A Reluctant Rake - A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 5)

A Reluctant Rake - 

A Tenacious Trents Novel 

(Book 5)

Mr. Jordan Trent, the spare, was raised to be a rake.  Not only did his father encourage his roguish life, but insisted that Jordan do nothing except enjoy the life of women, gambling and fine brandy – the life his father had wanted.  It is a life Jordan enjoyed until he realized something, or someone, very important was missing.

Miss Audrey Montgomery had been warned to avoid rakes like Jordan Trent but fell under his spell like so many ladies before her.  She should have known better and vows to protect her heart whenever he is near. If only his kisses weren’t so delicious it would be so much easier.  

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London, England – Spring, 1814

Miss Audrey Montgomery stifled her groan. What was he doing here? She had chosen the Peyton ball because out of all the events this evening Mr. Jordan Trent would least likely be here.   He was a confirmed bachelor, rake, rogue, and all manner of immorality, and Lord Peyton had three unwed daughters. What was Peyton thinking by inviting such a lothario into the midst of so many innocent young ladies?

Audrey knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid Trent the entire Season, but she had hoped not to see him at her very first ball.  She drew a deep breath in hopes of calming her erratic heart. Why did Trent have the power to set her pulse a flutter? He wasn’t even looking at her. Besides, she was well aware of what a despicable creature he was, yet he still had the strangest effect on her senses and she knew better than to succumb to his charms.  She had been attracted to him last Season, as had every other lady in London, but she knew better now.

A sigh escaped. He did look handsome in his dark blue double-breasted coat with tails and black trousers.  Trent stood with one hand in his pocket and when he moved she glimpsed the gold waistcoat beneath. Trent’s broad shoulders filled out the coat perfectly and she had danced with him often enough at the beginning of last Season to know he did not use padding, or have a need for it.  His dark hair was cropped short and she suspected by the waves that it would be a mass of curls if he let it grow out.  The snowy white cravat made his cobalt eyes all the bluer.  She gasped.  Why hadn’t she noticed he was looking at her, otherwise she would not be able to see his eyes?  Perhaps he was merely looking in her direction and not directly at her.

Audrey glanced around.  Nobody else was looking at him and when she turned back, he wasn’t looking at anyone else.

Oh, drat! He was looking at her.  The last thing she wanted to do was encourage that rogue, but apparently she had.  A slow, sensual smile came to his lips and that blasted dimple emerged.

Audrey closed her eyes for a moment, hoping he would disappear. When she opened them, he was walking toward her. This was the last thing she wanted or needed and she certainly hadn’t meant to encourage him.  And, why would he want to even be near her after the way she treated him last fall when he visited his brother?  Of course, he deserved every bit of her rudeness after what he had done, and more, so why was he approaching her now?

Mr. Jordan Trent stopped before Audrey and her aunt and uncle.  His eyes focused on her after greeting the older couple and he bowed deeply before speaking.  “You look beautiful this evening, Miss Montgomery.”

Before she could respond someone bumped into her from behind and she found herself pushed into Mr. Trent. He grabbed her by both elbows to steady her and leaned forward. “Delicious as well,” he whispered.

Heat stole into her cheeks and Audrey pulled away.  Oh, he was wicked indeed. 

He held his hand out to her. “Might I see your dance card?”

Audrey forced a smile. “I am afraid they have all been claimed.”  Thank goodness. The last thing she wanted was to dance with this rake.  It was bad enough she had to stand and speak with him. Her aunt and uncle would never understand if she refused a dance.  Actually, they would if they knew the horrible truth, but that was a secret she must keep for her dear friend, Millicent, now Lady Lydell.

“A pity.”  Trent frowned as if he were disappointed but she was certain he would recover and move on to another lady to partner, one more willing than she.  “Perhaps a turn about the room?” He offered his arm.

She simply stared at it.  She did not want to touch him, let alone go anywhere with Mr. Trent. 

“Do go on, dear,” her aunt insisted.  “The musicians will not begin again for a little longer.”

“Yes, please.” Mr. Trent still had his arm out, elbow cocked, waiting for Audrey to slip her gloved hand into the crook of his arm.

Blasted man!  Perhaps she should stroll with him so she could finally give him a piece of her mind.  “Thank you.” She smiled sweetly and nodded to her aunt and uncle before allowing Trent to lead her away.

“For a moment I thought you were going to deny me the pleasure of your company,” he muttered when they were out of earshot.

“If this were not a public venue that is exactly what I would have done.”  She nodded to acquaintances as they passed.  “I believe I made my feelings for you perfectly clear this last fall so I see no reason why you wish to be in my presence to begin with.”  She spotted Lord and Lady Lydell ahead. Millicent narrowed her eyes and she frowned at Audrey.  She would need to explain the circumstances to her friend later. Now was not the best time. 

Trent turned her toward the doors leading to the gardens before they reached the Lydells.  Audrey was about to voice an objection but thought better of it.  Out of earshot of the ton she could finally tell him exactly what she thought. The things she should have said months ago.

As they stepped out onto the terrace a cool breeze washed over her heated skin.  Audrey hadn’t even realized how hot she had become from the dancing and being in the crowded ballroom until the coolness blanketed her.  They followed the few steps down into the garden and stopped before a fountain. There was nobody else present so she would be able to tell Trent exactly what she thought of him.  As Audrey turned to face him, she opened her mouth to speak but he swooped in, claiming her lips before a word could be uttered. 

She was too stunned to react.  He tasted of wine and cake and the heat of his mouth sent tremors through her body.  He delved and she bit back a moan.  Is this what he meant by delicious?

Her knees grew weak and Audrey grasped his shoulders so as not to crumble. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close to his hard, rigid body.   

Trent pulled back for a moment. “I knew beneath your cool exterior lurked passion.”

Audrey’s eyes popped open. What was she doing? She knew better than to fall under his spell like so many others, yet with one kiss he muddled her senses.  She pushed against his chest. “Let me go.”

