The Scoundrel and the Debutante

“Suit yourself,” the driver said, and lifted the reins, prepared to send the team on.

“Sir!” Prudence shouted before he could dispatch the team. “Will you see that my trunk is delivered to Himple?” She opened her reticule to retrieve a few coins and began to make her way across the ditch to the road. “Please. If you will leave it at the post station, someone will be along for it.” She climbed onto the road—slipping once and catching herself, then climbing up on the driver’s step. She held up a few shillings to him.

“You’re alone, miss?” one of the gentlemen riding behind the driver called down to her.

She ignored him. Her heart was racing now, not only with fear, but also with anger that was very irrational. She could imagine Mr. Matheson sitting in the coach, rolling his eyes or perhaps even sharing a chuckle with the boy. One could certainly argue that she deserved his derision given what she’d done today, but she didn’t like it one bit.

“You’re certain, are you?” the driver said, taking the coins from her palm and pocketing them.

“Quite. Thank you.” Prudence stepped down.

The driver put the reins to the team. Once again, Prudence was almost knocked from the road. As it was, she stumbled backward into the ditch, catching herself on a tree limb to keep from falling.

She watched the coach move down the road and disappear under the shadows of trees.

Five miles from a village.

She looked around. There was no one, and no sound but the breeze in the treetops and the fading jangle of the coach. Prudence had never been alone like this. But, as her poor, mad mother used to say before she’d lost the better part of her mind, no one could correct one’s missteps but oneself. The sooner one set upon the right course, the sooner one would reach the right destination.

Prudence would argue the point about the right destination, but there was nothing to be done for it now. And for God’s sake, she would not shed a single tear. There was nothing she detested more than women who resorted to tears at the first sign of adversity. Yes, walk she would, in shoes that were meant to wander about a manicured garden...just as soon as she gave her aching feet a rest.

Prudence dropped her valise and sat down on top of it, her knees together, her legs splayed at odd angles to keep her balance on the small bag. She folded her arms on top of her knees, pressed her forehead against her arms and squeezed her eyes shut. How could you be so stupid?

Reality began to seep into her thoughts.

Whatever made her believe she could be like her sisters? She’d never been like the rest of them, had never taken such daring chances, disregarding all propriety on a whim. What made her believe that she could step out of bounds of propriety now? Yes, she’d been at sixes and sevens of late, unsatisfied with her lot in life, but still! She was alone on a road, perfect prey for highwaymen, thieves or other horrible things she couldn’t even bring herself to think of. Gypsies! Prudence gasped and her heart fluttered, recalling the frightening tales Mercy had insisted on telling.

“Well.”

The sound of a man’s voice startled her so badly that Prudence tried to leap up and scream at the same time and managed to knock herself off her imperfect perch and onto her bottom.

Mr. Matheson instantly reached for her, and Prudence, in a moment of sheer relief, grabbed him with both hands, hauled herself up with such vigor that she launched herself into his person and threw her arms around his neck.

Perhaps he was as stunned as she—he caught her, but neither of them moved for one long moment. Then Mr. Matheson put his hands firmly on her waist and carefully set her back, staring down at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“I beg your pardon,” she said apologetically. “I was momentarily overcome with relief! What are you doing on foot?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Rescuing you.”

Prudence could feel the color rising in her cheeks, the thump, thump, thump of her shame and delight in her chest. “You gave me such a fright,” she said, pressing her hand to breast. “I thought I would perish with it.”

“Well, I think we’ve sufficiently delayed your ultimate demise for at least an hour or so,” he said. “What the devil are you doing here? Why did you leave the coach? Where in hell do you think you’re walking?”

“To the next village or cottage,” she said, gesturing lamely in that direction. “I mean to pay someone to return me to Ashton Down.”

He squinted down the road in the direction she gestured. “What a perfectly ridiculous thing to do,” he said gruffly. “Why would you? You had a seat on a coach!”

“Because I feared Mrs. Scales would not be able to restrain herself from reporting all that had happened since leaving Ashton Down, and she...might possibly utter my name.”

“I think the odds of that are excellent,” he said, nodding, as if it were a foregone conclusion. “And your solution to this was to, what, run away?”

“No,” she said, as if it were absurd to suggest she’d run, even though she obviously had. “My solution was to go at once and find someone who would return me to Blackwood Hall. I should rather my family learn of this...turn of events...from me.”

“Mmm.” He folded his arms and stared down at her with such scrutiny that her skin began to tingle. “So you thought you might march up to anyone with a conveyance and ask that they see you to this hall where you might report your folly?”

When he put it like that, it sounded ridiculous. Prudence sniffed. She scratched her cheek and gazed down the road, then looked at him sidelong. “Well, you needn’t look so smug, Mr. Matheson. You’ve made your point. I’ve been foolish.”

“I haven’t even begun to make that point, Miss Cabot, but I’ll happily do so as we trek into the next village and find that conveyance. At the moment, however, I’d very much like to turn you over my knee like a child, for God knows how childish you’ve been.”

“Yes, so it would seem!” she said, miffed. “You’re not my father, Mr. Matheson.”

“Your father!” he sputtered. “I’m scarcely thirty years old. And yet I have twice as much sense as you.”

“If you had twice as much sense, you might have made your way to Weslay instead of Wesleigh!”

He was momentarily disabled by the truth in that statement. “I will allow that,” he said, holding up a finger, “at least until I see you to some means for a safe return home.” He bent down, reaching for her bag.

But Prudence was faster and snatched it up before he could take it. “I will carry my own bag, thank you.”

“For the love of— It’s a long way to the next village.”

“I am aware of how far it is to the next village. It’s five miles. And I am perfectly capable of carrying my own bag!”

He muttered under his breath and hoisted his own bag onto his shoulder. “Shall we?”

“Do I have any other choice?” Prudence began to walk, her bag banging uncomfortably against her knee. “Where is your hat?” she demanded, wishing he’d stop looking at her so intently.

He frowned. “Lost,” he said curtly. “Why is it that you misses are all alike?” he added irritably, as if he was constantly running into unmarried women in the countryside.

“We misses? Have you some vast experience with misses, Mr. Matheson?”

“I have enough. Why do you think I am here in this godforsaken—”

Prudence looked at him sharply.

“Pardon. In this foreign land,” he amended.

“I don’t know,” she said insouciantly. “Presumably to instruct all of the young misses in proper behavior.”

“If only I had the time that would require. But no, I am here to instruct one miss. Imagine, it’s not even you! I am in pursuit of my incorrigible, equally headstrong and impulsive sister.”

Prudence tossed her head. “I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she was trying to keep her distance from you and your opinions.”

“She won’t escape them,” he said flatly.

“I can’t imagine anyone could,” Prudence retorted pertly.

They walked in silence for a few moments while Prudence wondered what the sister had done, what had caused him to come in “pursuit” of her. “Where is she?” she asked.