Page 52 of The Scoundrel and the Debutante
“Shall we drive on, miss?” the driver asked her.
“Yes, go, please,” she said, and lifted her hand as the wagon pulled away. As they began to bounce down the road, she twisted about on the bench.
Roan stood in the road, watching her. He stood there until she could no longer see him, or he her. And somewhere on that dusty road, between her and Roan, lay Prudence’s heart.
“Rather warm, ain’t it?” the young man asked congenially. “Not had any rain to speak of. So dry it’s ruined the crops on Tatlinger’s farm. I heard he might sell to Bulworth.”
“Yes, awfully dry,” Prudence said. The young man continued to talk, but his words were like the chatter of a bird to her—only noise, nonsensical sounds, because she was too mired in her own miserable thoughts to be polite.
“They bring the Ferguson boys up to help harvest. There are six of them. I say each of them can do the work of a draft horse hisself.”
She’d done the right thing today. She always did the right thing, with the glaring exception of one afternoon in Ashton Down. There was no question that she would have to explain her absence, and she would think of something. But she would not mention a camp. Or a lake choked with lily pads. Or the luxury of a room and a bath and the exquisite connection to a man who was not her fiancé. A man who had been a stranger to her forty-eight hours ago. It was absurd to feel so bereft. She scarcely knew him!
She had done the right thing; she always did the right thing.
What if she carried his child? He’d been careful not to leave his seed in her, but last night...last night, the moment had overwhelmed them both. Prudence thought of her courses—she was due to have them in a week. And what would Prudence do for that week? Wait, that’s what, because to do anything else, to go any further than she already had was to invite the worst sort of scandal. Perhaps even charges of a violation of morals or some such. Prudence had no idea what sort of charges of immorality and vile behavior could be brought against her, but she could picture herself standing before a magistrate.Yes, my lord, I lay with a man out of wedlock...
“Bobby Ferguson, I’d reckon he’s the biggest of them. Stands a full head taller than his brothers and looks as wide as this wagon.”
What was the boy saying now? Prudence turned away, her gaze skimming over yellow fields.
What honor did she have, really? What was there in honor, if it meant no life at all? And if that were so, whycouldn’tshe go to Weslay? Why couldn’t she wait the week with Roan? She didn’t know Penfors personally and was certain they had never been properly introduced. He wouldn’t know her at all.
Ah, yes, but if he had guests, there was a chance that Prudence would know someone. But would she, really? Who would come from London all the way to Howston Hall at this time of year? It was too hot, too dusty for such a long journey. She could almost hear Lady Chatham holding court in her salon.If Penfors meant for us to come, he would have invited us in June. Not in August. The roads will be dusty and the journey too hot. He never meant for any of us to come.
The other ladies would agree with Lady Chatham because they always agreed with her. It was quite possible that Roan would find Penfors and his family alone. And if they claimed not to be acquainted with Aurora, what then? Roan would be hopelessly lost. A stranger in their midst with no connections. Would they even allow him entrance?
“Seen him lift a rock the size of a sheep once. No help at all.”
Prudence sat a little straighter as a thought occurred to her. How could shenotgo to Weslay? How could she leave the poor American man to navigate English society? It was reprehensible of her, really, to let him go alone, especially after he’d saved her.
“Very nearly dropped it on the poor farmer’s feet. He didn’t actually hit his feet, mind you, but the farmer howled like he had.” The young man chuckled at the memory.
“Turn around,” Prudence said, so softly at first that she scarcely heard herself.
“Pardon?”
“Turn around!” She twisted on the bench and looked back. The village had disappeared, as if the empty landscape had swallowed it up. “Turn around, turnaround!” she cried, and shoved both hands against his shoulder.
The young man looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Turn around!” she shrieked.
Whether she frightened him or he finally understood that she meant it, he pulled the team up and laboriously shifted them about in two steps back, then two steps forward, until the team and the wagon had turned about. It seemed to Prudence to take hours.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bulworth, they’re expecting me,” he said, looking concerned. “They’re expecting me to bringyou, miss.”
“You can tell them you waited and I didn’t come.”
“What, you mean tell them a lie?”
“What is your name?”
“Robert, miss,” he said, wincing a little, as if he expected she would have him dismissed.
“Robert, listen to me. I have left something very important undone. Do you understand? I can’t in good conscience do that, can I? And the only reason I am leaving the important thing undone is because Mrs. Bulworth is expecting me. You must tell her that. You can say it, can’t you? That I left something undone and will come as soon as I can.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he said fearfully. “Mr. Bulworth will box me if he thinks I’ve done something I ought not to have done.”