Trent sighed and allowed her to step away from his body.

“What were you thinking? Anyone could have come upon us.”

His grin was unrepentant. “Then I suppose you would have been compromised and I would have been encouraged to do the right thing.”

“Not that you would have and then I would have been ruined.”

The smile fell from his face and his shoulders grew rigid.  “What exactly do you mean?”

Audrey narrowed her eyes, remembering all the reasons why she should never speak to Jordan Trent, let alone kiss him. “You know very well what I mean.”

“No, I do not.” He punctuated each word. 

Did he think her a fool?  Or perhaps he didn’t think she thought at all. “I know all about you, Mr. Jordan Trent.  You play with hearts and ruin ladies’ lives.”

He planted his fists on his hips and stared down at her. “What exactly have I done?  At the beginning of last Season you seemed to enjoy dancing with me then with no explanation at all you developed a strong dislike for me.  Did I step on your toes?”

How dare he pretend like he had done nothing wrong?  “You know exactly what I am talking about though you probably didn’t count on me finding out. Did you underestimated how close Millicent and I are?”

His brow furrowed in confusion but she wasn’t going to stand here and wait for him to come up with an excuse or deny his part in Millicent’s ruination.  Audrey turned and stomped away from him before she looked back over her shoulder.  “And I will never forgive what you did.”  She whipped back around, lifted her chin and walked back into the ball.  She would never speak with that rogue again and she would certainly never allow herself to be alone with him otherwise she might end up just like Millicent and that would never do.

Jordan Trent stared over the throng gathered below in the Peyton’s ballroom and wondered what horrible offense he had committed to make Miss Audrey Montgomery hate him.  At least she desired him, if her kisses were any indication. It had not been his intention to kiss her at all. He simply wanted to talk.  She was his sister-in-laws best friend and he knew they would be seeing each other often this Season and he hoped to mend whatever had come between them last year.  Yet, the moment she turned to him, her mouth parted, Jordan acted without thinking.

She tasted as sweet as he imagined. No, better than he imagined and when he pulled her close she fit against him as if she were made for him.  He could have gone on kissing her much longer so why had he said anything?  He could kick himself for breaking that kiss. He should have remained silent and weakened any resolve she held against him.

Unfortunately, she remembered she hated him before he could press any further.  Not that he would have attempted too much of a seduction since they were standing in the garden and any number of people could have come out. 

This is the exact place he had stood last year when he noticed Miss Audrey Montgomery for the first time and he was watching her again. Last spring he had been at a cross-road and longed to shed the debauched persona he had been forced to wear all of his adult life.  Force may be too strong a word, but sometimes Jordan believed it was the perfect definition.  His father, blessedly deceased, had refused to allow him even a chance at normalcy, to find love, settle down, and become respectable. Each time Jordan hinted that he wished for the stability of a family and wife, his father threatened to cut him off without a farthing. 

 “You have riches and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you waste them on a wife and children. I’ve given you everything a gentleman could ever want and you don’t even have the pressure of producing an heir.”  Jordan grimaced, hearing his father’s words echo in his head.  “Don’t disappointment me by starting to believe in love,” his father had practically spat.  “It is a waste of time and doesn’t exist. Focus on what is important and the simple pleasure of being between a woman’s thighs.”

His stomach churned recalling that last argument. It had taken place a month before his father’s death. 

Jordan sipped from the glass of wine and stared at the beautiful blonde across the ballroom.  Her hair was pulled up and away from her face in a style similar to most young ladies, but ringlets escaped, caressing her shoulders and neck. What had he done to make Miss Audrey Montgomery hate him with such venom?  If he knew he would certainly apologize, but the chit wouldn’t tell him. Hell, she barely acknowledged him this past fall when he visited his brother, Matthew, with the exception of when she tried to slap him because she assumed he had seduced Grace, his now sister-in-law.  Jordan had never seduced an innocent in his life, and never would.  Why was it necessary when there were so many experienced ladies willing to share his bed?  Why would he want inexperience when such talented hands, and mouths, were eager to give pleasure?  The only innocent he planned on ever bedding would be his wife, on their wedding night.

And what the hell did Millicent have to do with anything? She apparently figured into Miss Montgomery’s rejection of him but he didn’t have the foggiest idea how. 

He glanced around the room looking at all the ladies though there was only one Millicent that he knew of and she was married to Lydell. That chit had been the bane of his existence last Season.  She had been Lady Millicent at the time and had hounded his steps to the point that Jordan almost gave up going into public for fear she would somehow compromise him.

Jordan barley knew the chit but she must be the one Miss Montgomery referred to because the two were often in each other’s company last spring.  Jordan had made the mistake of dancing with her on a few occasions, but that is only because he had first asked Miss Montgomery and it seemed rather rude to ask one lady and not the other but that was as far as his relationship went with regard to that Millicent and he could think of no others.  Apparently that was all the encouragement the young woman needed before she showed up wherever he found himself.  His only escapes last spring were his clubs, the Inns of Court, Gentleman Jackson’s or the privacy of his own home.  Jordan hadn’t been cruel in his rejection.  Actually he hadn’t rejected her at all, simply did not encourage her and never asked her to dance again. 

So, how did she figure into all of this?

He had been on the verge of courting Miss Montgomery.  He didn’t know her well, if at all, but the few times he danced with her held promise.  He had left but for a few short weeks with every intention of officially calling on her upon his return to London only to find her not at home to him.  His plan was to take her driving in the park, ices at Guenters and all the normal things gentlemen did when courting a lady to see if they would suit but he never got the chance.  After his return he was only able to secure one other dance and that is because he had practically stolen it from his brother, Clayton. Yet, even during that last waltz she refused to speak with him. 

If he could get some answers he would at least be able to offer an explanation, apologize or finally be able to move on without Miss Montgomery inhabiting his thoughts every night.  Maybe he would be able to forget about her. 

