The Lord's Missing Daughter

By Becky Lunt

Lord William’s heir has married with the new wife displacing Lizbeth as hostess. Her only option, according to her father, is to find a husband and begin managing her own household. Unfortunately her unusual upbringing has achieved a somewhat hoydenish reputation amongst neighbours. Lord William is left with little choice but to look amongst the gentlemen of the Ton.

Lord Henry is in the same predicament with his son Charles who has failed to live up to his duty and produce an heir. Lord Henry has taken matters into his own hands and the two gentlemen begin negotiations before discussing the matter with either of them.

After Lord William informs Lizbeth of her future, she runs away from the only home she had ever known and enlists in the army under the guise of Jack Fitzgerald. Her plan is to escape an unwanted marriage to a complete stranger but is then deployed into a war-torn Portugal. The only bright light of this detour is that her brother Andrew is her commanding officer.

So determined to avoid the devastating life of stupid society wife, Lizbeth is shocked as she falls in love with her company’s second in command.

Charlie is both drawn to and repelled by Jack. The lad has done nothing but argue since arriving. The fact that his normally placid best friend turns into a twittering fool is cause enough to worry but his own overwhelming urge to shelter the youngster is downright disturbing. When he discovers that young Jack is in fact Andrew’s baby sister, his mind reels and his heart becomes fully engaged. She is the most desirable chit he’d crossed paths with his entire life and he moves heaven and hell to make her his wife. Before he is able to send Lizbeth to safety, his wife is wounded upon the battlefield of Talavera. Andrew and he rush home before she gives up the fight. As her life teeters on the edge, Charlie begins to understand the true meaning of love.

Lizbeth returns to London and recovers from her ordeal only to discover that her husband is the very man she ran away from. Has God has seen fit to mock her by providing a husband who married her for duty not the love she’d convinced herself of?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becky Lunt
• Release date: Aug 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311845696

Becky Lunt

My name is Rebecca but I prefer Becky. I could start waffling on about my work and life but that would bore you just as much as it does me so I will just tell you that my imagination is awesome.... Come and get lost with me in my dreams.

Book preview

The Lord’s Missing Daughter

Copyright 2014 Becky Lunt

Published by Becky Lunt at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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 enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

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

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Please keep reading …

About Becky Lunt

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Chapter One

October 1808

‘Miss Lizbeth! Miss Lizbeth!’ Mary, the young maid screeched as she ran across the open field. Lady Lizbeth Creighton turned at the noise and felt her heart thump loudly in her chest. The maid's tanned skirts were lifted up past her knees as her thin legs hurried forward. The inappropriate pace showed a white petticoat and dirty stockings. Panic seized the young maiden as she kicked her lively mount into a quick canter to meet the maid in the middle. As they neared each other Lizbeth slipped agilely from the side saddle and reached out to steady Mary.

‘What is it? What has happened?’ she asked quickly. The girl stopped and heaved in several large breaths before trying to explain.

‘Me brother carried a letter, Miss, when he visited the stables this morn.’ The maid lifted a cream-coloured envelop which was snatched rapidly by Lizbeth. The young lady fell to her knees in apprehension as she stared at the printed handwriting on the outside. For her maid to have confided the letter came from the brother told her that the letter itself was sent from her brother Andrew. Reading the direction confirmed the identity of the sender so Lizbeth broke the seal and began to read aloud.

‘My Dearest LizzyB, please be content to know that I am safe and well from the battle just passed. We landed safely in Portugal earlier in the month and followed Wellesley on to Roleia where we met the Frenchman Delaborde's army. Our numbers were such that only some four hundred and eighty casualties on our side were suffered. A truly excellent sign of leadership I think.’ Lizbeth paused and drew a deep breath, ‘I am sure that there are some four hundred and eighty families that are not so proud of the numbers!’ her indignation was stifled in the curiosity to continue reading the words her father did not allow be received within his walls. ‘I am proud to serve under General Bowes and Wellesley and equally proud to tell you my promotion to major is official now. I truly thank you with all my heart in helping me buy my commission. When it comes time for you to need me as badly, rest assured sister, I shall be there. If the old man is interested at all, please pass on my regards and best wishes for his health and keep a big kiss for yourself. Your loving brother, Major Andrew Creighton.’ The word major seemed to stand out so boldly upon the page. Lizbeth looked to the top of the parchment again for the date the letter was written. ‘August was not so long ago that if something should have happened we would have been informed.’ The young lady sighed audibly with relief.

