a few of his instructors had been fond of yelling and the ruler. She grasped her hands together. She wouldn’t like being struck with a ruler any more than she liked being struck with Father’s willow switch.

  “I promise to study hard and write every week.” Oh, if only her mother could go with her, then it would be perfect.

  No, what would be perfect was if her father went away and her brothers remained at home. But such was not to be. Her father never left except for the Season, and then for only a short time.

  “Perhaps you will be able to come visit me.”

  Her mother smiled sadly and nodded her head.

  “Only if necessary,” her father insisted. “You, Madeline, will concentrate on becoming a lady. You have one purpose in this life and that is to marry a lord of wealth and connections and deliver an heir and a spare.”

  She buried the sigh. Madeline knew well enough what her lot in life was, being the only daughter of an earl.

  “However, unless you curb your behavior and become obedient like your mother, you won’t even accomplish that one simple task.” He turned on his heel and marched down the hall. “Do you really want to be a burden to your brothers by not marrying well?” he called over his shoulder and slammed the door to his study.

  Mother rushed to her side and pulled Madeline into a tight hug. “I am going to miss you.”

  Madeline clung to her mother, tears welled in her eyes.” I will miss you too,” she whispered back.

  “But it is for the best. As much as I hate this, you are safer, far away from here.”

  “Your mother is correct, Poppet.” Clay appeared from nowhere and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I will accompany you tomorrow.”

  “As will I,” Jordan said from the stairway. “It is my fault you are in trouble, Mad. But, I can’t be upset that you’re able to escape this house.”

  Brachton Manor, December 1813

  "Damn and blast.” Lachlan Grant stared out the window at the quickly falling snow. He would not be able to leave today as planned.

  “Perhaps it will let up and we can travel tomorrow.”

  Lachlan turned to Dougal Ferguson. They had been friends since childhood and when Lachlan became of age to need a valet, his friend applied for the position as there was little work in Scotland. In truth, Dougal was a lousy valet and for the most part, he simply lived where Lachlan did. Not that it bothered Lachlan. It wasn’t as if he needed another man to help him dress, and he was glad for the company of a friend who had known him almost since birth.

  How was it possible that the Scots had lost major battles to the English lords who couldn’t even shave themselves?

  He shouldn’t have such uncharitable thoughts. It was this damnable weather keeping him here that had put him in a foul mood. He knew several Englishmen who could get by without the assistance of a servant, and just as many who would be lost without one. “It is bad enough havin’ to live in England half the year, but I wanted to be home in Falkirk by Christmas.”

  “It could be worse,” his old friend said.

  “How could it possibly be worse?” Lachlan turned from the window and stomped toward the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whisky. Besides, there were few bottles left and according to his brother Ian, the stills have been busy and the grain plentiful. There were rich stores of whisky hidden and ready to be brought back to England, as long as he wasn’t caught. At least that was one benefit of being Marquess of Brachton, nobody searched your carriage. Whisky had gotten his family through some very dark times whether it was to be imbibed or to be smuggled to sell to the English, and none of the b
rothers were eager to bring an end to the secret family business.

  “You could be livin’ in that molderin’ manor house with barely a scrap of food on the table.”

  Lachlan eyed Dougal over the rim of his glass.

  “As the Marquess of Brachton, not only did ye inherit this estate that ye despise, but riches to help yer family.

  Guilt settled in his stomach. He should be more thankful for this good fortune than he was.

  “The late-Marquess did nothin’ to assist yer family while he was alive and ye’ve made his fortune yers.”

  “I never wanted the title,” Lachlan grumbled. Even though he knew since he was ten that it would be his, once his uncle kicked up his toes, he hadn’t wanted it. To prepare him for the future, Lachlan had been sent to Eton and then to Oxford, to be educated as an English gentleman. His uncle hoped to bury the Scot in him so deep that nothing remained once Lachlan became a man. Little did his uncle know that Lachlan would remain a Scot through and through regardless of title or land, or that his father had been English. His mother’s family in Falkirk was all the family he needed and that was where his heart lay. Not in Yorkshire.

  “But without it, yer mother and siblings would have nothin’.”

  It was the fact that his mother, brothers and sisters could now live in comfort without a care in the world that made being an English lord palatable. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be with them at Christmas. They were his family. He’d never missed a Christmas with his family and he wasn’t about to now.

  Dougal helped himself to the decanter and poured himself a whisky.” Perhaps the roads will be clear tomorrow and ye can return home.

  “And if not?” Lachlan glanced out the window once again. At the rate the snow was falling they would be buried by the time the sun rose.

  “We could leave in five days and still make it home in plenty of time for Christmas.”

  “I wanted to leave today,” he grumbled much like a petulant child while he stared out over the landscape at the side of the house. The lawn, now covered in white, ran alongside the road with only a corpse of trees separating the two. The partially frozen small lake was already covered in snow. If one did not know it was there you would think there was just a dip in the land. Such weather made for treacherous travel and he could only hope the clouds moved on so he wasn’t stuck in this house into next year.

  “I planned on bein’ in Edinburgh the week before Christmas,” he reminded Dougal. “Then home in Falkirk by Christmas Eve.”

  “Aye, for the MacFie’s annual Christmas ball.”

  “Among other things,” Lachlan agreed. “I need to find a wife and that is the best place to look.”

  Dougal turned to him.” Ye have met a number of ladies who would do well as your marchioness this past spring during the Season. Ye may have met more had ye bothered to attend any of the balls during the Little Season.

