Mrs Calcott’s Army

Charles sat back in his chair, and crossed one gleaming boot over the other. Some of the amusement died from his eyes. ’I know you too well, old friend. One of the finest shots in all of His Majesty’s army, a farmer? I can’t see it.’’Then you’ll have to look a little harder, because that is what is before you. I came home to find my stepmother was long dead, my father so stricken by the loss that he had drunk himself into an early grave, and a brother whom I had never met stuck in a school in Yorkshire with no-one remotely interested in his welfare. I knew none of it - and I readily admit that even if I had, I would have done nothing about it until it suited me. The ties of family meant nothing to me.’’Nonsense! You have always done your duty, and more. You were one of the best officers we had, and you know it. You may not have agreed with your superiors at every step, but your men knew to trust you, even in your maddest starts, ’ Charles stated, his expression wry. ’I imagine, if you felt no inclination towards coming home to sort it all out, it’s because you believed that to be your father’s job, as head of the family.’’But it’s mine now, Charles, when I’m least fit to take it on! And-’’And?’With a little laugh, Mark raised his glass, and stared into its ruby depths. ’And now there’s a lady in the case.’’We come to the point at last! Define lady, ’ Charles invited with unaccustomed care, watching Mark closely. ’Really, Charles, you must be losing your faculties. Lady: female, woman, member of the fairer sex. Long hair, skirts; remember?’He earned himself a long-suffering look. ’Define this lady. What’s so special about her that has got you into a state?’’Absolutely nothing, ’ he answered with total candour. ’If you passed her in the street you would not notice her.’’Promising, ’ Charles laughed, and for some reason Mark felt his hackles rising.’She is a widow. Her husband was a Grenadier captain, whom she met and married while he was on sick leave. He was killed within a month of going back.’’And how did you meet her? Is there a social whirl in Wimborne Minster of which my sainted Aunt has neglected to tell me?’’Someone tried to kill her, ’ Mark said.Dorset, 1817: Lydia Calcott, making her lonely way home from market, is accosted and savagely attacked. She is rescued from drowning by Major Mark Roper, a stranger to the area, who takes her back to his temporary quarters at Brockhill Manor.Hearing her story, Mark vows to protect her until the would-be murderer is taken up. How to find one unknown man before he can come back to finish her off is a challenge to which Mark rises with the aid of his brother, his batman, and some old army friends.During her enforced convalescence at the Manor, and with new friends to support her, Lydia discovers the strength and the determination to fight for herself; but there is more than one enemy waiting for her to fail, and past secrets which could shatter all her hopes.This is a novel to curl up with on a rainy afternoon; traditional Regency romance at its b

Lorraine Swoboda has been, amongst other things, a TV news researcher and an agony aunt. She lives in France with her husband, where she writes while he renovates around her. They both agree that it’s best that way round.