Kathryn Caskie

For my family,

with all my love and gratitude.

Acknowledgments

Though writing a novel is thought to be a solitary endeavor, such was not the case as I wrote
Rules of Engagement.
Many friends, fellow authors, and experts in their fields lent me a hand when I needed it most.

My sincerest gratitude to:

My parents, Edward and Sylvia Smock, who fostered my dreams and encouraged me every step of the way.

My dear friends, Deborah Barnhart, Denise Mclnerney, and Pamela Palmer Poulsen, who poured their hearts and souls into this book, and willingly suffered through more drafts than the Geneva Convention would deem humane.

Friend and fellow author, Sophia Nash Ours, who not only told me what color copyediting pencils to buy, but graciously took my hand and guided me through the entire publishing maze.

Cindy Haak and Cheryl Lewallen, who even from miles away served on my front lines by offering sage critique and lending support during my journey.

Celeste Bradley, Anita Gordon, Eloisa James (my very patient mentor), Cathy Maxwell, and Mary Jo Putney, exquisite authors all, who generously took time from their own busy schedules to read my work and offer pearls of wisdom that elevated my craft to a new level.

USAF Colonel Don Higgins at the Pentagon for his help in identifying sources for early nineteenth-century military stratagem, and to Nancy Mayer for her assistance with Regency-era research and fact-checking. Any possible errors are completely my own.

Melanie Murray and Beth de Guzman, who took a chance on an unknown author and made my dream come true.

And finally to my wonderful agent, Jenny Bent, whose guidance has been invaluable. Thanks for believing in me.

Rule One

Those whose ranks are united in purpose will be victorious.

London, April 1814

Eliza Merriweather watched her sister pace the floor of their great aunts’ Hanover Square town house with such unforgiving force that she was compelled to examine the Turkish carpet for damage.

“If your aim is to wear a hole through to the wood, Grace, you’ve not succeeded. Best pick up your gait.” Eliza grinned through the tendrils of steam rising from her teacup and relaxed back against the blissfully plump settee.

With an exasperated sigh, Grace halted. “I shall wait as long as it takes, Eliza. I
will
have your promise.”

Eliza set the blue and cream teacup on the table and crossed her arms over her chest. “I told you I would behave. What more would you ask of me?”

“To refrain from making a spectacle of yourself at every turn, else I shall never find a husband and this entire season will be for naught!”

Eliza laughed. “Oh, how you go on. Do relax, Grace, else before you know it, strawberries will be erupting all over your pretty face.”

With a little gasp of horror, Grace’s gaze sought out the ancient looking glass on the wall and she frantically patted her cheeks, as if probing for any indication of blemish.

“Darling, you know I desire your happiness beyond my own, but I do not know how much pomp I can endure.”

As Grace turned her head back to Eliza, a frustrated groan slipped out through her clenched teeth. “If you will not step into formation for my sake, then consider our aunts. Can you not do as they ask, at least for the season? You owe them that much—and more.”

“No one is more grateful than I for their generosity. Heavens, they took us in. I have not forgotten.”

“They did much more than that, Eliza.” Grace sat down beside her. “They saw our sister into Mrs. Bellbury’s School for Young Ladies. Even if our parents still lived, we never could have afforded Meredith’s fees and tuition.”

“I realize that, but—”

“And
our aunts have agreed to sponsor a season for us both. The least you could do is smile through a few balls.”

Eliza blew a dark wisp of hair from her face. “Yes, I could manage to survive a few. But why? I have no intention of marrying.
None.”

“But Eliza—”

“No,
my mind is set. Once this infernal season is through, I am off to Italy. I will not be dissuaded from studying painting. I won’t. So I ask you, why should Aunt Letitia and Aunt Viola waste their money on gowns and adornments for me?”

Grace exhaled through her nostrils, drawing Eliza’s attention back to her. “I do not understand what you hold against marriage. I, myself, cannot think of a more honorable state for a woman.”

“I hold nothing against wedded bliss.”
If such a thing exists.
In all her life, Eliza had never seen evidence of it. And most certainly not at home.

Rising, Eliza moved toward the window where a halffinished painting perched on a wooden easel, awaiting her return. With great care, she lifted it in her hands.

Breathing in the welcoming scent of the oils, she tilted the canvas slightly toward the window, allowing the afternoon light to illuminate the sun-dappled landscape she’d rendered.

“I am an artist, Grace.” Still clutching the canvas, Eliza turned. “But unlike Mother, I will not allow the gift God has given me to wither and die simply because a husband demands my full attention. My art means too much to me.”

Grace shook her hands in the air. “La, Eliza. Not all men are like Father. Many husbands encourage leisure pursuits.”

