The Lost Lieutenant Read online

  “Love Regency? How about a swoon-worthy hero and a plot that twists and turns yet ties up in a neat bow at the end? Then get thee to a bookstore! The Lost Lieutenant is all that and more, from the battlefield of Salamanca to the gowns and suits at Almack’s. This is my favorite Erica Vetsch title to date and earns a place on my keeper shelf.”

  MICHELLE GRIEP, Christy Award–winning author of the Once Upon a Dickens Christmas series

  “An enchanting tale, The Lost Lieutenant was quick to capture my heart and engage my hopes. A wounded hero meeting a heroine on the run is always a perfect recipe for romance; throw in a spy for good measure, and you’ve got a winner from Erica Vetsch! This is a Regency novel that will have fans begging for more.”

  JAIME JO WRIGHT, Christy Award winner of The House on Foster Hill

  “A riveting Regency read, with captivating characters, that will tug at your heartstrings.”

  CAROLYN MILLER, best-selling author of the Regency Brides series

  “Erica Vetsch brings such a fresh, true voice to Regency romance. She catches all that’s best about the genre while weaving together a fast-paced, intriguing story full of characters I cared about so much. I can’t wait for book two!”

  MARY CONNEALY, author of the best-selling High Sierra Sweethearts and Wild at Heart series

  “Original, engaging, and oh so romantic, The Lost Lieutenant is a delightful tale sure to satisfy Regency fans and inspirational readers alike. Evan, a battle-scarred war hero, earns his place alongside the leading men of Austen and Heyer, and Diana is a heroine you’ll relate to and root for as she falls in love with her unintended earl. Rich historical details, authentic faith elements, and a dash of intrigue combine in this winning first installment of the Serendipity & Secrets series, certain to gain a permanent place on your shelf … and in your heart.”

  AMANDA BARRATT, author of My Dearest Dietrich

  “Two brilliantly developed characters forge a future together at the intersection of love and war in this compelling and immersive historical romance. Well matched in spirit, courage, and intelligence, together they graft a world through secrets, espionage, and unexpected acts of chivalry. My romantic’s heart will continue to skip a beat every time I think of them. With Vetsch’s deeply compassionate look at the mental scars of war, readers of Carla Kelly, Mary Balogh, and Julie Klassen will find their next favorite read in The Lost Lieutenant. I fully intend to revisit this world time and again for years to come.”

  RACHEL McMILLAN, author of The London Restoration

  “With this stunning novel, Vetsch has seamlessly created a story and characters firmly set in Regency England. From the court of Queen Charlotte to the renovated English manor known as White Haven, we’re taken on a breathless journey of intrigue, romance, and historical depth. This is a must-read for those who love Sarah Ladd and Mimi Matthews.”

  GABRIELLE MEYER, author of A Mother’s Secret

  SERENDIPITY & SECRETS

  The Lost Lieutenant

  The Gentleman Spy

  The Indebted Earl

  The Lost Lieutenant

  © 2020 by Erica Vetsch

  Published by Kregel Publications, a division of Kregel Inc., 2450 Oak Industrial Dr. NE, Grand Rapids, MI 49505.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations in reviews.

  Distribution of digital editions of this book in any format via the internet or any other means without the publisher’s written permission or by license agreement is a violation of copyright law and is subject to substantial fines and penalties. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights by purchasing only authorized editions.

  Apart from certain historical facts and public figures, the persons and events portrayed in this work are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Management, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370, www.booksandsuch.com.

  ISBN 978-0-8254-4617-7, print

  ISBN 978-0-8254-7600-6, epub

  Printed in the United States of America

  20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 / 5 4 3 2 1

  To Peter, as always

  Love, Erica

  CHAPTER 1

  Seaton Estate

  Berkshire, England

  January 4, 1813

  “YOU’LL DO AS you’re told if you know what’s good for you. I won’t be humiliated again.”

  Diana Seaton gripped the back of the chair she stood behind, grateful to have the piece of furniture between her and her father. Red suffused his face, and his eyes glittered. He paced the oriental rug in front of the fireplace in the drawing room of Seaton Manor.

  She gathered her courage. “But wouldn’t it be better if I remained here this Season? I could look after Cian—”

  “Do not mention that name here. Not his and not his trollop of a mother’s.” The Duke of Seaton halted his pacing and jabbed his beringed finger toward Diana. Her pleas wadded into a lump in her throat, and fierce tears pricked her eyes.

  Her half sister, Catherine, hadn’t been a trollop. She’d been an innocent, a naïve debutante taken advantage of by a true rake and scoundrel—a mistake that, had word gotten out, would’ve cost her reputation, and in the end had cost her life. But Diana knew better than to protest aloud to her father.

  “It’s bad enough to have her spawn here in the house. At least she had the decency to die and rid us of her shameful presence. I wish both of them had.” He stalked to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a whiskey, though it was barely ten in the morning. This would be a bad day, if he was starting his drinking so early.

