A Lass for Christmas -
A Tenacious Trents Novella
(Book 4)
Lady Madeline Trent had grand plans for her future until she
learned her family’s awful secret and a fall through the ice that landed her in
the arms of a handsome Scot.
Lachlan Grant, Marquess Brachton, may hold an English title,
but he was determined to marry a Scottish lass, until his fate is altered one
snowy night.
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
brothers 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 copse 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
with 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.”
Madeline couldn’t ever remember her
mother sounding this angry or bitter, not even when she was vexed.
“He informed me that he wanted Julia
back so that he could match her with Lord Purlingham.”
Madeline’s stomach churned.
The viscount was older than her father had been. And even though
she knew nothing about Julia, especially since she thought her half-sister had
been dead for the past twenty-three years, Madeline couldn’t imagine any young
woman of eighteen would wish to marry someone that old. It was no
different than her only Season. Did Father never wish to match his
daughters with younger lords?
“They disappeared after that,” Jordan
offered.
“Yes,” mother agreed. “All of those
years he had been sending funds to France to support the two when all the while
letting me and the rest of society believe that he had been widowed a second
time and that Julia had died.”
Her mother wasn’t just bitter, she
sounded hurt and angry.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Matthew asked.
“What was there to say? All four of
you boys loved your stepmother and Julia. I didn’t know if you would seek
her out. And, I also didn’t want you hurt by her betrayal. She is the one
who ran away.” Mother sighed and Madeline leaned closer to the door.
“We already knew she was running
away the night she supposedly died,” Matthew offered.
“How?” Her mother questioned.” I am
certain your father didn’t tell you.”
“Clay saw her leaving and tried to
make her stay.”
“Do you know why she left?”
Madeline leaned a little closer. It
had to have been something very important, perhaps scandalous because ladies
did not just up and leave their titled husband, especially with a child in tow.
“Do you?” Jordan countered.
“Your father said she was running
off to meet her lover, but I never truly believed that.”
“He started taking the switch to
Julia before she was even two.”
Madeline suppressed her own memory
of Father swatting her.
“I was afraid it was something like
that. I have vague recollections of Adele, before she married your father.
Our parents were friends. She would not have stood for her child being
struck.”
“You did,” Jordan stated coldly.
It wasn’t Mother’s fault, Madeline
wanted to yell, but didn’t dare bring attention to herself.
“Rarely, and the first time he
struck her she was seven.”
“How did you avoid it for so long?”
Matthew asked.
“I never let Madeline leave the
nursery. After I saw how he punished you boys for the mildest infraction,
I couldn’t risk him doing that to a much younger child.” She sighed.” I tried
to intervene where you boys were concerned, but sometimes I made it worse. I am
sorry for that.”
“Yet, you did nothing when you
learned the truth about Adele,” Matthew pointed out.
“I didn’t know what to do.
And then there was the fear that if anyone learned, I would be ruined,
but it wasn’t about me.”
“No. You wanted to protect
Madeline,” Jordan confirmed.
“If anyone learns that my marriage
was not valid they will paint Madeline a bastard and society will turn on her.
She is innocent in all of this and doesn’t deserve to have doors shut on her.”
Madeline grasped the wall to steady
herself as the floor swayed before her. She was a bastard, born on the
wrong side of the blanket. That thought hadn’t even entered her mind when she
heard Adele was still alive.
“You are innocent of any wrong
doing as well,” Matthew offered.
“I was until I learned,” Mother
sighed. “But I am just as guilty for holding my tongue after he told me
the truth.”
“You had to protect your daughter.”
“Which I still intend to do,” she
said with vengeance.
“There could be a problem,” Jordan
hedged.
“What? Has something happened?”
There was a slight hint of panic in her voice.
“Adele and Julia left France some
months ago. They were tracked to Scotland but we no longer know where
they are,” Jordan explained.
“We thought you should know so that
you could be prepared in the event they show up in London.”
Madeline’s heart stopped.
They couldn’t come here.
“Do you think she would?” Mother
asked with the same panic Madeline was experiencing.
“We don’t know what they will do,
but John has been looking for them.” Matt answered. ”She must have learned that
father died and there is no reason for her to remain away.”
“We must stop her. She can’t come
here. Not until Madeline is married.” She could hear the rustle of her mother’s
skirt. The woman was always the calmest person she knew, but Madeline could
hear her moving about the room. She stood in the event her mother was about to
walk into the hall. She couldn’t be caught. “Please refill my glass,
Jordan.”
Madeline brought a hand up to her
mouth. Her heart raced and she looked around for an escape. Oh, nothing
good came from listening at doors.
“As long as Madeline
never learns, or anyone else, we don’t have to worry.”
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