“Encourage, yes. But with marriage comes children.” She raised a sardonic brow. “There go your leisure hours. Then there will always be parties and balls to attend. And of course the staff and household must also be managed—”

“Stop.” Grace clapped her hands over her ears momentarily. “Yes, a married woman has many responsibilities. But that is no reason to detest marriage so.”

“I do not detest marriage,” Eliza said, setting the painting against the easel back once more. “I just do not choose it for myself. After all, I see nothing wrong with following my heart instead of Society’s dictates.”

Eliza crossed the room and plopped down next to Grace. “Besides, not everyone excels at domestic and social pursuits so well as you, my dear.” She hugged her sister close, smiling as Grace’s soft golden curls tickled her cheek.

Grace nudged her away, trying very hard not to grin.

Coming to her feet, Eliza moved before the waning fire. “My, but there is a chill in the air. What do you say we ask Mrs. Penny to brew a bit more tea?”

"I will not give in so easily,” Grace replied. “I will have your promise. You know what this season means to me. I cannot have you spoiling it. Swear it.”

“All right.” Eliza placed her hand over her heart. “I swear I will do as our aunts say. But once the season has concluded, I have
other
plans.” Eliza widened her eyes. “Sufficient?”

“It will have to do, I suppose.”

Eliza laughed as she extended a hand and drew Grace to her feet. Arms linked, they passed the bell pull and instead headed into the passageway for the cozy warmth of the kitchen.

In the late General’s well-stocked library, Viola Featherton returned a marble-papered book to its low shelf and straightened her aching back, feeling every one of her seventy-four years.

“The gels’ season must begin on proper footing,” she said, turning to face her plump twin. “What will we do if we cannot find the book, Sister?”

“Stop fretting. We’ll find it. Just keep looking,” Letitia chided. “I tell you, it’s here somewhere.”

Viola was doubtful. Already scores of books had been removed from the shelves and stacked on the desk and in piles on the floor.

Resting her slight weight against her ebony cane, Viola fought back a grimace as she watched Letitia scour the eye-level library shelves. The division of labor hardly seemed fair, for if she was not mistaken, Letitia had not bent for a book even once, while she, herself, had spent the last hour upon her knees. Still, Viola knew she shouldn’t begrudge Letitia. After all, her sister was the eldest, by three minutes anyway, and therefore less able to stoop than Viola. At least, so Letitia had claimed.

Mr. Edgar, their frosty-haired manservant, was perched near the top rung of a wheeled library ladder. He glanced down nervously, then squeezed his eyes closed.

Letitia set her hands on her ample hips and looked up at him. “Do open your eyes, Edgar. We shall never locate the book if you insist on such nonsense.”

Edgar opened one eye, then the other, and hurriedly scanned the books on the top shelf. “I am sorry, my lady. I do not see the volume up here. May I come down now?”

“Might I suggest trying the shelves behind the glass doors next?” Viola asked, smiling sweetly at Edgar as she gestured with her cane to a bookcase several feet away.

The manservant bit his lip and eased his foot down a rung. Before he could fully descend, Letitia impatiently grasped the ladder and tried to push it toward the next set of shelves.

Edgar grappled for the shelf to steady himself, but instead, three oversized volumes came away in his hands. Eyes wide, he fell to the carpet with a thud. Two wavering towers of books teetered and then toppled over him.

“Edgar!” Viola caned her way across the carpet to him. “Are you injured?”

The manservant winced, but shook his head.

“You should be more careful, Letitia,” Viola scolded, as she pulled a thick crimson tome off Edgar’s chest and handed it to her sister. “You might have injured him.”

But it seemed Letitia paid Viola no mind. Something about the book seemed to snare her interest. She slid her thick spectacles onto her nose, then turned the volume over in her hands. Her rheumy eyes brightened. “Viola, I believe Edgar has done it.”

Pushing a pile of books from the library table, Letitia placed the volume on its polished surface. Her pudgy finger raced across the first two pages. She looked up at Viola. “Yes! He’s located Papa’s book of rules.”

As Edgar climbed out from beneath the hillock of books and began the arduous task of replacing the volumes on the shelves, Viola steadied herself against her cane and joined her sister.

Her hand trembled with anticipation as she drew her lorgnette from the drawer, then held the glasses to her eyes. Squinting, she tilted her head until her poor eyes could make out the title page’s bold heading.

“Why, you’re right, Sister. This is it!” She gazed up at Letitia, feeling a pleased smile warm her lips. “We should begin tonight, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. Right away, in fact.” Letitia whirled around. “Edgar, have our grandnieces meet us in the parlor—
immediately.”