His obsession made absolutely no sense either.  What could anyone tell of another person from a few shared dances?  Yet he was obsessed.  If it were simply desire he would find a substitute. He never suffered from a lack of female companionship, but he didn’t want anyone else. He wanted Miss Audrey Montgomery despite the fact that she clearly hated him.

Miss Montgomery laughed at something Grace said.  Meanwhile, Matthew, his brother and former vicar, smiled at Grace, the warmth of love in his gaze.  It made Jordan nauseous. 

Hell, admit it to yourself.  He was jealous of each of his brothers and their wives and the love each couple shared. Jordan downed the contents in the glass and searched for a servant.  He would need more than one glass of wine to get him through tonight.  Even his younger sister, Madeline was married and over the moon for her husband, Brachton.

A footman came within sight and Jordan strode over and placed his empty glass on the tray and picked up another. 

Why was he here? He glanced across the room.  Because she was! He and Miss Montgomery would either come to an agreement by the end of the Season or he would learn why she hated him. Then he could put her behind him and find a lady of his own. 

The question was -- why did he care? Why did he even wish to pursue a woman who wanted nothing to do with him?  It was just one of the many questions he had asked himself over the past year but he couldn’t move on until he had answers.

Could it be that it was simply because she was the only lady who had ever rejected him?

No. There was something about Audrey Montgomery that intrigued him, far more than simply rejection.

Lady Revealed - A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 6)

Lady Revealed - 

A Tenacious Trents Novel

(Book 6)

Juliette Mirabelle knew one life and it was one as a ballerina. 

The moment Drake Finton, Viscount Acker, saw the ballerina take the stage in Milan he knew he must have her. Yet, Juliette would not be his and when she disappeared he returned to his life in London.  Now she was here and Drake intended to make her his.

All Juliette wishes to do is dance, but will the secrets of her past destroy her dreams?

Julia’s story.

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Milan, Spring, 1813

Juliette peeked through the side curtain and scanned the audience until she spotted the dark blond hair in the third box just right of the stage.  This gentleman, who she believed to be Lord Acker, had attended at least a dozen performances already. She had no idea when he began coming to the ballet but the first bouquet appeared a month ago. His card always asked that she meet him after the performance and was signed Drake Finton, Viscount Acker. Each time Juliette had left a note thanking him for the flowers but disappeared from the theatre immediately after the performance. Her mother warned her time and time again not to encourage gentlemen because they pursued dancers for one reason only: to be their mistress.

Maman had repeated those warnings after Juliette brought home the first bouquet and showed her the card from Lord Acker. At first maman’s face had gone very pale, and she looked frightened, as if she had seen a ghost, and then she crumpled the card before tossing it into the fire. “You will have nothing to do with that gentleman,” she ordered. 

“Why?” Juliette had asked.

“He is English,” she practically spit. “He will use you and discard you. Stay away from him Juliette or you will end up like me.”

After her mother’s strong objection to Lord Acker, Juliette had not taken any more bouquets home, nor showed her another card.  Yet, Juliette still wanted to meet him.  Had he only sent the one bouquet she could have forgotten about him. But he had sent six different arrangements, including the flowers today.  She should thank him in person, at least once, shouldn’t she?

Tonight the gentleman she believe to be Lord Acker shared the box with two couples.  He was never with the same people or in the same seats.

“He is here,” she whispered.

“Come away from there before someone sees you,” Genviève, her sister admonished.

“I need to fix the tear and we haven’t much time.” Hélène, Genviève’s twin, grabbed Juliette’s arm and pulled her away from the stage.  “Besides, you don’t even know if he is this Lord Acker.”

Juliette stepped onto a small stool so Hélène could ply her needle to the tear at the back of her costume.

“Who else would he be?” she asked.  “Each time I receive flowers that man is in the audience. He must be Lord Acker.”  She peered down at her sister as she nimbly sewed to repair her skirt.  “Besides, who comes to a ballet as often as he? Most people see the performance once, rarely twice, but never three or more times.”

Genviève stood in front of Juliette, folded her arms across her chest and gave a stern look.  “You aren’t thinking of meeting him, are you?”

Hélène paused in her sewing and looked up.

Juliette lifted her chin in stubbornness. “Why not?”

“He is an English gentleman,” Hélène hissed and went back to sewing

“Does that make him evil?”  Juliette asked.  It seemed rather rude not to meet with him after all the lovely flowers he had sent.  Besides, what could happen to her at the theatre? Dozens of dancers and patrons were backstage after performances. It wasn’t as if she were going to meet him alone in a dark alley.

“Mother warned us that the English view dancers as little better than prostitutes,” Genviève reminded her.

Juliette blew out a breath.  “That does not mean that he does.”

Hélène cut the end of the thread and fluffed out Juliette’s skirt.  “Try not to get it caught again,” she said as she rose to her feet. 

The twins now stood side by side.  Genviève was smartly dressed in a pale green gown, practical yet pretty. Her red hair, so much like Juliette’s, was pulled back into a neat bun at the base of her neck.  Had they lived a different life, Juliette always thought Genviève would make an excellent governess by the way she always took charge, even though she was the youngest.  She had taken over the running of the household when maman didn’t seem to care enough and Juliette had to admit that everything ran much more efficiently under Genviève’s guidance and maman was happy she didn’t have to deal with the day to day issues involving servants and decisions.  The only time maman decided to take charge was when she determined it was once again time to move.  After her great grandmother died, they rarely resided in the same house for more than a year.

Hélène wore a serviceable gown with a number of needles stuck through the fabric at the bodice, each with a different color of thread streaming from them. There was a small apron tied at her waist and Juliette knew it held more thread, scissors and other items her sister needed for quickly repairing torn costumes. Her warm chestnut hair, often uncontrollable, was pulled back, yet curls escaped and framed her face. While Genviève’s eyes were light grey, Hélène’s were a clear, light blue.  When not acting, Hélène costumed the troupe or assisted with makeup and styling hair for the stage. She prided herself on making others, and sometimes herself, unrecognizable.

