top of page
  • N. N. Light

Captain Stanwick’s Bride: Love After All - A Tragic Characters in Classic Literature Series Novel by Regina Jeffers is a Salute Military Event pick #literature #regency #salutemilitary #giveaway


Captain Stanwick’s Bride: Love After All - A Tragic Characters in Classic Literature Series Novel



Regina Jeffers



classic literature and fiction; pastiche fiction; British historical literature; historical Regency fiction; Regency romance; historical clean romance; series;


Book Blurb:


“Happiness consists more in conveniences of pleasure that occur everyday than in great pieces of good fortune that happen but seldom.” - Benjamin Franklin


Captain Whittaker Stanwick has a successful military career and a respectable home farm in Lancashire. What he does not have in his life is felicity. Therefore, when the opportunity arrives, following his wife’s death, Stanwick sets out to know a bit of happiness, at last—finally to claim a woman who stirs his soul. Yet, he foolishly commits himself to one woman only weeks before he has found a woman, though shunned by her people and his, who touches his heart. Will he deny the strictures placed upon him by society in order learn the secret of happiness is freedom: Freedom to love and freedom to know courage?


Loosely based on Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “The Courtship of Miles Standish” and set against the final battles of the War of 1812, this tale shows the length a man will go in order to claim a remarkable woman as his.




Whit had not slept a wink after Lieutenant Fellowes’s announcement. His mind was too full of all that had occurred since his surrender at the Battle of the Thames. Therefore, he had left his tent an hour before dawn. “Need to relieve myself,” he told the guard who stepped before the open flap.


“No further than the tree line,” the American warned.


“No arguments from me,” Whit said softly. “Not foolish enough to attempt an escape today. I am part of the exchange scheduled for this morning.”


The American sergeant grunted his understanding. “I wish I was going home.”


Whit paused to look at the man—really look before he said, “I pray we all return safely home. It is time our respective representatives practice the ‘diplomacy’ for which they are readily paid.”


“Better than a gun,” the sergeant said in surprise.


“Aye.” Whit walked slowly toward the tree line, his head full of questions to which there were no answers. Then, he spotted her, circling the outside of the fort. Certainly, the woman with a shawl over her head could be one of the washer women arriving for her day’s work, but the hitch in his breathing told him otherwise. He picked up his pace and entered the woods, but instead of stepping behind a tree to answer nature’s call, he sidestepped fallen branches and bramble to intercept her.


She was just about to turn a corner of one of the points of the “star” when he called softly, “Miss Spurlock.”


The lady turned and looked his way in caution before spotting him. Wrapping her shawl tighter about her, she walked in his direction. Whit did not leave the woods; rather, he stepped backward into the thicker shadows.


“You are up early, Captain,” she said as she came to stand before him. “Especially after assisting my father half the night.”


“I am to leave today,” he said simply.


“So soon,” she murmured. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut for the briefest of moments. As she looked upon him again, she said, “I am truly sorry for your departure, sir. It is not often my father knows comfort in another man’s company.”


“And you, Miss Spurlock? Will you know regret for yourself?” he asked.


She paused and looked away briefly. “I hold no right to know regret for more than my father’s lack of your company and your willingness to assist him. It has been many years since he claimed a true friend.”


Foolish as it would be to say the words aloud, Whit wanted to hear her admit she held him with some fondness. Unfortunately, her response did nothing to assuage his desire to hear her speak her emotions to both him and the night. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and he rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “I will admit I will feel the dearth of your company,” he said softly.


She looked at him, and the first fingers of daylight revealed unshed tears filling her eyes; yet, she smartly kept her eyes wide, stifling the chances her tears would escape and betray her. She tugged the shawl tighter about her, her arms crossed over her chest in a defensive stance. Even so, Whit knew her as defenseless as was he in this matter.


Why had he permitted himself to develop feelings for the woman? A gulf existed between them, one larger than the ocean he must cross to reach England. They possessed no future together, even if his heart wished a different course.


When she did not respond to his declaration, Whit groused, “I swear, Beatrice Spurlock, you should consider a career in the theatre, for you have managed to convince yourself and all who observe you that you do not wish a family of your own and a place to call ‘home.’”


“You err, sir.” The wrinkles of disapproval deepened upon her brow.


“Do I?” he countered. “Can we not part with honesty?”


“I have never spoken a falsehood to you,” she asserted, her expression rigid.

“Just omission of the truth,” he argued.


“You mean the truth of your having proposed to another?” she accused. She lifted her gaze to his, and a few of her tears escaped.


Whit stepped nearer, bringing her into a loose embrace. “I am a fool, Beatrice. I did not recognize what was forming between us. Bloody hell,” he cursed, “even now, I cannot present what rests within my heart with a name. In truth, I dare not, for, if I do, I can never be a good husband to Miss Miller. Would you have me abandon my honor and write to Miss Miller and beg her to ignore my promise? The lady has no one else in the world to care for her.”


She clung to his lapels, her hands fisting the material, and her tears dampened his shirt. “No,” a mournful sob shook her shoulders, and Whit tightened his hold on her. Her vulnerableness was on full display and was close to becoming his undoing.


Obviously realizing it would be disastrous for them to be caught together, he pushed against his chest. “I must leave. My father will be worried for me,” she mumbled in excuse.


Whit did not relent. Instead, he ran his thumb across her cheek to wipe away one of her tears. “We both know your father has not awakened; Spurlock was too worn weary from his duty to have budged from his cot.”


“It does not matter,” the lady replied, her breath warm against his skin as it circled around him.


Whit used his fingers to lift her chin where he might look upon her. “I wish it did matter to you,” he confessed. “I wish there was someone in the world who wished me to know happiness. I wish I had not made such a crude mistake, but know, wherever you land, someone will be praying for you to possess all you wish to hold in your life.”


The small muscles in her jaw twitched, and she took a full step back. Whit regretted the loss of her closeness, but he allowed Beatrice her freedom. A gulf of lost hopes rested between them, one larger than the sea that would soon separate them forever.


“We are to say ‘farewell,’ Captain,” she announced. “May God guide you home.”


Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):






Audible (Virtual Voice Narration)


What makes your featured book a must-read? 


This novel addresses modern day issues, but those issues are set in the context of The War of 1812. This is a captivating story of how far a man will go to be with the woman he loves. The book is a treasure trove of humanity - of doing what is right when it is not the most popular course. A good book grabs your interest, and it makes you think about things that had never crossed your mind. Finding love in the midst of war is a universal hope for humanity.


Giveaway –


Enter to win a $20 Amazon gift card:



Open Internationally.


Runs May 22 – May 28, 2024.

Winner will be drawn on May 29, 2024.


Author Biography:


Before writing romance, Jeffers wore many hats, including that of a tax preparer, journalist, choreographer, Broadway dancer, theatre director, history buff, teacher, grant writer, and media literacy consultant for school districts and public television. Now, “supposedly” retired, she writes full-time, skillfully enveloping her readers in the hearts and minds of her characters.


Social Media Links:


Every Woman Dreams (Blog)

Always Austen (Group Blog)


May 26

I’d have to go with Beau Eaton in Hopeless by Elsie Silver.


N. N. Light
N. N. Light
May 22

Thank you, Regina, for sharing your book in our salute military event!

bottom of page