Lady Roseanna Atwood was not looking forward to the annual weekend garden party at Blackmore. Oh, she was looking forward to seeing her extended family, but the thought of spending four whole days making polite conversation with a group of condescending, arrogant coxcombs was not in the least appealing. Of course, she hadn’t anticipated being caught in the middle of a political disaster, not to mention a long-standing conspiracy. Neither had she bargained on being called upon to help her grandfather keep a secret Jacobite supporter from potentially causing another Culloden.