‘Tis true enough, Miss. The army woddna dilly dally to advise the peerage that one of they’s been wounded or killed.’ Mary made the sign of the cross quickly while looking to the clouds in silent prayer.

Although Lizbeth was raised as a catholic, she did not share the same pious feelings as the maid and simply held any comments in check. Surely the parents of the enemies prayed to the same God and were forsaken just as much as any man fallen in battle. He was not so choosy as to pay close attention to the colour coat being worn.

‘Head back to the house Mary, I shan’t be much longer.’ Lizbeth commanded before turning back to the horse. As unladylike as it was, she hitched the skirts of her green velvet riding habit high and stuck a boot firmly into the stirrup to lift up onto the saddle. She watched briefly to ensure the maid set off to the manor again before jigging the reigns lightly in her hands to ease the horse into a trot. It was so unfair that Father would not forgive Andrew his independence. Her older brother ran away to enlist because Lord William Creighton would not lend his support, so Lizbeth had sold some of her mother’s less known jewels to help raise the sum needed to purchase his first commission in the King’s army. Now, with the sale of something more personal, she and Andrew had made the money needed for his next commission. Captain was an achievement, but Major was so much more knowing that their father had no hand in his advancement.

Lizbeth slowed the horse’s gait and reviewed the surrounding land. Her family had lived here since the time of the Norman invasion, each generation had added something unique to their interests and her eldest brother Gavin was considering his contribution with her father’s age increasing. She could see Gavin in a distant garden, several tradesmen milling around him, listening intently. His tall form easy to determine even at a distance. She was so proud of her brothers, each with a different ambition that ruled their lives. Gavin’s colouring was so similar to her own with a muddy brown shade of hair and vibrantly tanned complexion. Lizbeth smiled at the sight, she loved her family dearly but at the age of one and seven, struggled to find her place in it. There was no secret her father and brother were considering names of potential husbands, but neither had bothered to consult her on her preferences. Her smile faded as the features of the prospects flashed across her mind.

‘Oh dear me, how dull to be linked with any of those milksops!’ she declared aloud. The horse must have sensed her agitation, for he threw his head back so the black mane flamed out. The grass beneath was soft and lush after the soaking wet of a week ago, the birds chirped happily from the tree branches and small furry ground animals scurried across the fallen leaves of the small home wood at the side of her vision. The tranquillity was both invigorating and stifling at the same time. Lizbeth longed for a life greater than the one her father provided, longed for adventure, longed for true love, and longed for a purpose where she was needed.

Gavin had been recently married, with his attentions drawn to expanding the Creighton assets while his young wife Alice was setting up their nursery. Although she was not increasing yet, the pretty blonde had high hopes of rectifying that soon. Her middle brother James was in London wooing any pretty debutant that he could, Andrew was fighting for king and country on the continent and Lizbeth was …. Was what?

She was stuck riding a horse in the fading sun, struggling to find the opportunity to read a letter from her brother. Hiding out like a common criminal, least Lord William find the note and burn it. As though she was ashamed. Everyone had a part to play but Lizbeth struggled to find hers. The horse’s snort interrupted her revere and without hesitation, she turned the animal and headed back towards the stables.

Her father, Lord William, an aged and weary man with a minor barony title, greeted her warmly as she entered the main reception hall. His grey hair was fashionably cut, close to his head, while his height defied his age. Lord William had already celebrated his fortieth birthday when he was blessed with the knowledge his wife was increasing again but his vitality had never lessened as the years progressed. After his lady wife died from child birth, he had taken great pains to ensure his one and only daughter was not neglected and Lizbeth had loved him dearly for all the attention he lavished upon her. He was passing from library to parlour, when she burst energetically through the front doors. Hague, the butler did not even have time to twist the handle before she entered. The prim and proper butler frowned with indignation as his duties had not been performed satisfactorily.

