A Lady's Guide to Ruin Read Free

her.
    He had not realized women were capable of putting away biscuits and cucumber sandwiches with such alacrity. The last caper and smudge of cream was dabbed from the platter before she spoke another word. Her tongue darted out once to catch a stray speck from the corner of her lip. He found himself arrested by the movement. He cleared his throat. He seemed to be doing that quite a bit.
    â€œNow,” he said. “We don’t have time to linger in London while we find your things. You will have to go ahead with Elinor and Mrs. Wynn, and I will arrange things here.”And by the time she was firmly ensconced at Birch Hall, the sting of her lost wardrobe would hopefully have lessened. He could send new dresses—he’d ask Elinor for the specifications, of course, the most he knew was that they should look nothing like her current adornment—and replace whatever other ribbons and fripperies she’d brought.
    â€œGo ahead . . . ?” Daphne said.
    Had the wits been shaken right out of her? “To Birch Hall,” he said. “For the summer.”
    â€œOf course,” she said, shaking her head as if to say
silly me
. “Will it . . . be a very long journey?”
    â€œNo more than two days, assuming you don’t mean to ride at night.” Daphne’s apparent penchant for disaster would likely have them in a ditch, surrounded by highwaymen, an hour outside of London. Better not to chance night travel.
    â€œI am so eager to get out of the city,” she said. “I’m sure you understand.” There was that look again, beneath her lashes. The look like the tears in her eyes did not matter; they were water over a smooth, polished stone. A stone that would stand with all the rage of a tempest around it. But he must be imagining it. And, indeed, she turned her eyes to her tea and gave one last hiccup of distress. He sighed. Yes, out of London with the girl. Out to Birch Hall, where she would be safe from everything short of sheep and the occasional fox.
    The front door opened out in the hall, and he heard Garland’s murmur. “That will be Elinor,” he said. Excellent. Elinor would be better suited to putting Daphne at ease than he.
    â€œElinor,” Daphne echoed. “I have not seen her since . . .”
    This incessant trailing off would drive him mad. “You can’t possibly remember,” he said. “You could barely string three words together at the time.”
    She broke into a wide smile. “Of course,” she said. “It shall be good to renew our acquaintance.”
    Martin raised an eyebrow at the tone, nonplussed, but rose. “I will return in a moment,” he promised, and departed.

Chapter 2

    Joan had been in many opulent homes in her twenty-two years, though generally her ingress was through upstairs windows or with a footman’s hand down the front of her dress. She had never been escorted in through the front door, into an oak-paneled entryway resplendent with carpet thick enough to sink into and paintings older than her on the walls. The house smelled of candlewax and leather, and the smooth spice of good brandy. And she did not know which was more delectable: the feeling of food filling her stomach, or the grave furrow in Martin’s brow.
    Lord Fenbrook
, she thought, correcting herself. What sort of lord, she wasn’t certain; the letter had not told her. She had only moments to skim the contents while he was arranging for the meal, but she was a quick reader. Father had made sure of that, once he’d realized she had the aptitude—and Moses never would.
    Dear Daphne Hargrove, it seemed, being some cousin of her more wealthy Hargrove relations, was to be engaged as a lady’s companion to Lady Elinor Hargrove. Mrs. Fowler had indeed grown too ill to travel, and Daphne had indeed departed with Miss and Mrs. Smith. However, she had also taken the opportunity to send