  Diana only wished he didn’t mean it when he said he was glad his daughter had died in childbirth, but she had too much evidence to the contrary to deny it. The Duke of Seaton was at once a womanizer and woman hater. He had not loved any of his three now-deceased wives, marrying them for either their fortune or the power the alliance would bring him. Each had borne him a child, and he hadn’t loved any of them either. He was not capable of love. Only power. Control. And cruelty.

  “You’ll go to London with your brother and me, you’ll be presented at court, and you’ll marry the man I choose for you. Beyond that, keep your mouth shut and mind every rule. There had better not be so much as a hint of scandal attached to your name, or you’ll regret it. Your sister cost me far more than she was worth, outfitting her and bringing her out last Season. She barely lasted until Easter before she was compromised. I had almost brokered a marriage. The bids were set to come in, and she ruined it. If you do the same, you’ll regret the day you were born.” The skin tightened along his jaw as he glared.

  Brokered a marriage. Sold into bondage would be more accurate, and such a fate awaited her too. She would be his pawn, and she had no say in the matter.

  The lump in her throat grew. How could she keep her promise to her sister to care for Cian as her own if she were in London, married off to a stranger, when the baby was here in Berkshire under the dominance of her father? Her thoughts scrambled as she tried to subdue the panic in her chest. She had to ask.

  “What will happen to the child?”

  “He’ll stay in the nursery here until I decide what to do with him. I should’ve sent him to the orphanage the day he was born.” It was a threat he had uttered for months before the baby’s birth as a means to keep Catherine in hiding, and one he’d breathed often in the three weeks since Cian’s arrival in order to quell any rebellion on Diana’s part.


  The worst was knowing he’d do it, either in a fit of rage or as a calculated move to bring someone under submission to his will.

  “And will we stay in London the entire Season?” She infused her voice with innocent inquiry.

  “Of course. It takes time to arrange a marriage and a proper society wedding. After you are presented at court, I’ll start the negotiations. Once I find a suitable husband, your sponsor will take care of the wedding details.” He waved his hand, as if what happened to her after the wedding were of little consequence.

  Diana must be careful here. If he thought she was manipulating him … a shudder went through her. “Are you worried about news spreading in your absence that there’s a baby at Seaton Manor, if you’re not here to quell the gossip?”

  He had gone so far as to forbid having a midwife or accoucheur in attendance at the birth for fear of word getting out, and when complications had set in, neither Diana, who was completely inexperienced, nor Mrs. Hudsworth, the housekeeper, had been able to prevent Catherine’s death.

  “Perhaps bringing the child to London, where you could have more control over who might learn of his existence …” She hated herself for even uttering these words, but it was all she could think of to sway him. “If you turn him over to the orphanage here, everyone in the village is likely to know where he came from. But in London, there are many orphanages, and you would be assured of anonymity.”

  Her father’s gaze narrowed over the cut-glass tumbler, and she held her breath. Beyond the heavily curtained windows over his shoulder, snow fell in fat flakes, two weeks too late to give them a white Christmas. Traveling to London would be arduous, even if the snow melted soon. The roads would be a muddy morass.

  She should be excited about a trip to the capitol, a place she’d never been, though her entire life had been spent in preparation for the event. She should be eager to wear the elaborate gown created for her appearance before Queen Charlotte at court, about attending the social events, about meeting new people. She should be anticipating an escape from Seaton Manor—where the mullions and muntins in the windows might as well have been prison bars—and the dominance of her father. And for most of her life, she had expected this Season to be her emancipation.

  But now all she wanted was to stay. To stay hidden in the Berkshire countryside with a newborn boy she loved as her own and had promised to protect.

  “Hmph. You could be right. Tossing him into a London orphanage would be easier if we want to keep it a secret.” Father set the glass down hard on the rosewood table. “Very well. Tell the nurse to get ready to travel. We leave in the morning.”

  Waiting until he strode out, slamming the door in his wake, Diana rounded the chair and sagged onto the brocade cushion. She felt like a rag doll with all the sawdust leaking out. Elation that Cian would be coming along warred with fear that she had only hastened his being placed in an institution, and clamminess swept over her skin. Lord, help me find a way to keep him safe, to keep my promise to Catherine.

  It was a prayer constantly in her heart and on her lips, but did praying do any good? Was God listening? Did He care about an illegitimate child that nobody but her seemed to love? Diana had never been certain that God cared about her prayers or that she was of enough significance to arouse His interest. When Diana had been small, her nurse had prayed aloud, but only that Diana would be a good girl and not tax her nurse’s patience. The rector at the girls’ school Diana had attended had read all his prayers from a book, as if he were bored. Only the assistant matron in her dormitory had taught them that God wanted a personal relationship with them through His Son, Jesus. That it was right and proper to read Scripture and pray from the heart. How Diana wished she had Miss Bonham to talk to now. Diana prayed, but she sometimes wondered if her words reached any farther than the chandelier, since nothing she had prayed for seemed to have changed her circumstances. Before she could summon the strength to rise and head to the nursery, the drawing room door opened again. Her heart leapt to her throat. Had her father returned? Had he changed his mind about taking Cian with them? She straightened and folded her hands in her lap, lowering her chin to present the properly demure daughter her father required.