Juliette studied them.  “If I stay to meet Lord Acker will you tell Maman?”

The sisters looked at each other, their lips pursed. Never had they gone against their mother but Juliette wanted more for her life than to simply dance.  Though she loved the ballet and could not imagine her life without it, she also wanted to marry one day, have a home of her own and possibly children. That would not be possible if all she did was teach children during the afternoon and dance at night.  There was never an opportunity to meet men nor did her mother allow her to greet the few admirers after a performance.  She was already four and twenty. If she didn’t meet someone soon it would be too late.

“Just this once, but I am staying with you,” Genviève insisted.

“As am I,” Hélène insisted.

Drake Finton, Viscount Acker, wiped his damp palms against his breeches. Why was he so nervous? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t met an actress, singer or dancer following a performance before.  Some of his favorite mistresses had been performers, but the anticipation of meeting Juliette Mirabelle caused an anxiety he hadn’t experienced since the first time he attended a ball and became besotted with a beautiful young debutant he wished to partner. 

The ballet was almost at an end. Juliette Mirabelle would soon twirl, collapse and die as the story came to an end.  At the moment she was being lifted, her graceful arms spread, toes pointed and neck lengthened as she looked above. He had never seen a more beautiful or graceful sight in his life. 

Would she meet him tonight?  He took great care in finding the perfect arrangement of the freshest and most beautiful flowers and paid a lad to have them delivered to the theatre prior to the performance.  It was larger than any of the others before. All he could do was hope that she remained tonight and he didn’t find another note thanking him for the bouquet.

Why didn’t she ever remain to meet him?  Did she have a protector like so many female performers? Or worse, was she married?

Acker still recalled the first time he had seen her dance. He had been dragged to the ballet by a friend now living in Milan. He’d attended the ballet once when he was younger and quickly learned that it wasn’t something he enjoyed. That all changed the moment Juliette entered, dancing the lead role.  Acker hadn’t been able to take his eyes from her and had returned to the theatre every night he could.  After a week he sent her the first bouquet. 

Acker leaned forward, the end was near. Her graceful movements slowed and arms folded across her breast as she fell, caught in the arms of her onstage lover, and died.  The roar of the audience’s approval reminded Acker he was not alone in the theatre. So caught up in watching the young woman dance he had forgotten there were four companions with him.  He came to his feet as Juliette entered to take her bow, a delicate smile on her lips and then she was gone again. Acker’s companions stirred and moved toward the entrance leading to the corridor.

“That was marvelous,” Signori Bellibi proclaimed.  He was the man who had originally brought Acker to Milan. Bellibi worked within the government of the Kingdom of Italy, but he and others secretly worked with the English to find a way to bring an end to Napoleon and break his hold on the region. 

Acker had been gone from home these past six months visiting with those who supported England in their war against Napoleon and should have been done with this business and onto Prussia but he could not leave Milan without first meeting Juliette.  The Home Office had not questioned his delay but they soon would and Acker couldn’t exactly report that he remained because of a ballerina and not for the war effort.

“Thank you for the invitation.”

“It was my pleasure,” Acker responded.  He was quickly running out of people to invite to the ballet. He couldn’t very well attend on his own. How would that look to others?

His companions filed out into the corridor already crowded with patrons leaving the theatre.

“Will you be joining us for a late supper?” Bellibi questioned.

Acker shook his head. “No. You go on.”

The man simply nodded and escorted his wife toward the stairs that would take them to the entrance. Soon they were swallowed by the crowd and Acker made his way to the back of the theatre.

His heartbeat increased with each step. Had she waited for him or would he find another note?  Was he a fool in pursuing a dancer when he had important work to do?

The back of the theatre was crowded with performers and patrons, much like it was each night he ventured here.  The door leading to Juliette’s dressing room was on the far side and closed.  For a moment he was hopeful. All other times it had been open, but empty. Had he caught her in time? Had she not left?

He paused before the scarred wood entrance, took a deep breath and knocked.  It opened a moment later by a young woman with auburn hair pulled into a knot behind her head.  Perhaps she was the ballerina’s maid.  

“May I help you?”

“Might Juliette Mirabelle still be here?”

The young woman tilted her head and studied him.  “Whom shall I say is inquiring?”

Acker cleared this throat. “Viscount Acker.”

She nodded, stepped back and fully opened the door.  Across the room stood Juliette, no longer in her costume but dressed in a simple gown of pale blue. His breath ceased when he looked into her clear emerald eyes.  Speech failed him at that moment.

Lady Disguised - A Tenacious Trents Novella (Book 7)

Lady Disguised - 

A Tenacious Trents Novella

(Book 7)

Mr. Sebastian Stanwick never intended to marry. It was bad enough that his father gambled away everything they owned and then drank himself to death, leaving his mother broken until she could not go on. But the death of his good friend at the hand of the man’s wife only solidifies Stanwick’s decision to remain a bachelor. Women were simply unpredictable and unstable if not taken care of properly.

Hélène Mirabelle wants few things in life. One, is to perform on the stage, and the other, is to be out from under the roof of her overbearing new family: Lord Bentley and the Trent brothers. Since her mother’s recent passing, Hélène's desire to return to Milan and the stage has only grown. A husband could never fit into the plans because no decent man would take an actress as a wife.

One fateful night leaves Hélène questioning if being an actress is the only thing she wants, while Stanwick begins to wonder whether all women are truly prone to madness and if they are, he may never get Hélène off of his mind.

Lady Disguised, a novella, first appeared in anthology, A Pact Between Gentlemen, released November, 2013. 

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December, 1814

“Yorkshire?” Hélène Mirabelle Trent glanced around the parlor decorated in pale blue and gold in the Acker London Townhouse.   

“Yes,” her sister-in-law, Elizabeth Trent, answered. “We are to leave at the end of the week.”

“Why?”

