The Scoundrel and the Debutante

“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.

“Yes indeed, where is Miss Aurora Priscilla Matheson?” he asked. “I very much hope she is at West Lee,” he said, gesturing impatiently with his hand at his failure to grasp the subtle differences between the names of the villages. “Shall I tell you the tale of this young woman? My aunt and uncle brought her to London last spring. It was a wedding gift of sorts, an opportunity to see a bit of the world before she marries Mr. Gunderson. But Aurora is quite impetuous, and she made many friends in London, some of whom, apparently, convinced her to stay another month or so more than was intended. When it came time to leave, she refused to return home with my aunt and uncle. She wrote my father and said she’d be along in a month or so.”

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