Cover Copy
She disguises herself for the battle.
He must find her, protect her, no matter the cost.
It’s a war, to end all wars.
Miss Julia Chalmers isn’t like any other lady a gentleman would ever meet. Yes, she wears gowns and skirts, but she much prefers to don lad’s clothing, a disguise which allows her to roll up her sleeves within the trenches as she aids her father, an engineering professor of great renown. Their current mission: Halting the French in their bid to take over Portugal.
As Napoleon’s French force bears down on them, Major Harry Trentbury works diligently with a team of engineers in Portugal as they build fortified Lines of redoubts, trenches, and garrisons across the entire width of the peninsula to protect the city of Lisbon. At every turn he clashes with the professor’s daughter, a beautiful and quick-witted lady who stokes both his anger and passion to rise, his need for her an infuriating emotion he can’t seem to shake. As tensions increase and a battle becomes imminent, he rides out and fights on the front line, only disaster looms—she has followed him, disguised as a lad.
Protecting her now is essential, but when he suffers a terrible fall on the battlefield and awakens with a fatal loss of memory, all could be lost… Until he sees her.
Could she be the one to unlock his memories and bring him back to the land of the living?
Also by Joanne Wadsworth
The Matheson Brothers Series
Highlander’s Desire, (Book 1)
Highlander’s Passion, (Book 2)
Highlander’s Seduction, (Book 3)
Highlander’s Kiss, (Book 4)
Highlander’s Heart, (Book 5)
Highlander’s Sword, (Book 6)
Highlander’s Bride, (Book 7)
Highlander’s Caress, (Book 8)
Highlander’s Touch, (Book 9)
Highlander’s Shifter, (Book 10)
Highlander’s Claim, (Book 11)
Highlander’s Courage, (Book 12)
Highlander’s Craving, (Book 13)
Highlander Heat Series
Highlander’s Castle, (Book 1)
Highlander’s Magic, (Book 2)
Highlander’s Charm, (Book 3)
Highlander’s Guardian, (Book 4)
Highlander’s Faerie, (Book 5)
Highlander’s Champion, (Book 6)
Highlander’s Captive, (Short Story Book 7)
Regency Brides Series
The Duke’s Bride, (Book 1)
The Earl’s Bride, (Book 2)
The Wartime Bride, (Book 3)
The Earl’s Secret Bride, (Book 4)
The Prince’s Bride, (Book 5)
Princesses of Myth Series
Protector, (Book 1)
Warrior, (Book 2)
Hunter #2.5, (Short Story)
Enchanter, (Book 3)
Healer, (Book 4)
Chaser, (Book 5)
Pirate Princess, (Book 6)
Billionaire Bodyguards Series
Billionaire Bodyguard Attraction, (Book 1)
Billionaire Bodyguard Boss, (Book 2)
Billionaire Bodyguard Fling, (Book 3)
~∞~
THE WARTIME BRIDE
by Joanne Wadsworth
Regency Brides, Book Three
Table of Contents
Cover Copy
Also by Joanne Wadsworth
THE WARTIME BRIDE
A Child Is Born
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Regency Brides Series
Author’s Note – A Must Read
The Duke’s Bride - Book 1
The Earl’s Bride - Book 2
The Earl’s Secret Bride - Book 4
The Prince’s Bride - Book 5
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Other Series by Joanne Wadsworth
Joanne Wadsworth
A Personal Note from Joanne
Copyright: The Wartime Bride
A Child Is Born
Twenty-seven years earlier, alongside a stream at Kale Water, Scottish Borders, 1783.
The forest rose high and lush alongside this peaceful stream winding along the English-Scottish border. Una wandered through the long grass, her fingertips brushing the soft seedy tips waving in the gentle breeze. She’d walked this remote and wild forest path every day for the past thirty years of her life, this sacred land belonging to her Scottish ancestors who legend said held a touch of faerie blood.
Birds twittered from the treetops, sweet music to her ears, while the sun speckled through the thick canopy overhead and warmed the rich soil under her feet. Water burbled in the stream and a frog croaked and hopped across the marshy bank. It splashed into the reeds and disappeared within the stalky shoots. The beautiful and tranquil sounds of nature brought her such comfort and joy, this place where she lived a slice of heaven on Earth.
Across the other side of the stream, her quaint cottage sat in a meadow surrounded by wild flowers waving their dainty heads in an array of pretty rainbow colors. The cottage had been her home since childhood, a place where she had lived alone following the passing of her beloved parents seven years past.
As she neared the old footbridge which arched over the stream, the wind rose and her red tartan skirts flapped about her legs. Reaching out with her healer’s senses, she lowered to a crouch and pressed her palm against the rich and earthy soil underfoot. Ever since her youngest years she’d been able to sense things in the most profound way. Her mother had said she’d been bestowed with a wondrous healing gift and must use it to aid and heal others wherever and whenever she could. She’d spent her life doing exactly that.
“Is all well?”