‘My dearest, I was just about to join you for tea,’ he eyed her wrinkled habit before continuing, ‘but I see that you were not in until now so my timing is providential, is it not?’

‘Papa, your timing has always been perfect.’ She answered. A footman dressed in a green coat with black breeches and a pristinely white wig paced forwards with hands out waiting for Lizbeth’s riding gloves and bonnet. The young lady dispatched these accessories without hesitation. She turned to the disapproving butler and issued instructions.

‘Hague, have tea bought in to the parlour and ensure that there is enough for Alice and Gavin when they join papa.’ Hague bowed before backing out of the reception hall. Lizbeth and Lord William walked arm in arm into the parlour and over to the well-padded sofas placed before the unlit hearth. ‘I know it is no longer my place to order the staff, Papa, but I do hope that Alice will not be insulted.’

‘I say Alice would think no such thing daughter.’ He comforted Lizbeth. She struggled visibly with relinquishing her hostess roll to her older brother’s wife. ‘However, that brings me to the point of my seeking you out dearest.’ Lizbeth’s gaze lifted to her father’s face only to find that he was averting his eyes. A nervous fluttering began in the pit of her belly at his avoidance. ‘I have just this minute, received a letter from a very good friend of mine from my childhood. It seems that we have something in common. He has a son he wishes married and I have a daughter that I wish to see settled in her own household before I die.’ Lizbeth stood in shock but was spared the need to reply with the arrival of the tea tray followed closely by Gavin with Alice on his arm. Although she said nothing aloud, Lizbeth’s mind panicked. In papa’s eyes, since Gavin had made a good match of things with his wife and mother of the next heir, Alice was little more than a simpleton wallflower. Make no mistake, Alice was kind and caring, devoted to Gavin and all that a young wife of a lord should be, however in Lizbeth’s mind, she was also boring, predicable and utterly devoid of any personality. How could it be that any man would take her willingly as wife with all her flaws and traits of individuality? She had been around her brothers long enough to know what each expected of their wives and Lizbeth refused to bow down to those conventions dictated by them.

Since she had grown out of the nursery, her brothers had asked her to make tea when she was occupied with other more meaningful chores, so she would tell them to make it themselves, they would then order her to stop what she was doing and pour so she would yell back. Although she was gently born, she was not gently raised. Her mother had died in child birth with her and there had been no noblewoman at hand to take on the task of raising her right. Instead of sewing, she was shooting; instead of painting, she was boxing with her brothers and instead of knowing the latest fashion, she was shocking her family by wearing breeches. Society would consider it completely inappropriate so therefore she had revelled in her own form of rebellion. Now it could all come crashing down around her in a heartbeat of careless words.

Alice poured tea into four delicate china cups and handed them out to the other occupants. The mindless task seemed more than she could handle for the cups rattled precariously upon the saucers and the tea pot clanked as it was replaced on the tray.

‘I have recently heard from the Marquess of Rockthornton, quite out of the blue, I can assure you.’ Lord William opened the conversation cheerfully. ‘Henry Morrison and I were at Oxford together in our day. It appears that his is quite beside himself with his heir. The Earl does not appear inclined to settle down and set up his nursery, I considered it my duty as a long standing friend to advise him of the eligibility of Lizbeth.’

Lizbeth fought the overwhelming desire to throw the china but instead dropped it heavily onto the tea table beside her.

‘And what exactly is my eligibility Father?’

‘Why nothing more than being an extremely beautiful young woman that would make any man a worthy wife. You have impeccable breeding and bloodlines, sense and education enough to grace any society room in town.’

‘You make me sound more like a piece of livestock.’ She huffed incensed.

