No. No, he did not. He didn’t care that Miss Cabot’s eyes were the color of the vines that grew on his family’s house. Or that she had boarded this coach because she’d been attracted to him. Or that he’d teased her and embarrassed her and thereby was probably the cause of her running off.
She was not his concern, damn it. And yet, she was.
For the second time that day, Roan swept his hat off his head and threw it down onto the ground in an uncharacteristic fit of frustration. Damn England! Damn women!
He kicked the hat for good measure and watched it scud across the road.
And then, with a sigh of concession, he walked across the road to fetch it. But he discovered he’d kicked his hat into a ditch filled with muddy water. Roan muttered some fiery expletives under his breath. He’d find another hat in the next village. He picked up his bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder and walked on.
Now, to figure out where that foolish little hellion had gone.
PRUDENCE HADN’T ACTUALLY intended to flee. She’d been as anxious as anyone to board the coach and be on her way. But as the repair work had dragged on, she began to imagine any number of scenarios awaiting her at the next village. Dr. Linford and his wife, first and foremost, their displeasure and disgust evident. Worse, Dr. Linford and his wife in the company of someone in a position of authority, who would escort Prudence back to Blackwood Hall in shame. She could just see it—made to ride on the back of a wagon like a convicted criminal. As they moved slowly through villages, children and old women would come out to taunt her and hurl rotten vegetables at her. Shameless woman!
That public humiliation would be followed by Lord Merryton’s look of abject disappointment. Merryton was a strange man. He was intensely private, which Grace insisted was merely his nature but, nevertheless, everyone in London thought him aloof and unfeeling. Now that Prudence had lived at his house and dined at his table these past two years, she knew him to be extraordinarily kind and even quite fond of her. But he did seem almost unnaturally concerned with propriety and if there was one thing he could not abide, would not tolerate, it was scandal and talk of his family.
As he had been her unwavering benefactor and her friend, Prudence could not bear to disappoint him so. She held him in very high regard and, shamefully, she’d not thought of him in those few moments in Ashton Down when she’d impetuously decided to seek her adventure.
She’d begun to wonder, as she sat on the rock, watching the men repair the wheel, if she ought not to find her own way back to Blackwood Hall and throw herself on Merryton’s mercy. To be ferried back to him by Dr. Linford, who would be made to alter his plans to accommodate her foolishness, would only make Merryton that much more cross. She decided it was far better if she arrived on her own, admitted her mistake and begged his forgiveness.
That’s why, with one last look and longing sigh at Mr. Matheson’s strong back and hips, Prudence had picked up her valise and had begun to walk. She wanted to thank Mr. Matheson for his help, but thought it was probably not a very good idea to draw attention to the fact she was leaving.
She had in mind to find a cottage. She would offer to pay someone to take her back to Ashton Down. And, if she reached the next village before finding a cottage, she could keep herself out of sight until Dr. Linford had gone on. He’d be looking for her coach.
She walked along smartly, trying to be confident in her new plan. All was not lost, she told herself. She was at least as clever as Honor and Grace. She would see her way out of this debacle.
She hadn’t walked very far when she heard the approaching coach, and her confidence swiftly flagged. It was surely the stagecoach, and the driver would stop, insist she board the coach. She hadn’t thought of that wrinkle. But Prudence was determined not to be delivered into the hands of Linford. “You will not falter,” she murmured under her breath. “You have as much right to walk along this road as anyone.”
Prudence lifted her chin as the coach rapidly approached. It wasn’t until the last possible moment that she understood the coach did not intend to stop and inquire about her at all, and with a cry of alarm, Prudence leaped off the road just as the team thundered by, cloaking her in a cloud of dust.
When the coach had passed, Prudence coughed and picked herself up with a pounding heart, dusting off her day gown as best she could. “He might at least have slowed to see if I’d been harmed,” she muttered, and climbed back on the road, squared her shoulders, and began to walk again.
She had no sooner taken a few steps than she heard the sound of the second coach. Now an old hand at navigating passing coaches, Prudence hopped off the road and stood a few feet back.
But this coach slowed. The team was reined down to a walk, then rolled to a stop alongside where she stood.
The driver, her driver, peered down at her a moment, then turned his head and spit into the dirt. “Aye, miss, wheel’s fixed. Climb aboard.”
“Thank you, but I prefer to walk,” she said lightly.
“Walk! To where? There’s naught a village or a person for miles.”
“Miles?” she repeated, trying to sound unimpressed. “How many miles would you say?”
“Five.”
“Well! Then it’s a good thing that I wore my sturdy shoes,” she lied. “A fine day for walking, too. Thank you, but I shall walk, sir.” She wondered if Matheson was sitting in the interior of the coach overhearing her, laughing at her foolishness. Was that why he hadn’t shown himself? Perhaps he didn’t want anyone to think he was in any way familiar with a featherheaded debutante who was walking down the road in slippers more fitting for a dance?
“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