A Lady's Guide to Ruin by Kathleen Kimmel Page B

Joan held her breath. Not safe, not yet, but on herway, further than Moses could follow. First to Birch Hall, then—then anywhere. She could cross an ocean with the money the diamonds would bring, and buy comfort on the other side.
    â€œYou look as if you have been reborn,” Elinor said. Joan pulled aside the curtain. The light from the window could not match the light she was sure shone from her face. She had done it. She had gotten away from Bedlam, from Moses. She was her own again.
    She was free.
    *   *   *
    Martin had not merely remained behind to see to Daphne’s affairs—which was fortunate, since the details she had provided were maddeningly unhelpful. It was like something out of a bad play. Highwaymen with faces in shadow, broken carriage wheels, a maiden fleeing down the cruel, empty road. He jotted off a few brief enquiries and marked the matter settled in his mind. She was safe; that was all that mattered. If she continued to flit through his thoughts, it was of no consequence.
    The other matter to which he had to attend was yet more elusive, and many times more important. And he could not turn to Elinor, his usual source of wisdom; no, he could not let her know what he had set out to do, several months ago. He did not know whether this conviction stemmed from a desire to guard her from disappointment, or a fear that she would think him foolish.
    He was going to find Charles.
    The idea had blossomed shortly after their father’s death, but then it had seemed an impossible task. Then came a letter, so battered that he could scarcely make outthe words. It had somehow gone astray for years and was at last delivered by a spry young man who refused an offer of coin and vanished down the road before Martin could wring any details from him.
    Charles had penned the letter some three months after his disappearance. Its contents left few clues to his whereabouts. He spoke of an argument he had with their father. Martin had known of the argument, though not its contents, and the letter did not supply any additional help in that regard. He had gleaned one relevant fact, though. Apparently, Father had known all along where Charles intended to go. But of course said destination wasn’t spelled out in the text. No, for that Martin would have to go hunting. Beginning with the place from which the letter was sent, helpfully included in the second-to-last line of the letter.
    I have found myself in Liverpool, where I shall remain for two weeks, should you wish to tender a reply; I do not expect it, and I do not expect that you will hear from me again.
    That alone would not have spurred him to the search. It was the last line that had decided him.
Give Elinor and Martin my love
.
    A message they had never received; would not have received, even had the letter reached its intended destination. The old man would not have given them any extra reason for loyalty toward their brother. He wanted them to forget him, to think of him as dead. Just as he did.
    Charles and Martin had argued bitterly in those days before his departure. Something about gambling, and a horse. Martin couldn’t even remember the details but theyhad not been speaking to each other when Charles departed. But Charles’s letter suggested that it might not matter. That if his siblings reached out to him, he may yet return.
    From Liverpool, he might have gone anywhere. Not in England, or he would have been found by now. Martin had a guess. The clarity of his memories had faded in seven years but he remembered how Charles had spoken of the adventure a man might have in the unclaimed wilderness of Canada.
    Don’t be absurd,
Martin remembered saying.
An earl in England or a woodsman in the wild frontier—what sort of bargain is that?
    Now, of course, he understood. For Charles, it had been the only way to get free of their father. Martin envied the escape, and resented it. If only Charles had waited, they might