‘Well make no bones about it daughter, the Marquess was impressed enough with your qualities that we have begun negotiating settlement.’

‘Oh well done, Lizbeth. An Earl no less, with a Marquessate inheritance to look forward too.’ Alice clapped her hands in approval but Gavin stilled them after a quick glance at his sister’s reddening face.

The premature celebration provided Lizbeth with further evidence of not wishing to fall into the fate of simpleton society wife. She eyed the fashion plate with disfavour. Her sister-in-law dressed in the height of fashion even in the country with her blond ringlets tamed to perfection behind glittering combs. Her lavender coloured eyes contrasted greatly with the pale white flawless skin of her face. The image of the porcelain china doll that sat amongst her father’s valuables. Lizbeth realised suddenly that Alice was everything she herself despised. Why had she not noticed before?

‘How dare you!’ Lizbeth choked, ‘how dare you do this to me!’

‘I am your Father, it is my duty and right to ensure you are well settled before my passing. I’ve allowed you your head long enough now it is time for you to grow up.’ Lord William responded, his temper beginning to flair. ‘You must see that you can no longer take it for granted to stay here. Alice has become mistress of this house, not you but by marrying well, you will be assured of having a good house to run for your own.’

‘If I am not welcome in my childhood home, then you should have told me sooner.’ Lizbeth cried, her eyes filled with tears as they gazed at all three people, but before they spilled, she ran from the parlour. Her sobs echoing in the hall and all the way up to the slam of a door.

‘Just as stubborn as her grandmother!’ Lord William announced testily. ‘Son, get and pour me a brandy!’

Lizbeth fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom. The portraits of her ancestors mocking her in her haste. There was little left to consider when all things were said and done. What was her option other than to marry this stranger! This man who had as much intention to be leg shackled as she. It was not as if she could purchase a commission for herself and join in the success of the campaign against Napoleon.

Andrew’s freedom seemed so much more priceless now fate had turned her life in an entirely unwanted direction. The letter in her pocket felt as though it was searing the skin. If she had known that this was to befall her, would she have still chosen to help Andrew? The answer was simple, of course she would have. Lizbeth kicked herself for even considering that particular question but it left her feeling cold and lonely. With quick, deft movements, the jacket of her habit was discarded carelessly across the room and she surveyed herself in the standing glass mirror. The image reflected back was nothing of what a titled peer would settle for his son. It was clear that the Marquess had never laid eyes upon her either. Her face was tanned and freckled from too much time in the sun, her hair, that was just past shoulder length when down with untidy waves, was a very horrid brown. Her eyes weren’t too bad, she supposed, the dark brown matched the smattering of freckles across the ridge of her nose. But that was as far as any praise could be considered. She was far too tall for a sign of gentility, her height had always been a source of insult for no lady of quality would dare tower over a gentleman whereas Lizbeth towered over everyone other than her brothers and father.

It seemed rather inappropriate to have to submit willingly in thoughts and actions to a man that she must peer at down her nose. Not to mention the fact that her curves were more from muscle definition than subtle feminine curvature. There was nothing remotely appealing to a sane man let alone anything arousing. Lizbeth had always considered it God’s joke, that she was separated from her lovely mother by both companionship and resemblance. An ironic smile curved the corners of Lizbeth’s lips as she considered the potential appearance of her children. She would have to hope as desperately as her husband for a son for the Creighton men were severely handsome where the Creighton woman was not.

Her troubled thoughts turned once again to her future. The issue was whether she could be content with her life in Alice’s shoes. A love match was certainly not an option now so she had to be reasonably sure that her husband was someone that would respect her as well as be respected. And in all honesty, Lizbeth could not think of a man and wife pairing that lived happily into their dotage. All her acquaintances where widowed early as her father had been or where that disillusioned with their situation, they lived in different houses across the country. This knowledge provided the determination to not fall into the same dreary existence. She did not yet know how, but somehow she would escape her father’s negotiated fate.

A life of blissful freedom waited her somewhere it would simply be a matter of finding it when the house had retired that night.