  But it was only Percival who sauntered into the room, giving his gold-topped cane a twirl. She hated that cane. He pretended to need it whenever he wanted to elicit sympathy, but his ankle was well healed by now. Her half brother might like to act as if he had suffered a “great war injury,” and that somehow it made him a romantic figure, but Diana knew the truth. There was nothing romantic about her brother beyond his good looks, and even those were tainted by the character she knew lay behind the facade.

  Was there such a thing as an honorable man in all of England? A man without a cruel streak, an uncontrolled temper, a need to dominate every woman in his life?

  Not in Diana’s experience, admittedly limited as that might be. All men were alike—forceful, controlling, and unpredictable of temperament.

  “Fetch me a drink.” Percival dropped to the sofa, swinging his legs up and propping his dirty boots on a satin pillow, clearly not caring about the servant who would be tasked with removing the stains he caused. “I’m worn out.”

  She straightened, ready to flee if he started toward her, fed up with his sneering demands. “No one broke your legs on the way downstairs. Get your own drink.”

  “Aren’t you feeling saucy this morning?” He tapped his cane on the rug. “If I weren’t so tired, I’d give you a smack to remind you of your manners. Has the trip to London got you all in a lather? I might be too, if I were silly enough to think that getting married would solve any of my problems. Father’s already got a list of prospects. All old, fat, and in need of an heir. I don’t envy you.”

  Saying nothing was often the best defense when Percival baited her, so with an effort, Diana bit her tongue.

  Percival dropped the cane to the carpet, raising his chin and staring at the plaster filigree work on the ceiling. “You don’t think he’s going to give you that inheritance money, do you? The minute you marry, it won’t belong to you. It will go to your husband … and only as much as Father has to shell out to get somebody to take you off his hands. The rest he will pocket. It’s been his plan all along.” Percival pinched the bridge of his nose, as if bored with dealing with such an inferior intellect. “It’s galled him right along that he couldn’t get his hands on your trust, but if you think he’s going to turn over thousands of pounds sterling without a fight, you don’t know our dear father.”

  Frustration boiled under Diana’s breastbone. Her hands fisted on her thighs. Her grandmother had left that money to Diana to be inherited upon her marriage. The old woman had done it to spite the Duke of Seaton, revenge for the way he had treated her daughter, his third wife and Diana’s mother.

  “Still, having a debutante sister will fit nicely into my plans for the Season. It’s a good excuse to show up at parties you’re invited to, and I’m sure there will be a few swains willing to do whatever I want them to in order to secure a formal introduction. Your looks are passable, and you are a duke’s daughter, which should be enough to have them swarming around. I shall have to see how I can leverage things to my advantage.” He rubbed his fingertips against his thumb and grinned. “Sheep to the slaughter. I hope you last longer than Catherine did in town. I missed out on several opportunities to fleece the young bucks at the tables when she scuttled home. Whoever ruined her better hope neither Father nor I catch up to him, since he cost us so much money.” He stacked his fists and twisted them in a neck-wrenching pantomime.

  Before she said something she might regret—or that would earn her the aforementioned slap—she stood. There was plenty to do in preparation for tomorrow’s leave-taking. She’d waste no more time on Percival or his hateful words. The notion of him making suitors pay for an introduction to her, of having him show up at every social function she attended, and of luring unsuspecting prey into gambling with him in order to get on his good si
de made her want to break something, preferably over his head. She slipped out of the drawing room and through the hall to the staircase.

  Upstairs, the servants went about their packing duties quietly and quickly, trunks and boxes open and spilling their contents, maids hurrying to Mrs. Hudsworth’s directions, and everyone tense. The servants at Seaton Manor were always tense, it seemed. Like Diana herself. What would it be like to live in a peaceful, happy home, where people were kind and treated one another with respect? Did such a household even exist?

  From the sounds of her father’s plans to marry her to the highest bidder, she would never know.

  “I don’t see how you’re going to make sense of all this by tomorrow. Have the lists I made helped?” Diana touched the gowns lying across her bed, letting her fingers trail over ostrich feathers, tulle, satin, and silk. Several of the dresses were leftovers of her sister’s, never worn after she’d fled London last spring.

  But the rest had been sewn for Diana’s debut by a seamstress imported from the city for the purpose. Diana had enjoyed the process of collaboration with the modiste, selecting fabrics and trims, adding her own special touches. Though Diana had been sequestered at a girls’ school for the past several years, she had always had a flair for design, and she took pleasure in the tiny sense of freedom making her own dress choices had afforded. She’d been popular amongst the girls at school for her taste and creativity. Then her father had summoned her home. Ostensibly to be with Catherine in her confinement, but Diana surmised it was more that her father feared he was losing control of his daughters and wanted her where he could watch her.

  “Don’t you worry, dear. We’ll get it all sorted. And your lists have been most helpful. No, not that trunk. That’s for the court dress.” Mrs. Hudsworth shook her head. “Do you want any of your books and art supplies packed?”

  Diana didn’t hesitate. “I want everything. If things go according to Father’s plan, I won’t be returning to Seaton Manor. I don’t want to leave anything behind.”