She gasped and jerked upright. A man now stood on her footbridge. He had dark hair streaked with a touch of silver either side of his head. In polished black boots, he waited in the center where it curved higher. Deep smile lines were etched around his eyes—kind eyes. She relaxed. “You frightened me.”
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to catch you by surprise.” Gingerly he pushed round-rimmed spectacles higher on his nose.
“Aye, it is a surprise to see another here.” She sent her senses flaring out and detected his gentle and generous soul. “What is your name, sir?”
“Professor Charles Chalmers. It’s a delight to make your acquaintance, madam.” He removed his woolen greatcoat and draped it over his arm. “May I ask what your name is?”
“Everyone calls me Una. You may do so too. What brings you here to my meadow?”
“A wheel broke on my carriage, a little farther down the road. My driver is attending to the repairs.” He glanced toward her cottage across the meadow. “Your home, I take it?”
“Aye, it is.” A soft mewl sounded from within the reeds and she frowned at the strange noise. It wasn’t one she’d ever heard down here before by her gently flowing stream.
Another mewl, followed by a frog’s croak.
She stepped closer to the marshy bank and the frog reappeared from within the stalks, its webbed feet flattening a few of the reeds.
Behind the frog, something else came into sight. Oh my, a pad
ded basket. It must have gotten caught within the reeds. Not that she’d ever discovered a basket in her stream before. How unusual.
She edged closer and shock pummeled through her.
Within the basket, tufts of golden hair fluttered upon the sweet head of a newborn child. The baby’s tiny arms flayed as the wee one let out a sudden cry.
“Hell, is that a child?” The professor dropped his greatcoat and rushed over the footbridge. He hurried to her side and muttered, “I’ll go in and fetch the baby.”
“Please, be careful. The bank and reeds are quite swampy. You must take care no’ to overturn the basket.”
“Will do. I’ll take all care.” With his boots sinking into the rushes, he got bogged down a little in the slush but he managed to reach out and scoop the basket clear of the reeds. He heaved back up onto the grass beside her, the basket cradled protectively in his arms.
“Let me see if the child is well. I’m a healer.”
“Please do.” With an anxious expression, he laid the basket on the ground and they both hunkered around it.
The baby was wrapped in a swaddling cloth, although the child had managed to free its arms. Gently, she unwrapped the cloth and the wee girl kicked her chubby legs and gurgled with a sweet smile.
“Well, hello, little one.” Smiling, she laid a hand upon the baby’s wee chest, the girlchild’s heart beating with lively strength. She appeared healthy, her cheeks a soft pink and her cherub mouth curved, her eyes a rich shade of brown that twinkled with merriment. “You seem happy to be found, hmm?”
An answering gurgle.
“How incredible.” Such wonder filled the professor’s eyes as he touched a finger to the baby’s dimpled chin. The child grasped his finger and pulled it toward her mouth. She suckled on the tip and he beamed. “You appear hungry, although you won’t find much sustenance from my finger.”
“She cannae have been here long, otherwise she would have been crying a storm by now.” She touched the backs of her fingers to the baby’s warm cheek.
“Who do you think she belongs to?” the professor asked her, one brow quirked.
“I’ve no idea.” She studied the child. “There is no lass in the nearest village who has recently given birth.”
“You think she might have been abandoned?” He frowned and issued a low growl, clearly considering that thought intolerable. It certainly was to her.
“Well, since she has been placed in a basket and set afloat on this stream, I would say aye. This stream connects to a river which runs for some distance either side of the Scottish Borders. The child could even be from far beyond the nearest village, although it is doubtful the basket would have traveled that far without mishap.”
“I agree.” The infant cooed at the professor with her beautiful golden eyelashes fluttering, and the professor cooed right back at her. “Una, she is so small and needs a family.”
“Aye, except I cannae possibly care for her, no’ when I’m so often called away to heal others. I will need to take her to the vicar and see if he can find her a home.”
“No.” A stern word, followed by a smile as he kissed the baby’s forehead. “I mean, if she needs a family, then I shall raise her as mine, although I’ll be sure to ask about her within the nearest villages first, to see if she belongs to anyone.”
“You would do that? Adopt her as if she were your own child?”
“Absolutely. I have no family to speak of and would adore raising this wee one.”
Another soft mewl from the child and the professor swaddled her back up in the cloth, lifted her from the basket and as he stood, he tucked the child close to his chest and rocked her next to his heart.
“Are you certain?” she asked as she rose to her feet.
“I’ve never been more certain in my life.” A firm nod from the professor. “She is no longer lost, but now found.”
“Then allow me to be there for her when she needs a woman’s guidance in her life.” She wasn’t the child’s mother, could never take that place in the child’s life, but she would make a wonderful friend as the child grew into adulthood. She would teach this wee lass all she could.
“Then she will have every advantage possible. We shall both ensure it.”
“Aye, we shall.” With a beaming smile, all felt right in the world again.
Chapter 1
St. Vincent’s Fort, English Garrison of 2,200 men, situated along the First Line of Torres Vedras, Portugal, October 1810.
