A Lass for Christmas (Tenacious Trents Novella)

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 brothers were eager to bring
an end to the secret family business.