A Lady's Guide to Ruin Read Online Free PDF Page B

and offered his best attempt at a warm smile.
    â€œThat man won’t be back, will he?” she asked. The words were strained with a fear than ran deeper than simple fright.
    â€œIf he returns, we shall deal with him,” Martin said. “You need not worry. And tomorrow you will be gone from here, and he shall have to find another young woman to play his Bedlamite.” This did not seem to have the comforting effect that he intended. She only fixed her gaze upon him, with a slight smile that suggested that she was used to comforting promises amounting to nothing more than air.
    Her father described her as having wool where her brain ought to be. He had suggested supplying her with a hefty allowance in the hopes that frequent shopping trips—by all accounts her favorite activity—would provide a respite from her chattering. Had her trial over the past two days shocked her into silence? Or . . .
    Martin did not know where that thought ended. He only knew that he wanted, as much as he’d ever wanted anything, to make her truly smile, and if the end result was a fortune spent on ribbons and lace trim, then so be it.
    *   *   *
    Moses did not reappear, and by the evening Joan had very nearly relaxed. Supper was served by a pair of footmen with acne on their cheeks and matching mops of blond hair. Twins, Joan realized, and wondered if one of the Hargroves had selected them for the novelty, like a matched set of carriage horses. They moved without the trained gaitof the horses, though, and the butler stood at the edge with a pained expression, his lips forming words like
left, dear lord, hold it with your left
, when Martin wasn’t looking.
    Joan served herself minimally, taking mouse-like bites. She’d wolfed down the food earlier and no doubt left a poor impression as to her breeding. As her charade wore on, she must take more care with her persona.
    â€œHow is your mother?” Martin asked politely. She didn’t like the way he was eyeing her. It was too intent. Was he suspicious?
    One of the footmen had returned with a dish of green beans in butter she had just sent along; she spooned another portion onto her plate—petite, still—so as not to embarrass him for the mistake.
    â€œMy mother. She’s well,” Joan said blandly, hoping Daphne’s family was in good health.
    â€œRecovered, then?” Elinor asked, and Joan cursed her luck.
    â€œNot to hear her tell it,” Joan said, gambling again and this time striking home. The siblings gave familiar nods and wry smiles. She gave a light laugh, bordering on a giggle. “You remember how she is, don’t you? Or has she changed since you saw her last? I supposed you wouldn’t know if she had changed, since you haven’t seen her.” A good babble ended conversation like nothing else. With any luck, they would stop asking her questions to spare themselves the deluge.
    â€œAnd your father?” Elinor prompted, immaculately polite, damn her.
    â€œWell,” Joan said again, and this time there was no protest. The footman was back, this time with a dish of chicken roulades in a white sauce. It smelled rich; steamwafted from it. Joan knew the skill it took to manage a kitchen and a household such that dishes arrived piping hot and in perfect sequence. It would be such a shame to waste that expertise by refusing such a delectable dish. And yet, her performance was paramount.
    Her mouth watered. She chanced a furtive glance at Martin, just as he was gesturing subtly to the footman’s counterpart, directing the green beans back in her direction. He was watching her not with suspicion, but with a type of concern that counted among its relations both panic and guilt. He was worried
for
her, not about her. Relief swept over her like the kiss of a summer’s breeze, and she offered him a girlish, silly smile. She couldn’t very well distress the man further by failing