Major Harry Trentbury marched along the passageway of St. Vincent’s Fort toward the war room on the upper floor where he’d been called to a meeting with Lord Wellington. An unexpected meeting, although unexpected meetings occurred constantly when a war raged. He rounded the corner and strode upstairs and joined Wellington who stood at the open door in his red regimental jacket embroidered with gold thread on the high collar and cuffs. “Commander.” He dipped his head. “My apologies for being late.”
“You’re not late at all, Major. Professor Chalmers and Captain Anteros Bourbon have not long arrived.” Wellington gestured him inside. “Bourbon requested the meeting, although we haven’t yet started so please, be at ease.”
He stepped through the door and his commander closed it with a quiet snick.
At the round table which could accommodate twelve, only two men sat.
Before taking his seat, Harry clasped the professor’s black jacketed shoulder, the older man a mentor he held in great esteem, then he eased down next to Bourbon, a comrade and treasured friend who currently wore what he called Bourbon’s pirate attire, which suited the captain of The Cobra perfectly since he sailed the seas alongside Portugal’s western coastline in the ruse of pirating. Their English warships left the captain and his notorious vessel alone since they fought on the same side in this atrocious war. Which allowed Bourbon to patrol the nearby coastline and ensure the French didn’t sneak past their defenses via the sea. “It’s good to see you, Bourbon. How are you?”
“As good as can be during these difficult days, amico mio.” Bourbon shook his hand, the man close to him in age although with wisdom shining in the captain’s eyes which added years to his commanding stature.
“Let’s begin our meeting.” Across from Harry, Wellington rested his elbows on the polished tabletop. “What have you come to speak to us about this night, Bourbon?”
“As you requested, I’ve managed to successfully place a man inside Masséna’s encampment, one of my trusted crew who speaks fluent French and can easily pass for a French soldier.”
“Excellent news.” Wellington’s eyes lit up. “Do continue. I want to hear everything you can share about our enemy.”
“I can confirm that Masséna, Napoleon’s right-hand man, is now planning an aggressive attack. Masséna intends on striking somewhere along this central land-line of the peninsula within the next ten days.”
“Ten days. Hmm, I see.” Brows drawing together, Wellington tapped the tabletop. “I’m not exactly surprised by that news, but I had hoped for a little more time before Masséna initiated another attack.”
“What are your orders?” Bourbon asked their commander.
“Keep a close eye on any continuing developments and send further word as soon as you receive it. Utilize the signal stations. They now reach all the way across the land to the sea and messages are being transmitted directly along the Lines of Torres Vedras at a rapid pace.” Wellington lobbed a look at the professor, one brow lifted. “Except you mentioned this morning that a slight issue still remained at the signal station in Sobral. Is all in order there now?”
“It’s a very slight issue, the messages faltering for a minute or two longer than they should.” The professor tugged on the hem of his blue waistcoat. “Fletcher, your chief engineer, has asked that I correct the delay as soon as possible. I’ve assigned my duties to another engineer here so that I might leave for Sobral early tomorrow morning.”
“Good. I would appreciate hearing about your progress when it
’s made.” A stern nod from Wellington. “Send word to me once all is in proper order, directly to Pero Negro if you will. I’ll be leaving here tomorrow, midday or thereabouts, and returning to my headquarters there.”
“Consider it done, my lord.” The professor cast his gaze to Bourbon. “Does your man in Masséna’s camp know if the French have yet learnt about our three Lines of Torres Vedras being constructed? Either the first, second, or the third line?”
“The French know nothing as yet.” With a satisfied nod, Bourbon rolled his white shirtsleeves to his elbows, exposing the dirks sheathed at each of his wrists. “Suffice to say though, I’m not looking forward to when Masséna does discover the Lines.”
Neither was Harry looking forward to that moment, except the news of their fortified Lines would surely reach the French sooner or later. How could it not when each of the three Lines of redoubts, trenches, and garrisons had been constructed by their engineers, Lines which now spanned the entire width of the Portuguese peninsula. Close to twenty-five miles in distance for the first line, while the second line ran a little farther to the south for twenty-two miles. The third line sat much closer to Lisbon and ran for two very powerful miles in distance that would cover for an embarkation if it became necessary.
Wellington breathed deep, his nostrils flaring. “We must make certain Masséna remains without any knowledge of the Lines for as long as possible. My intention is for these Lines to remain our secret weapon, and for them to ensure Masséna’s complete downfall. The French cannot be permitted to take Portugal.”
“Sì, we’ll never allow Portugal to fall to the French.” Bourbon’s accent rose as his emotions did. The captain spoke several languages with fluent ease, often intermingling Italian and Portuguese, Spanish and Sicilian. Which country the captain came from though Harry didn’t quite know, and Bourbon hadn’t enlightened him in the four years he’d known him.
“Is there any further information anyone wishes to share?” Wellington glanced at each of them in turn and when they all shook their heads, their commander rose and gave them all a nod. “Gentlemen, on that note, I wish you all a pleasant evening.”
The Wartime Bride_Regency Romance Page 1