“For Christmas, of course.” Elizabeth smiled. “Because the roads are unpredictable this time of year, we want to make sure we arrive before the twenty-third.”

Why must they travel to Yorkshire? Hélène wanted a simple, quiet Christmas with just her sisters and Maman, which was impossible.  Maman had been dead for five months after succumbing to consumption, and Juliette, her older sister, was now married to Lord Acker.  Neither she nor Hélène’s twin, Genviève, lived with Juliette and Acker, but with their recently discovered half-brother, the Earl of Bentley and his wife.  Hélène would prefer to live in the home on Henrietta Street in Covent Garden near the theatres, but her brothers wouldn’t allow her to do so. The lot of them thought it unseemly.

Hélène hadn’t known her four half-brothers and half-sister even existed until seven months ago, yet it hadn’t stopped the gentlemen from taking over and dictating her life.  At least Bentley and the brothers were allowing her to stay with Juliette during their short visit in London.  She had missed Juliette terribly over the last few months.

“My grandfather insists my sister and I come home for Christmas this year,” Elizabeth explained.

“I don’t understand why we need to be there as well.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “Because my husband now has his three brothers and four sisters with whom to share the holiday. He has not had everyone before,” she explained. “When he said as much to my grandfather, it was decided that the entire family would go to Yorkshire for Christmas.” 

Hélène clenched her teeth and bit back a retort. She was highly tired of others deciding what she would be doing, without once inquiring if she wished to participate. She wasn’t a child, incapable of making her own decisions, and hadn’t been treated as such for several years. Hélène wanted to tell them all to go hang and she would do what she very well pleased.

Elizabeth reached over and grasped Hélène’s hand. “There is an estate that borders Grandfather’s and stands vacant. He was able to rent it through Twelfth Night, and we will all stay there together.” She grinned. “As long as we are at the castle during the day and early evening, Grandfather will be happy. As long as we have the privacy of our own home, John is happy, which means I’m happy.” John was the youngest of four brothers.

 “Grandfather has also taken control of the situation,” Elizabeth added.

Hélène knew the particular situation in question was sorting out how to let society know that her now-late father, the former Earl of Bentley, had married and sired a daughter when he still had a wife who was very much alive. He had let society believe she had been dead, along with his daughter, for nearly twenty-two years. “I don’t know how His Grace can change anything. It will be a scandal whether anyone likes it or not.”

 “Grandfather is The Duke of Danby,” Elizabeth reminded her. “He has more power than any of us like to acknowledge. If anyone can defuse a situation, it is Grandfather. I can almost guarantee that when spring arrives, nobody will dare shun anyone in the family. ”

Hopefully the rented estate was large, and the castle even bigger.

“When Twelfth Night has passed, we will return to London. While Bentley returns to the manor, we will spend our days shopping and preparing you and Genviève for your coming out,” Elizabeth announced.

Just the thought of being presented to the ton as if she were eight-and-ten was enough to make Hélène break out in a rash. She was not a debutant and never had been, nor would she ever be, yet her brothers would not accept that fact.

Hélène wasn’t even sure she wanted to remain in London and knew she didn’t wish to go to Yorkshire. She wanted to return to Milan where she could continue acting, making costumes, and experimenting with different makeup and wigs. She belonged in Milan. She had to find a way to come up with the funds to buy passage, rent a room, and buy food until she could work again. And she needed to find the money before the Season began.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Acker announced as he walked through the door with Juliette.

Acker thumbed through the post and dropped an envelope into the waste can.

“What is that?” Juliette asked.

“Another invitation to Dagger’s Haven.” Acker shook his head. “I don’t know why Stanwick keeps sending me vouchers. I am already a member, though I don’t visit often.” He smiled down at Juliette, who was apparently the cause of Acker not visiting this particular establishment.

Dagger’s Haven. It sounded slightly dangerous. “Is it a gaming hell?” Hélène asked. 

Acker nodded. “No cheating, no women, and Stanwick always comes out ahead.” 

Mr. Sebastian Stanwick lifted a silent toast to his departed friend, then tossed back the brandy.  It was a bloody shame Arrington was gone from this world at such a young age and in such an inconceivable manner. 

He reached behind his desk in the office of his gaming hell, Dagger’s Haven, and grasped the bottle of brandy to refill his glass. The shock of Lady Arrington killing her husband still lingered. He poured a large amount of the warm, brown liquor into his glass and set the bottle aside before taking a sip. One never knew what to expect from a woman. After all, they were the more fragile of the genders. Heaven knew that their dispositions could change with the wind, but to take a fire iron to one’s husband’s skull was rather extreme.

Stanwick didn’t blame Lady Arrington for being angry. Her husband had been dipping his wick in another woman, but to hit him over the head with a fire iron? And she hadn’t stopped there; she’d hit him several more times. At least, those were the rumors.

Had she beat him first and when he didn’t die, she struck him in the head? Or had she struck him in the head first and then proceed to beat his lifeless body until her anger was dispelled? Surely one whack against the skull was quite enough.

Stanwick shuddered at the thought.

Regardless, it was a horrible way to die. There were certainly less gruesome ways that Lady Arrington could have punished her husband.

Stanwick leaned back, tipping the chair so it balanced on the back two legs. He cradled the snifter of brandy as he tried to think of a reasonable punishment. Denying him access to her bed would do no good since he preferred another’s anyway. She didn’t hold the purse strings, so she couldn’t cut him off. 

He stared up at the ceiling. The candles cast a bright light that dimmed into shadows, leaving half of the ceiling in near darkness. There really were no ways a lady could punish her husband. A gentleman had many options, such as denying her pin money, sending her to the country for life, or refusing to spend time with her. Really, a gentleman’s options were endless. No wonder ladies felt helpless in these matters. It might just explain much of their behavior.     

