A Lass for Christmas (Tenacious Trents Novella) (2 page)

“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 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.”