Jane Lark - The Lost Love of a Soldier - A timeless Historical romance for fans of War and Peace

Jane Lark

A division of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Jane Lark Jane Lark I love writing authentic, passionate and emotional love stories. I began my first novel, a historical, when I was sixteen, but life derailed me a bit when I started suffering with Ankylosing Spondylitis, so I didn’t complete a novel until after I was thirty when I put it on my to do before I’m forty list. Now I love getting caught up in the lives and traumas of my characters, and I’m so thrilled to be giving my characters life in others’ imaginations, especially when readers tell me they’ve read the characters just as I’ve tried to portray them. You can follow me on Twitter @JaneLark.

Dedication This is an unusual story for me. I chose to write the prequel to The Illicit Love of a Courtesan - The Lost Love of a Soldier - because the readers who love the series asked for a prequel. But when I decided to write this, I realised I had to follow elements of a real story. I’d made the decision when I wrote The Illicit Love of a Courtesan to use the title of a real regiment who fought in the battle of Waterloo. I chose the 52nd (Oxfordshire) Regiment of Foot. So when I began this story my first task was to research the 52nd, to find out how they came to be there, and what part they played in the battle. The 52nd returned from The Peninsular War to Britain, in the summer of 1814, two hundred years ago to the year of this novel, and therefore this became the window of opportunity for my fictional characters, Paul and Ellen, to meet. I dedicate this story to all those who serve in the military, and the families who support them.

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

Author Note

The Illicit Love of a Courtesan

Chapter One

About HarperImpulse

Copyright

About the Publisher

I love writing authentic, passionate and emotional love stories. I began my first novel, a historical, when I was sixteen, but life derailed me a bit when I started suffering with Ankylosing Spondylitis, so I didn’t complete a novel until after I was thirty when I put it on my to do before I’m forty list. Now I love getting caught up in the lives and traumas of my characters, and I’m so thrilled to be giving my characters life in others’ imaginations, especially when readers tell me they’ve read the characters just as I’ve tried to portray them.

You can follow me on Twitter @JaneLark.

This is an unusual story for me. I chose to write the prequel to The Illicit Love of a Courtesan - The Lost Love of a Soldier - because the readers who love the series asked for a prequel. But when I decided to write this, I realised I had to follow elements of a real story.

I’d made the decision when I wrote The Illicit Love of a Courtesan to use the title of a real regiment who fought in the battle of Waterloo. I chose the 52nd (Oxfordshire) Regiment of Foot. So when I began this story my first task was to research the 52nd, to find out how they came to be there, and what part they played in the battle.

The 52nd returned from The Peninsular War to Britain, in the summer of 1814, two hundred years ago to the year of this novel, and therefore this became the window of opportunity for my fictional characters, Paul and Ellen, to meet.

I dedicate this story to all those who serve in the military, and the families who support them.

“Lady Eleanor…” A gentle almost-knock struck the door as Ellen’s maid whispered through it, as if she feared someone hearing her, even though she knocked on the servants’ entrance to Ellen’s bedchamber.

Ellen’s father, the Duke of Pembroke, would not be near the servants’ stairway.

“Pippa?”

The handle turned. The door opened.

“My Lady, a letter.” Pippa held it out as she came in. “It is from the Captain.”

“From Paul?” Ellen swept across the room, her heart clenching as she moved. Paul was the reason the whole house had slipped into tiptoeing and whispering. He’d caused her father’s recent rage, and now everyone was terrified of causing offence and becoming the next focus for her father’s anger.

If it was rude to snatch it from Pippa’s hand, then love had made Ellen rude.

Her fingers shook as she broke open the blank seal and unfolded the paper.

My love .

Holding the letter in one hand, the fingertips of her other touched his words.

My love … He’d only said those words for the first time a week ago, and yet she’d hoped to hear them for weeks, perhaps for months. Paul . An image of him dressed in his uniform crept into her head, his scarlet coat with its bright brass buttons hugging the contours of his chest. She loved the way he smiled so easily, and the way it glowed in his blue eyes. But he was a man of strength and vibrancy; life and emotion burned in his eyes too, and power cut into his features.

He was a breathing statue of Adonis; his beauty more like art than reality.

Her gaze dropped back to his words.

I’m sorry. Your father has said, no, and by now I am sure you know it. I tried Ellen, but he would not hear me out. He said I am not good enough for you. He would not even consider me. He will not have his daughter become the wife of a mere captain, no matter that I am the son of an earl. He wishes you to be a duchess. He will never consider a sixth son who must earn his living. He actually had the audacity to tell me even if I had been my brother and the heir, he would not agree to our match.

But I refuse to give you up, and I must leave for America soon. My love. I want you with me. Will you come with me without his acceptance? Will you run away with me? We can leave at night and head for Gretna; elope. You know how much I feel for you. You know I cannot bear to let you go. Remember my love burns brighter than the sun for you. You are my life, Ellen. Come. Send word via your maid if you will. My heart shall ache until I can look into your topaz eyes again.

All my love, forever and ever yours,

Paul

Tears dripped onto the paper, blurring the words. She loved him too. They’d met in June. He’d come for a house party with his father, the Earl of Craster, and his brothers. His family had come to talk politics, but Paul had only come to entertain himself.

Ellen looked up from his letter, wiping away her tears. “I will write back, Pippa. You will take the letter for me?” The maid hovered near the door watching.

When Paul had come here, even though Ellen was not officially out and allowed to socialise in high-society, her father had agreed to her joining the party.

She’d been sixteen then.

She’d eaten with the men during the day and entertained them in the evening, playing the pianoforte and singing while they stood or sat in groups and talked. But in those weeks Paul had singled her out. He’d sat next to her for several meals, and turned the music sheets for her when she’d played; his thigh brushing against hers as they’d shared a narrow stool.