Stanwick righted the chair, the front legs hitting the wooden floor with a thud. Women were unable to respond to uncomfortable situations with a reasonable emotion, Lady Arrington being a perfect example. Why didn’t gentlemen understand that women, as a whole, were delicate creatures in mind and in body, and great care should be taken so they were not distressed? 

He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk, staring ahead at the closed door of his office. Were all women prone to madness if not taken care of properly? 

The thought gave him pause. It was a frightening thought indeed, and all the more reason he was glad he never planned to marry. The pact he’d made following Arrington’s funeral only solidified that vow. 

Staring into the fire burning brightly behind the grate, Stanwick relaxed in his chair again and took another sip of the brandy. He had yet to witness a woman behave the same as another woman would in a similar situation. Where Lady Arrington took a fire iron to her husband, his mother had retreated into herself until she was only a shell of the woman he had known as a child. After father lost everything they owned gambling he turned to drink. That is what killed him in the end. It was a shame he didn’t have the decency to die at home, but in his mistresses bed instead.

 That had been the fatal blow to mother. She had given up. Too humiliated to go into public and too hurt to eat. His uncle, Earl Walcutt, did nothing to help mother, which probably angered Sebastian more than his father’s activities. Uncle could have easily seen that the debts were cleared, but did not feel they were his responsibility. However, he made certain Stanwick got an education that would rival any lord’s son but that was only because Stanwick was the heir. His uncle had only daughters and it was unlikely there would be a son in the future. Unfortunately, the neglect his uncle showed toward mother would be his downfall. Never would Stanwick marry and he most certainly would not sire the required heir. The title could go hang and disappear in to oblivion for all he cared. His younger brother might do the necessary duty, but Stanwick was not compelled to do so himself. 

Besides, even if Stanwick felt the urge to procreate and provide a future for the family, he didn’t want to be saddled with a wife. There were too many instances where it do not go well for the husband. 

The firelight reflected off the fire iron standing in its holder as the flames danced. He had never thought of it as a deadly weapon before, but it looked lethal from where Stanwick sat and nobody was even holding it. Beside it was a glass case filled with a variety of weapons. He could use the knives, swords, and guns with deadly accuracy, not that he ever had despite the rumors. Stanwick simply kept them on display to discourage anyone who thought to threaten him when called to the office to discuss gambling debts. 

Stanwick looked from the case, back to the fire iron, and then to the small but heavy figurine of a child sitting at the corner of his desk. It had been a favorite of his mother’s, yet even that innocent object could be used to harm someone. In fact, almost any object could be used if the lady was in the frame of mind to kill her husband. 

Just the thought of some woman, upset and bordering on madness, coming at him with a weapon sent a trickle of fear through him. If it were a man, Stanwick wouldn’t hesitate to use his dagger, but he could never physically harm a woman, no matter what she did. If he ever was the cause of scarred or bruised skin, Stanwick wasn’t quite sure he could forgive himself.  

He took a drink, and the liquid burned down his throat, warming his belly. 

If only women were more like men, life would be much easier. 

Stanwick finished his drink and placed the glass on his desk. At least he was safe in Dagger’s Haven where no women were ever allowed. 

Lady Concealed - A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 8)

Lady Concealed - A Tenacious Trents Novel (Book 8)

All Genviève Mirabelle wanted was her mother’s belongings and a place for herself, out from under the watchful eyes of her step-brothers. The Trent Brothers, specifically. Since coming into her life they have had very definite plans for her future, despite her objections. There is only one thing keeping her from seeking her freedom: her mother’s missing shipment. Once found, she can live as she wishes, without a gentleman telling her what to do.

Mr. Jonathan Bridges owns one of the finest shipping lines in London. That is, he did until his secretary and a few employees disappeared, leaving a muddle of things. Now several crates are missing and he has no explanation for the owners. The one most persistent in demanding answers is Miss Genviève Mirabelle. As much as he tries to put her off, she is determined to help him. 

Heaven save him from meddling females who are better served sitting at home having tea.

Their search leads them from the docks and right into the heart of a smuggling ring. But their lives are not the only thing in danger. Their hearts hang in the balance, since neither one ever anticipated what was to come.

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February, 1815, London, England

Genviève Mirabelle Trent tapped her foot against the cobblestones outside the massive warehouse along the river Thames. Her ire rose the longer she waited. If she did not receive answers soon, she would search the place herself.

A hulk of a man had asked her to wait while he searched out Mr. Bridges, but that had been nearly half an hour ago. Stepping into the large building, she glanced around. Had the man gotten lost among the crates that seemed to go on forever? She had never been inside a shipping warehouse before and was surprised at how massive it was. From her vantage point, Genviève was not sure where it ended, or how wide it was. Surely her family belongings were in here somewhere.

Genviève checked the small watch she kept pinned inside her pelisse. She needed to be done with this business soon and return to the Bentley townhouse before anyone was aware she had left without her maid. The woman, though very sweet, reported each of Genviève’s movements and it wasn’t anyone’s business where she went or what she did. She knew one of her half-brothers would have insisted on accompanying her because the area was too dangerous for a lady. They failed to remember that she lived her entire life without a father, or brothers. She and her sisters learned early on how to take care of themselves. It was rather aggravating to have someone determined to guard her when there hadn’t been anyone to do that for the first twenty-three years of her life. Further, it was annoying to suddenly be thrust into a position in which she needed to ask permission, or be told to behave a certain way.

With a sigh, Genviève stepped further into the warehouse, determined to catch someone’s attention because apparently the hulk who had greeted her forgot he left her waiting. Though there were men all around moving crates, nobody noticed her. Shouts echoed as men called to each other or hollered out orders. She would have been impressed with what appeared to be organization if it were actually organized.  What she viewed was a mass of blocks with no rhyme or reason.  Her family belongings were supposed to be here, yet remained missing for the past three months. Or, perhaps they weren’t missing and the owner was just too lazy to reply to her correspondence.

A sign on the wall caught her attention. The office was up the narrow flight of stairs. Surely that was where Mr. Bridges was holed up right now, and she was not about to wait another moment.