  “I will not marry an English woman. My bride will be a Scottish lass and I planned to find her by Christmas. It shouldn’t take more than a week at the most.” Lachlan tipped back his glass and drained the contents. He did not want to marry a fragile, silly twit of a girl. He wanted a woman. Someone who spoke her mind and didn’t rely on him to tell her how to think or feel. Someone who would match his passion for the marriage bed, not some miss who would be frightened and lay still and do her duty, making the ultimate sacrifice to produce an heir. How did these Englishmen bed their ladies? He hadn’t met one lady who he wished to bed and since one couldn’t make a courtesan his wife, he remained unattached.

  “A lass for Christmas? That is what ye’re wantin’?” Dougal chuckled.

  “I will find her in Edinburgh,” Lachlan insisted. “I will not return to England without a bride.” Lachlan stomped over to the sideboard and refilled his glass. Well, if he was going to be stuck here tonight, he was going to get good and bloody drunk. He could sleep it off in the carriage tomorrow.

  “Piquet or Vingt-et-un?” Dougal asked.

  Lachlan eyed his valet. The man could quit his employ and easily earn his riches at the tables of one of the many gaming hells of London if he wished, and Lachlan had no desire to have his pockets emptied by Dougal. ”Chess.”

  A knowing smile came to Dougal’s face. "I’ll get the board.”

  Madeline watched the snow pile onto the ground, giddy with anticipation. If it kept snowing this heavy, they would be stuck here. At least she would have Christmas with her mother, two of her brothers and a new sister-in-law instead of a bunch of strangers. Her oldest brother, Clayton didn’t have to leave Bentley Manor and traipse halfway across England, so why should she? He was allowed to stay snuggly at home with this wife, Eleanor, and her siblings, whereas John, the youngest of her four older brothers was with his wife at Danby Castle. The entire family had been invited for the holiday and instead of remaining at Bentley Manor where she had spent all of her Christmases, Madeline had been forced to travel to Yorkshire so her mother would not have to spend another Christmas away from John, since she hadn’t spent it with him for the last five years. At least Jordan, the second eldest, was made to join them and didn’t wish to visit Danby Castle any more than Madeline did.

  The only good thing about this trip was they stopped in Grosmont to visit Matthew, her third brother, though Madeline suspected much of this visit had to do with Mother chastising Matt for marrying too quickly for her to attend the wedding. At least Matt had married a likeable girl, Grace. And he had lost much of his stuffiness. Madeline never thought she would see the day, but was glad for it. She had never seen Matt so lighthearted and relaxed, and if Grace were the cause, then Madeline knew she would like her, once she got to know her of course.

  Only she and Jordan remained unwed, though Madeline doubted Jordan would marry in the near future, if ever. However, she would find her lord this spring. Her first Season had been miserable. She tried everything in her power to go unnoticed and spent most of it ill to her stomach, on edge and plagued with constant headaches. Her father was trying to decide on the perfect husband for her and none of them were what she wanted. She lived in fear of the day he would announce her betrothal to some bad-tempered ancient lord. She was eternally thankful that none of those who asked were good enough for what Father had wanted. What should have been her second Season was spent in mourning since her father passed away only a few months before it was set to begin. She and mother spent it alone in the country at Bentley Manor.

  This spring would be different. A smile pulled at her lips and she twirled in the center of the room. She was going to dance, laugh, flirt, wear gay dresses, take rides in Hyde Park and thoroughly enjoy herself in a way she had never been allowed to before. There were several handsome bachelors who had caught her attention that first Season, not that they even knew she existed, but most of them remained unwed as she learned this past Little Season. Given her family’s lineage and wealth, she could pick almost anyone she wished. Madeline would just need to convince the one she picked that he wanted her as well.

  Oh, she longed to be married, to host balls of her own, and dress in any color of gown that wasn’t a pastel. A giggle bubbled up inside and she twirled again, enjoying the way her soft green woolen dress flared out at her ankles. She would have a spectacular time this spring and nobody was going to stop her. She was going to fall in love, drink champagne and have a grand wedding at St. Paul’s before the Season was over. Now, if only this snow would bury them, all would be well and she wouldn’t have to travel to some dilapidated strange old castle for Christmas.

  With a sigh, she turned and wandered out of the room. If she recalled correctly, the library was two doors down. A good book, cup of tea and biscuits were the perfect way to spend a snowy afternoon.

  The door to the library was closed but for a crack and Madeline lifted her hand to knock. She would hate to intrude on anyone, especially since she was a guest in the house, only having arrived yesterday morning.

  “There is something we must share wit
h you, Rose,” Jordan began.

  Madeline leaned closer, her hand still poised but wanting to know what Jordan had to tell her mother.

  “But you can never, ever tell Madeline.”

  Her hand dropped to her side and Madeline straightened. What couldn’t she know?

  She pressed herself against the wall and turned her ear toward the crack so she didn’t miss a word.

  “This is going to be difficult. Are you sure you don’t wish for a brandy or glass of wine?” Matt asked.

  “Get on with it, you are worrying me.”

  “It is about father’s second wife, Adele.”

  What news could there be about Adele? She died over twenty years ago, when the carriage she and her daughter, Julia, were traveling in went over the side of a bridge. They both drowned and their bodies swept out to sea. Madeline often wondered what it would have been like to have an older sister.

  “I think you had better pour me that brandy.”

  Madeline’s eyes popped open. Her mother requesting a brandy was completely out of character however.

  “Do you already know?” Jordan asked slowly.

  “That they didn’t die?” Her mother returned.” Yes.”

  Madeline sank to the bench outside of the door. How was this even possible?

  “You married him knowing his former wife still lived?” Matthew demanded, his tone harsher than ever before.

  “Of course not!” her mother snapped.

  There was a pause and Madeline imagined her mother sipping brandy, for why else would there be silence. They didn’t know she was here did they? She glanced at the floor and the lighting. Her shadow fell opposite the door so she hadn’t given herself away.

  “I learned when your father started searching for them right before Julia’s eighteenth birthday.”