Chapter Two

April 1809

Young Jack Fitzgerald swaggered from the dock with his rifle slung haphazardly over one shoulder while his kit rested across the other. It had taken some finessing to get to this point but at last the youth could claim a part of the oath to defend King and Country. Entailing of a swatch of unmemorable, untidy brown hair mattered in salt, sweat and sand stuffed under a dusty tricorn hat, a wide smile brightening an otherwise boring pair of brown eyes that eagerly gazed around the surrounding shanties, although of similar height and indeed more height than some, the youth was grossly outsized in weight compared to his travelling companions. After what seemed like an eternity at sea, the troop carrier hulk landed at some small port along the Spanish coastline and close to a hundred soldiers dressed in long skirted coats of different colours and designs disembarked. Jack paused at the bottom of the gangplank and looked around expectantly.

‘Keep a movin’ lad,’ came a deep voice before a hand was shoved firmly in the middle of his back. Jack looked up into the eyes of the man that had followed him into war.

‘I'll keep moving but you keep a sharp eye out, Davy. I need to know of anything out of the ordinary.’ he responded quickly. Lizbeth had worked long and hard to conceal her true identity and was not willing to take the slightest chance of being discovered. She was now a member of the forty eighth foot regiment mobilised to join Wellesley’s force in Spain. Her escape from marriage surely had been completed now.

It broke her heart not to say goodbye as she slipped from the house in the early hours of the morning, but Lizbeth could not settle for what seemed less than she deserved. It was only as she saddled her horse, all those months ago, that she’d noticed Davy watching intently from a stall further down the stable. Rather than doing what he should have, he simply began saddling a less expensive hack to ride away with her.

Even after finding an enlistment office, he had not questioned her on this course but now she felt his hesitation.

‘I can do this Davy, you know I can and besides, Andrew had his orders to be here waiting for the reinforcements.’

‘I still think ya should lets Mr Andrew knows ya here.’ He grumbled, however both soldiers shouldered their kit and trudged along the wobbling pier and into formation behind the other new arrivals. The solid ground felt different under her feet as she struggled to regain land legs but with the hustle and bustle of the fishing village life, no one noticed her staggering. Davy’s bulk offering comfort knowing he was close enough to grab her should she fall completely. A quick glance about showed others with similar difficulties in which Lizbeth offered a rueful smile. The tension in the air was almost palpable as officers called orders and directed the traffic from high in the saddle. As Lizbeth and Davy made higher ground and found a piece of shade beneath a decrepit lean-to shack, she took time to survey the village and people more closely. Only Davy’s presence kept the nervousness and fear at bay as her eyes darted from face to face. The town was indeed just a fishing village. There was no brick buildings of wealth, no paved roads, the grass was dried and flat in most places and the few wood establishments appeared to be on their last legs. A good sea storm would surely see the frail chucks of weathered wood crumble. The few locals cast weary glances and then pulled their head covers lower.

At last, her gaze fell upon the major she was looking for. Andrew strode amongst the men rather than trying to ride a horse through the crush, but he and the officer beside him walked as though they commanded an entire kingdom, not just a regiment of men. He held his head up and shoulders back with pride, the new insignia pips shining brightly in the sunlight. His companion was even more noticeable, Lizbeth’s eyes were drawn like a moth to flame. His very broad shoulders where accented by the superbly sculpted muscled arms and strong neck. She glanced down at her hands that had unconsciously clasped into a circle in which she doubted they would have been able to close around his neck. His hair was deep brown tied back with a strap of leather, while his tricorn hat sat squarely on his head. From this distance, she could not determine the colour of his eyes but imagined them to be as deep a brown as his hair. His features were dignified and excessively handsome, even compared to her brother. The pair’s eyes were guarded as

Reviews for The Lord's Missing Daughter

[Leena Aluru · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book has a strong heroine centred story line. It's a roller coaster ride all through. The part when she is a soldier has been well written. I'm impressed that the heroine actually does fight and has her moments in the war too. A very strong minded woman. The guys are ok.