How to Marry a Major, page 1
How to Marry a Major
Tina Holland
Copyrights
Copyright © 2024 by Tina Holland
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Melody Simmons
Edited by Sandra Sookoo
First edition 2024
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Letter to my Readers
My Fair Lord
Excerpt
Sign up for Tina Holland's Mailing List
Also By Tina Holland
About the Author
Dedication
For my husband, Major Ken, parts of his personality inspired Myles.
Acknowledgements
First I need to thank all my Writing Groups – Writer Zen Garden, Moorhead Friends Writing Group, Romance Writers Club, & BisMan Writers Guild.
Special thanks to The Romance Writers Club for their Brainstorming Sessions and the Ahh Haa Moment I had regarding this story.
Thanks to Sandra Sookoo for her editing eye and explaining Titles and Entailments so I finally got it.
Thanks to the Word Weavers – Maddy Barone, Renae, Patti & Laura for all their Critiques. Special thanks to M.A. Deppe for her in-depth proofreading after I pivoted this story.
Thanks to Melody Simmons for this wonderful cover art. I appreciate all your hard work.
Last, but certainly not least, thank you to My Readers. I wouldn’t be able to keep doing this job I love without you. I hope you enjoy this novel.
Prologue
April 15, 1815
Eastpark Parsonage one mile from Pittham Hall
“I have to leave my home?” Charlotte was so startled by the words of Pelegrina Bullock, the Marchioness of Pittham, that she couldn’t think to object. Not that Lady Pittham would have allowed such protests. Charlotte had never liked her late husband’s benefactor, but she had not realized the woman was so heartless.
“Reverend Wold has been dead for over a week now. Which is the exact amount of time I believe you have overstayed.” With a wave of her hand, Lady Pittham dismissed Charlotte’s words. The statuesque woman’s girth pushed the startled Charlotte aside as she barged into the cottage.
What little confidence Charlotte possessed vanished.
Lady Pittham’s man of business, Mr. John Trotter, trailed behind her like a little dog searching for scraps. With quill and paper, he began to catalog items within the home. Whether to ascertain an article’s value or to ensure she didn’t steal from his mistress, she didn’t know.
“Where shall I go?” She didn’t expect an answer from Lady Pittham, but the woman gave her opinion regardless.
“Your destination will be your own, but to indulge your whims, I will allow you the use of my carriage for a day. Tomorrow to be exact.” Lady Pittham stopped, her eyebrows cinching tight.
Was the woman smiling? Her face was nothing but teeth, and her nose crinkled as if she was smelling a chamber pot.
“I have to be gone by tomorrow?” Where could she possibly travel in a day?
“Yes, and Mr. Trotter is making note of the cottage items, so be certain to take only what you need.” Lady Pittham might have as well said ‘and leave the valuables here, regardless of their ownership.’
“Of course.” Charlotte resigned herself to fate. This cottage was no longer her home, and she didn’t wish to remain.
Lady Pittham released a long audible breath, breaking Charlotte’s musings. “Mr. Trotter and I will leave you to finish your packing. The carriage will be here at dawn. If you miss it, you will have to walk to Maplebury and take the mail coach.”
Once her ladyship had closed the cottage door, Charlotte immediately packed in earnest. She was not one to mourn life’s circumstances. She imagined she should be sad, but she felt nothing. Her life here was over long before Robert died. Lacking the love of Maplebury village or the respect of the marchioness, what did it matter where she found her next home?
As she laid out her black wardrobe for tomorrow’s unknown destination, her stomach grumbled. She prepared some weak tea from yesterday’s soggy tea leaves and ate the last of her now-stale bread. She went back to packing when a piece of stark white paper caught her eye. Snatching the paper, she unfolded it.
My dearest Charlotte,
I’d like to say I am sorry to hear of your loss, but in truth, perhaps this is for the best. It is not as if there was any love lost between you and the departed Reverend Wold. I know you will resist and consider it charity, but I would dearly like you to come to stay at Devonhold as we celebrate James’s birthday the week of April 17th. Consider it an overdue and well-deserved holiday. You are always welcome at our estate.
Yours truly,
Amelia Fitzwilliam
Charlotte stared at the invitation.
When she first received Amelia’s missive following Robert’s funeral, she disregarded traveling to the Earl of Devonhold’s estate and forgot to respond as she fell into the mundane chores of her established routine. Her daily regimen was safer than moving on. Now, she held the forgotten letter like a pauper with a found coin. Would Amelia mind if she simply showed up?
Charlotte shook her head. Her childhood friend wouldn’t care if Charlotte arrived unannounced. And what choice did she have? She would go tomorrow with a plan, even if the days to follow were a mystery.
