Free A Lady's Guide to Ruin by Kathleen Kimmel

Martin’s into something that both could be proud of. He deserved better than to be forgotten by his employer.
    â€œHere we are, sir,” the constable said. “It’s a lucky thing nothing was taken. These thieves grow more brazen every day, my lord. Lady Copeland’s Indian diamonds were stolen just a few days ago, and those were locked up tighter than—” he stuttered to a stop. “Locked up tight, they were, my lord.”
    Martin gave a curt nod and leaned in to inspect the room. Daphne’s bedclothes were on the floor and every drawer in the room hung open. The girl hadn’t been there long enough to leave anything worth searching for, but whoever had been in here had made a go at it. The window hung open. Could that be the manner of ingress? He walked to the window.
    If the ox of two days ago had seen Daphne—believing her to be this sister of his—perhaps he had sent his compatriot to search her out. If so, he had gone away empty-handed. She had left not even a trace of her scent in this room. Not the scent of her when she first arrived, stale and desperate, nor the sweetness he had detected later, that vanishing note of something—lavender?—that he had strained to catch in the hall.
    â€œAnd the other room, down the hall,” the constable said.
    â€œElinor’s.” He turned on his heel. If Garland said nothing was missing, he believed the man, but there was far more that might be damaged or disrupted in Elinor’s chamber than in Daphne’s. Even with his sister gone, it seemed a wound on her—and him—to think of a stranger’s hands among her things, a stranger’s eyes on the place where she slept. Anyone who put his sister in danger was nothing toMartin, a scab to be plucked off, a clot of mud to be scraped from a boot.
    But Elinor’s room was in far better shape. No disturbed bedclothes; the drawers half-open but their contents largely tucked where they had been left. Not that he had a full accounting of his sister’s room, of course, but he knew her habits well enough to recognize them in the placement of her curios, and there was an orderliness to the clothes left in the wardrobe that did not speak of a hurried search.
    Except, there, on the table. She had written a letter, complete with ribbon and a dab of wax. But the wax was broken and scattered on the tabletop, the ribbon curled near the edge. The paper was folded, but cast aside in a manner unlike her. He lifted it and, after a moment’s hesitation, opened it.
    He did not like to pry into his sister’s private correspondence. He skimmed quickly, picking out only a few phrases and names. She’d written to a friend of hers, Lady Katherine Grey; she’d mentioned Birch Hall, and Daphne.
    He crumpled the letter in his fist. He strode back out into the hall and down the steps, his blood pounding in his ears. “Garland. Please fetch Mr. Hudson for me. You will find his information in my desk. I will have to leave the remainder of the arrangements here to you; I leave for Birch Hall immediately.”
    â€œI will have your horse prepared. I should join you,” Garland said, sounding strained. He still did not entirely trust Croft, the under-butler who oversaw Birch Hall in his absence, despite the man’s obvious competence.
    â€œI thought you were to visit your sister,” Martin said.
    â€œIt could be postponed, my lord,” Garland assured him.
    As Garland’s sister was his elder by a decade, Martindoubted that was wise. “I will manage,” Martin said, having difficulty thinking about such a trivial matter. There was a sound in his skull as if a bird had hurtled by very close to his ear, both indistinct and possessing of great velocity. “Mr. Hudson, if you will,” he reminded Garland.
    He was very glad he had his walking stick still in hand or he thought his hands might have leapt around the nearest throat. If his