A Kiss in the Moonlight

Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Contents 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 And so . . . About the Author Also by Cathy Maxwell Copyright About the Publisher v vii 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 ii iii vi Guide Cover Contents Chapter One Dedication To the best strategist I know—Cheryl Etchison I am wealthy in my friends Chapter One Refuse an offer of marriage with grace and great delicacy. The Rules (according to Dara) Because even boorish men are fragile creatures. Tweedie’s interpretation 1817 “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” Dara Lanscarr chided as she scrambled her way up the wooded hill, trampling bluebells in her mad dash to reach Wiltham House. “I’m caught!” her sister Elise shouted. Elise was a year younger than Dara’s one-and-twenty. It had been years since either of them had run this hard. Dara turned to see Elise trying to unsnag her hem from the dead wood of a fallen limb. “Tear it,” she ordered. “We will repair it later. We have to stop Squire Davies.” “I’m trying,” Elise snapped back. Huffing her impatience, Dara stumbled back down toward her sister, her own skirts in danger of tangling. She deftly unsnagged Elise’s hem before grabbing her hand. “Run.” Together, the women charged toward the crest of the hill, before stopping to catch their breaths. Below them, the white walls of Wiltham, their family home, shone bright against the dark green of the forest—and their fears had not been unfounded. Squire Davies’s bony chestnut was being walked by a stable hand. “We’re too late,” Elise said. “We can’t think that way,” Dara snapped. “We are going to save Gwendolyn.” On that vow, she grabbed her skirts up with one hand and practically dragged her sister down the slope toward the house with the other. Now she understood why her cousin Richard’s wife, Caroline, had insisted she and Elise walk a huge hamper to the crofters on the other side of the property. Richard and Caroline had not shown any interest in the crofters since they moved into Wiltham almost a year ago, when they’d claimed the property for themselves. Of course, all of this was their father’s fault. Captain Sir John Lanscarr had left his three daughters in the care of their grandmother while he traveled with the military and later as a gambler. His vices were well-known to his daughters. They had enjoyed growing up with Gram at Wiltham and had lived for those moments when their father would “pop in,” as he liked to call it. He would shower them with attention, make them feel special, and then leave again . . . only he had stopped returning. Or sending letters. Or money. Upon Gram’s death, and learning that it had been close to two years since anyone had heard from Captain Sir John, Richard Lanscarr had gleefully moved his family into Wiltham. He claimed their father must be deceased, and the authorities had agreed. Why else had no one heard from him? And though Dara and her sisters protested, they found themselves living in their childhood home as the guests of their cousin. Yes, there had been the admonishment that Richard should see to the well-being of Sir John’s three daughters, but pigs would fly before their cousin thought of anyone other than himself. Nor was this hamper gambit his first subterfuge. The ever-astute Dara had been wary of him from the beginning. She might be the middle sister, but she was her sisters’ defender, their strategist. She had promised Gram on her deathbed that she would do all she could for her sisters, and she’d meant those words. She was not afraid to butt heads with Richard. It was her