The following morning, Charlotte was promptly on the step before the sun rose. She pulled her pelisse tighter to block the chilling wind. Though winter had started to fade, the wind was a reminder that the season hadn’t quite exited.
She probably shouldn’t have bothered with the bonnet, either, as the ribbons whipped against her neck; however, if she hadn’t, she was certain her hair would have been a mess.
The crunch of wheels on gravel roused her from her thoughts just as the sun peeked over the horizon. Dust curled behind the carriage as it rattled along the drive. She took a step backward, closer to the cottage to prevent dirt from collecting on her belongings and herself.
The coach stopped short, and Charlotte stared at the antique from the last century, being pulled not by four horses but only two. The Pittham crest was invisible unless the light caught the outline just so. The door opened and Charlotte heard Mr. Trotter’s supercilious voice before his foot even touched the ground. “Her Ladyship insisted I see you off and inventory the cottage following your leave.”
Unsure what to say Charlotte merely nodded. She gathered up her meager yet treasured belongings when a hand touched her shoulder.
“I can see to your items, Mrs. Wold,” the driver said.
“Thank you, Thomas,” she replied.
Mr. Trotter looked at her belongings. “I’ll have to inventory these as well.”
Charlotte stepped in front of him. “No, you will not. I will not have you opening my trunk or valise and airing my apparel in the wind for all to see.” She was determined to maintain some level of dignity.
“Her ladyship—”
“Does not own my undergarments, nor my gifts prior to my marriage. You and her ladyship may be assured I left every item acquired after my wedding in that wretched, god-forsaken cottage.” Charlotte spat on the ground next to the door. She could not leave this place soon enough.
“Reverend Wold was a man of God!” Mr. Trotter stuttered, red in the face.
“By all means then, consider his things which I’ve left behind sacred relics!” She turned and allowed Thomas to assist her into the carriage. The leather was cracked and springs were poking up between the seats. If she hadn’t already been wearing grey, her clothes would’ve turned the color of dust. She sat in the exact spot outlined by Mr. Trotter, given it was free of dust and the leather appeared intact. The carpet was worn through, and even the upper hinge on the door was misaligned. At least she was leaving this place behind her.
It was too much to hope all would go smoothly. About three hours into the uncomfortable journey the well-worn carriage broke a wheel, and Charlotte was thrown to one side as the vehicle stuttered to an ungraceful stop.
Thomas pried open the door. “Are you alright, Mrs. Wold?”
“None the worse for wear.” Even as she spoke, she was consciously aware of bruises that would form on her side. Fortunately, she was wearing a woolen habit and though she snagged on one of the exposed springs, the damage could have bee
“Her ladyship didn’t have a spare wheel for this coach.”
Of course, she didn’t.
“I’ll take one of the horses and go to the next town.”
She pulled against gravity. “I will go with you.” As she tried to exit the carriage, her ankle protested. “Ouch.”
“You’re injured. I’ll fetch a doctor as well.”
Gripping her ankle, she felt it and it didn’t feel broken. “I believe I can manage. I can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
“I thought of that.” Thomas retrieved a pistol from his waist. “Do you know how to use this?”
Unlikely as it was, she did. “Yes, my brother Nigel taught me in our youth.”
“I will leave this with you, then, and travel to the next town to see if it can be repaired.”
“How long will you be?”
“I’ll take one of the horses and should return by nightfall.”
Charlotte took the weapon and nodded. Truthfully it might be better if she remained with the carriage. There was no guarantee the wheel could be repaired or that there might be lodgings, not that she could afford them anyway.
Thomas closed the door and left.
Unfortunately, he did not return before the little remaining light was devoured by darkness.
MAJOR MYLES ASHTON, desperate to escape the clutches of Devonhold, rode his horse, Ares, at a hard gallop. He was ready to return to France. He was finished meeting debutantes and their matchmaking mamas! He was tired of their disappointment in him: a second son, a soldier, and worse than all, a bastard.
Myles didn’t have time for such nonsense, not with a war going on. Equality could always be found on the battlefield. Your status in life didn’t matter, only your skill at weaponry, your cunning to stay alive, and your ability to defeat the enemy.
It was a moonless night, and he might have missed the dark carriage on the side of the road had it not been for the neighing of a horse as Ares passed. He reined in his horse and walked back to the carriage which was resting at an angle and missing one of its wheels.
He rapped on the black door. “Anyone in there?”
No answer. It was quiet. Had something happened to the passenger? He pulled the handle back and opened the door. “Do you require assistance?”
The click of a flintlock was a sound he recognized well.
“Go away!” a shadow answered. There wasn’t enough light to see the feminine silhouette.
“Are you injured?” he asked.
“No. Go away.” The air moved in front of him. She must be waving the pistol.