Carefully she climbed up the wooden steps, her dark grey gown trailing behind her, gathering dust. There wasn’t much to be done about it now. She anticipated any place along the docks would be filthy and her sister, Hélène, could repair the damage if necessary. That is, if Hélène had time now that she was married, and if she ever returned from her wedding trip.

Genviève paused outside of the office, raised her fist and rapped sharply on the wood. 

When no call came from within, she knocked again.

Was he gone from his office? She pushed on the door and it swung open. A gasp escaped her lips. Papers were stacked on the desk, the secretarie, chairs, and a table in the back. “How could anyone find anything in this disarray?” One would think someone as successful as Mr. Bridges, who ran one of the most efficient shipping lines, would be far more organized. She would be surprised if Mr. Bridges could locate anything, let alone her family belongings.

Genviève made her way around the desk, looking in every direction. Even at her mother’s worst, when it came to household management, she was not this disorganized. Did he not have a secretary? If so, they needed to be sacked.

This disorder was maddening and she could not leave this room until some order was put to it. Genviève knew well enough that it wasn’t her place but Bridges needed help. And, as she wasn’t about to leave until she had spoken directly to him, she might as well put herself to use.

With a heavy sigh, she removed her gloves before reaching into her reticule to retrieve her spectacles. Once they were settled on her nose, she placed the gloves and reticule at the one clear area at the corner of the desk. Already, she was warm and doubted the office would get any cooler. After undoing the buttons on her pelisse, she slid her arms free, noting almost immediate relief.   

The top document directly in front of her was an invoice for sugar from Barbados. The papers below it were similar, listing items shipped from a foreign port to England or from England to a foreign port. Not all of the English ports were out of London, but Bristol, Dover, Plymouth and Liverpool as well. There was no semblance to these documents and a headache developed in the back of her skull. 

With determination, Genviève stood and took each stack from the desk and piled them until there was one tall disorganized lot and began to separate them out into new stacks. English ports accepting deliveries in one stack. Documents regarding shipments out of England were placed in another stack. A third held letters from customers, much like the one she had sent, demanding to know where property was. Those questions could not be answered until the invoices were in order.

Jonathan Bridges wiped the sweat from his forehead with back of his arm. The sleeve was filthy and no doubt grime was now smeared across his face. Not that it mattered, because there was work to be done and, until he cleaned up the mess caused by his former secretary and manager, he would be working with his men to right the situation.

His secretary and warehouse manager had disappeared, along with a few other workers, leaving him with missing shipments and unhappy customers. Though in his gut he knew the truth, he still hoped all the items had been misplaced or incorrectly labeled—not stolen.

With a sigh, Jonathan trudged toward the stairs to his office. His body ached from the physical labor and it was a painful reminder that he had sat far too long behind a desk. He had family obligations that had kept him from giving his business the attention that it needed. Concern for his sister, widowed not long ago, and her two young sons had him visiting her in the country more often, meaning he spent less time in London. The neglect may have cost him the business. Never would he trust another to do a job without his supervision.

Most of his employees had gone home for the evening, but Jonathan did not have the same luxury.  He was still going through papers that he had found hidden away after his secretary had disappeared. Hundreds of invoices were shoved in small crates in a storage room beneath his offices. It was by chance that he had found them to begin with. There were months to be inventoried and the thought of facing the paper, now stacked on every available surface in his office, made Jonathan’s head ache. But, it had to be done. He couldn’t rest until everything had been accounted for and all items delivered to their respective owners.

He glanced back at the now dark warehouse as he climbed the stairs to his office. His jacket, waistcoat and cravat were folded and draped over the railing, waiting to be put back on before he left for the evening. They had been removed when he set out into the warehouse this morning. In hindsight, he probably should have removed and left the items in his office.

Jonathan stifled a yawn as he plodded up the narrow stairs. Perhaps he should see about having a cot set up until all of the work was completed. He practically lived here as it was, leaving only late in the evening to return home, eat a cold supper, fall into bed and start all over just as the sun was rising.

He slowed as he neared the top of the stairs noting the door to his office was open. It had been closed earlier and there was no reason for his workers to have been inside. Lamplight illuminated the landing and he tilted his head, straining to hear the quiet humming coming from within.

 Who was in his office?  As they were humming, Jonathan did not feel overly threatened, but he still pulled the knife from inside his boot just in case. This was the waterfront after all and any manner of character lived down here from orphans and whores, to owners of the various businesses and pubs, with several thieves walking the alleys ready to relieve you of a purse.

Was it someone he knew, someone not in their right mind who wandered in, or a thief? 

He straightened his spine, no longer feeling the aches from earlier, grasped the knife confidently, and stepped into the door way only to be brought up short by the vision before him.

A young lady with auburn curls arranged attractively behind her head sat in his chair, behind his desk. Gold spectacles were perched on the bridge of her delicate nose, drawing attention to the eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Full lips were pursed around a pencil she held between her teeth and she was rifling through his papers.

Who the bloody hell was she and what gave her a right to go through his things?

Jonathan cleared his throat.

She startled and straightened. Her grey eyes grew round as her eyebrows rose.

A Tenacious Trents Wedding (Book 9)

A Tenacious Trents Wedding -A Tencaious Trents Novella(Book 9)

A SECOND EPILOGUE: Catch up with the Trents, meet up with old friends, and possibly meet someone new.

 Dearest Reader,

 You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Jonathan Bridges and Miss Genviève Mirabelle. The marriage is to take place at the Church of St. George, Hanover Square, Mayfair, London, on May 1, 1815 at two in the afternoon. I am fully aware that this is not a proper or appropriate time for a wedding. However, the church has been quite busy of late, sometimes with two and three weddings scheduled a day, and neither the bride nor groom were willing to wait weeks just so they can be married before noon. Thus, they have expedited matters and obtained a Special License. This was mainly due to Mr. Bridges not willing to wait longer than necessary to make Miss Mirabelle his bride. 

