The Captain’s Wife: Prequel

By Nina Jarrett

A vicar's daughter marries a handsome army captain, but they are separated by war and violence. Can they find a second chance at love?
A captivating prequel novella full of unrequited feelings and steamy romance.
Mrs. Lydia Lewis has given up on broken promises. Marrying her soulmate only to be attacked during his heartbreaking absence, she finds refuge as an incognito ducal housekeeper.
Captain Jacob Lewis is angry and hurt. Returning from military service to discover his spouse has vanished into thin air, he begins an almost hopeless search to bring her home.
Can this star-crossed pair reclaim newlywed bliss?
The Captain's Wife is the delightful prequel to the Inconvenient Brides Regency romance series. If you like worthy heroes, fast-paced plots, and enduring connections, then you’ll adore Nina Jarrett’s charming tale.

What readers are saying ...

★★★★★ "Short but sweet story about true love's staying power." - Jessica

★★★★★ "A good book that grabs your attention right at the beginning ..." - BP34

★★★★★ "A wonderful tale of undying love and devotion. For someone to keep looking even after years apart, is a wonderful book." - Ceara Merkle

★★★★★ "I highly recommend it and really want to read the next book in the series." - JP

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: May 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957185019

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

PRESENT DAY, OCTOBER 1818

L ydia.

Her hand froze on the brass door handle. She would recognize that deep velvety voice anywhere. It made her heart leap with joy and her veins freeze in horror. Slowly, she turned around, praying her vivid imagination was playing tricks on her. Her eyes searched and found what she was afraid of: her husband, tall and painfully handsome, standing on the lowest step.

He looked different from the last time she had seen him. His shock of coppery hair stirred in the breeze, and his intense eyes, which changed hue from blue to green depending on his mood, were currently a deep shade of turquoise and fixed on her own. Her heart raced and her mouth went dry with apprehensive excitement while her eyes traveled over his freckled snub nose, wide cheekbones, firm mouth, and strong, triangular jaw. The rain clouds that threatened cast a strange light and framed him with deep grays, adding to the drama of their overdue reunion.

After three long years, Jacob, her husband, had found her.

They stared at each other for several moments before he spoke again, his voice husky with emotion. I don’t know whether to shake you or kiss you, but unless you want one or the other to occur out here on the roadway, I suggest you let me come inside?

Lydia jumped, remembering where she was as her eyes darted up and down the deserted street. Of course, she murmured as she turned to open the red door, then led the way through the dark hall and into the front room. Jacob followed her, and while Lydia hurried to light the oil lamps, she was aware that he took in the sparse furnishings, his eyes settling on her father’s large leather-bound Bible laid out on the escritoire by the front window.

Finishing her task, she looked up, embarrassed that her hands were trembling with repressed emotion, to find Jacob standing near the stone fireplace and gazing at her. She noted with surprise that he was wearing a burgundy tailcoat with brass buttons, reminiscent of his customary scarlet uniform coatee. Instead of his uniform whites, he wore a fawn waistcoat and pantaloons. A white linen cravat was tied around his neck in place of a military black stock, and rather than his black soldier riding boots, he wore polished brown Hessians. A gray beaver was in his hand, no evidence of his black soldier cap, and his hair had grown out to a mess of curly locks that her fingers itched to comb and smooth back from his face. He was the very picture of the perfect country gentleman paying a call on the home of an acquaintance.

Lydia Lewis, as I live and breathe. Or am I to call you Mrs. Thorne?

You are no longer in the army? she blurted.

That is correct. I sold my captain’s commission nearly three years ago—when I returned from war and learned you were missing.

Lydia bobbed her head in distracted acknowledgment. How did you find me?

Jacob took the magazine rolled up under his arm, shaking it out so she could see the title. "The Gentleman’s Magazine ran an interesting article recently. Jacob opened the magazine and found what he was looking for. ‘His Grace, the Duke of Halmesbury, renowned for his estimable charitable work, recently oversaw the renovations and restaffing of The Halmesbury Home for Children’ … et cetera, et cetera … ‘appointing his own esteemed housekeeper, Mrs. Lydia Thorne, as the director of the home.’ "

You remembered?

Jacob scowled, tossing his head in affront, which set his coppery waves bouncing as if they had a life of their own. I remember everything … I remember that we played make-believe as children by the river and your title was Princess Lydia of Thorne. I remember we read each other poetry and novels in the meadows when I came home for breaks from Eton. I remember how you looked, what you wore at our anvil wedding when that blacksmith presided over our hurried vows in Gretna Green. I vividly recollect the letters you sent me when I was shipped out to war with the French madman. How I prayed to survive my wounds, so as to not abandon you, as I lost consciousness on the blood-soaked grounds of Waterloo. My memory of fighting a fever in a field hospital for weeks, while awaiting word … any word … from my wife is etched indelibly on my mind. I also can’t help but recollect the exact moment when I returned home and was told of your midnight disappearance at the end of June 1815. So, yes, I recognized your alias and, after years of searching, I finally worked out where to find you.

Lydia stared at him with rounded eyes, her chest constricted in horror at the thought of Jacob injured. Until today she had not been certain he had survived the Hundred Days after Napoleon’s infamous escape from Elba. To see him in the flesh, to confirm that he indeed lived, filled her head with a riot of emotions—predominantly light-headed relief that he was alive, well,