He backed away lest he accidentally be shot. “Do you know how to use that?”
“Yes. Now, leave. I am perfectly fine.”
“Are you alone?” Who would leave a lady alone in the dark? Where was her maid, the driver, anyone?
“None of your concern,” she said firmly.
“Seeing as you are stranded, ALONE, someone should be concerned.”
“See here, Mister...” her voice sounded tired.
“Major,” he corrected her.
“Mister Major?”
Myles heard the confusion in her voice and was tempted to laugh, but he didn’t want to startle her into firing.
He chuckled softly. “Major Ashton.”
“Major Ashton. I’m perfectly fine. I’m waiting for my driver to return and then I will be on my way.” Her voice sounded confident and unwavering as if being stranded on the side of the road were an everyday occurrence in her world.
“Do you mind if I wait outside the carriage?”
“Why?” Her voice rose an octave. God, he wished he could see her face.
“Because it would be wrong to abandon you while your driver is absent. There could be highwaymen, you know.”
A thump on the other side of the coach sounded right before the pistol fired into the carriage roof.
“Oh no! Major Ashton. Are you alive?” She clambered out of the lopsided coach, tumbled, and landed squarely on top of him. Her soft hands roamed his face and skull then fumbled along his jacket lapels before she stopped and sat up. “I see you are unharmed.”
Myles could make out nothing but a shadowy figure with a crooked bonnet, still concealed by the night. “I am.”
She pulled up as if he were a bed of nails. Her scrambling indicated curves, but nothing more.
“Good.”
He stood, dusting himself off in the process. He looked at the carriage door.
“You are not entering the carriage,” she said. He felt the flip of her clothing as she stepped in front of him.
“As you wish.” Myles stepped back, allowing her to retreat into the safety of the coach.
Repeated bangs and clicks sounded as she struggled to latch the door, followed by the rumble of thunder in the distance.
Ares was getting restless, so to prevent the animal from bolting, he hitched the stallion to the carriage. It was unlikely he or the Belgian would be able to move the carriage without the wheel.
A half-hour passed before a drizzle began, which turned into a steady rain before settling into a torrential downpour.
The carriage door swung open. “You can come inside,” the feminine voice capitulated.
“I’m fine.” Myles pulled his coat tighter.
“You are not. Come in, you could catch a cold and die.” Lightning streaked across the dark sky. He caught a glimpse of her face, delicate features with red hair and porcelain skin. Her eyes were positively luminescent as she stared at him. Though it was dark, he was certainly staring back.
“If it pleases you.”
“It doesn’t, however, circumstances being what they are, it seems we have no choice.” Her tart voice was muffled as she retreated from the elements.
Myles stepped up into the temporary shelter.
“Stay on your side!”
“My lady, I have little choice. Gravity is working against me and you. You would be better off sitting with me than trying to cling to the opposite bench like a baby monkey.”
“Why did you call me lady?” she asked.
“My apologies. It was an assumption.”
“How so?”
“I recognized the crest outside your carriage, Lady Pittham.”
“I’m not—”
A loud crack of thunder startled the horses, and they lurched against their harnesses to no avail, the carriage held fast by its missing wheel. All the beasts managed was to launch the lady towards him. He caught her, and the scent of lavender tickled his nose.
She gasped and struggled against his hold.
He held her firm. “Calm yourself. I will not harm you. You are safe.”
A scoff was her reply.
He loosened his grip and she attempted to crawl back to her initial position.
He sighed.
The lady gave up and settled for the other side of his bench, still inclined towards him, but less so than the opposite corner.
“Why don’t we try and get some sleep.”
“Don’t get any ideas.” She warned.
He wished he could see her face. Did she look as fiery as she sounded? “Of course not, my lady.”
CHARLOTTE AWOKE TO the sound of whistling. Thomas! She’d recognize his jaunty tune anywhere. She looked around the carriage. No sign of him. “Where is he?”
Thomas popped his head in. “Are you awake, Mrs. Wold?”
“Yes.”
“My, you did have a bit of adventure.” He was looking right at the hold in the ceiling.
She never should’ve released the hammer on the pistol. They were always more sensitive after they were cocked. “The thunder startled me.” It was sort of true, there was no reason to give Thomas details.
“Sorry I didn’t get back sooner, but that storm was a gully washer. I hope you didn’t get too cold.”
“Of course not.” How could she? She’d lost the battle to stay on her side of the bench and arose in the middle of the night, with the major’s arms wrapped around her. Scandalous. “Is there anyone out there with you?”
“No, mum. The wheelwright fixed it last night and I stayed in his barn. Emma Lou be happy with that, weren’t you girl? Unfortunately, there were no doctor. How is your ankle?” He patted the horse and the animal whinnied as if agreeing.