 A wedding breakfast shall follow at the home of Lord and Lady Bentley, and a ball will be held that evening. I do hope you’ll join us for this most celebrated event. Besides the Trents, friends and acquaintances you might be familiar with will also be in attendance, but I don't dare give their names away. That would ruin the surprise.

 The Right Honorable Countess of Bentley

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May 1, 1815

Rose Trent, Dowager Countess of Bentley, dabbed at her eyes as Genviève Mirabelle began her walk down the aisle. She looked absolutely stunning in the sea blue satin gown with a gossamer overdress of soft green, trimmed with tiny pearls. Genviève had not wanted anything so fine, or expensive, and insisted her best dress would do for the occasion, but Bentley ordered otherwise.

Clayton Trent, Earl of Bentley, the bride’s half-brother, was in charge of this day. The fine wedding at St. George’s, the wedding breakfast, though a luncheon in this case, and a ball to follow, were not because he favored Genviève over his other three, half-sisters, but for the single purpose of sending a message to the haute ton. And, it all was about to begin with the exchange of vows.

He’d even paid the fee for a special license, all so the marriage to could take place today, on an already busy day for the Mayfair parish church, at two in the afternoon.

Mr. Jonathan Bridges waited for his bride, formally dressed in long, dark trousers, black frock coat with claw hammer tails and a silver and black striped waistcoat. His white cravat was expertly and intricately tied, and the smile on his face was evidence of the happiness he felt upon seeing his bride. The love in his light brown eyes when he looked at Genviève was almost painful it was so beautiful.

Nobody had ever looked at Rose the way Bridges looked at Genviève. Or, the way any of her stepsons looked at their wives. And, it was long past the time anyone would. She wasn’t a young woman any longer and the last of the children was about to be wed.

Rose lowered her head and chuckled to herself. None of them were children any longer. In fact, the only ones she’d known as children were the Trent brothers: Clayton, Jordan, Matthew and John, though Clayton was only a few years younger than her. She’d been closer to his age than his father’s on the day she married. Despite the five years that separated them, she’d become Clayton’s step-mother when he was only ten.

Even though this was a cheerful day, and she was genuinely happy for Genviève, Rose was melancholy as well. What was she do to with herself now? The boys never really needed her, though they cared for her, and took care of her after their father died, the girls no longer needed her guidance either.

A sigh escaped her that she hoped others thought was due to the emotion of the wedding, but it was more because of her memories. So much had happened since her husband died. A day Rose would never forget because it brought relief, not sorrow. Though it was proper to go into mourning, and she retired to the country which was the respectable thing to do, not a single tear was shed for the man who had married her when she was but fifteen and he was five and thirty. The former Earl of Bentley was a cold, cruel man, and as horrible as it may be to admit, which she never did to anyone, she was glad to be rid of him.

If only the secrets could have been buried with him. Secrets that she’d become aware of when her own Madeline was only fourteen. The secret that his second wife, Adele, was not dead, but very much alive, living in Paris with Bentley’s first daughter, Julia. Rose had kept the secret because of the shame it would bring her daughter. She didn’t care so much of society learning that her marriage wasn’t valid, but she’d not stand by as the ton painted her daughter, Madeline, a bastard.

It all worked out in the end, however, for Madeline had fallen in love and married Lachlan Grant, Marquess of Brachton. Before the two ever exchanged vows, Brachton had known the truth, and accepted Madeline as his wife, not giving a fig about the circumstances of her birth. That was all Rose had ever wanted – for her daughter to be settled and content.

She glanced to her left, and at the young woman she’d birthed so many years ago. Her very own joy and bliss in a nightmare of a marriage. From the first moment she’d held her daughter, Rose finally understood why a wife endured her husband’s attentions when required because the end reward of a beautiful child was well worth the price.

By the next spring Adele had been located, as had Julia.  The family soon discovered that the reason Adele had run away in the first place, before Bentley sent her to Paris, was because she was expecting another child and refused to have it raised near the father. Having known Bentley and his quick temper and preference for the switch, Rose could not blame the woman for risking life and limb to be away from the man. Had she been older and more secure, she might have had the strength to do the same. Unfortunately, fear guided Rose’s actions and responses most of the time since she’d grown up in a home similar to the one Bentley ran. Rose learned at a very young age that it was best to remain out of sight when her father, and later her husband, was in a temper, and did her best to protect those younger than she. The moment her husband had taken his last breath was the moment she fully relaxed for the first time in her life. It was probably no different than what a man felt upon stepping outside of prison after many long years.

The pregnancy Adele successfully hid from Bentley was that of twins, Hélène and Genviève, the bride. Rose had grown closest to Genviève. But, none of them needed her now. They had lives and husbands to watch after them and Rose had nobody of her own. Which was well and good, she supposed, as she had no need for a husband as Clayton had seen that she was financially secure. But, what was her purpose to be now? What was to become of her if she had no one to mother?

Perhaps it was good that she and Ada, Dowager Viscountess Acker, were taking a trip in the morning. They’d originally intended to depart for the Caribbean two months ago, along with Genviève, but her stepdaughter’s betrothal halted those plans. Ada still insisted on traveling and thought a holiday in Edinburgh would not be remiss and Rose’s family was in full agreement. So, tomorrow she would depart on a ship provided by her newest son-in-law. Perhaps it was exactly what she needed at this moment. Her life had always been guided by others. From her father telling her what to do, then a cruel husband, and then her concern for her children. This was the first time in her life that she was able to do something for herself without fear of consequences.

She lifted her chin and smiled. Juliette and Hélène stood beside the bride, while John and Brachton served as witnesses beside Bridges. This chapter of her life might be closing, and an adventure was exactly what she needed. She was free and there was no reason why she should couldn’t be happy too. Her smile grew broader. She was a widow with means, no need for a gentleman, and in that moment, Rose decided she was going to finally enjoy herself to the fullest extent.