The Scoundrel and the Debutante by Julia London Read Free Book Online Page A

traveled this route every day, as did the Royal Post. A conveyance of some sort would be along shortly. But no one dared say it to Mr. Matheson, as he seemed very perturbed as it was. He was so perturbed in fact, muttering something under his breath, that it struck Prudence as oddly amusing. Try as she might to keep the smile from her face, she could not.
    Unfortunately, Mr. Matheson chose that moment to turn back to the group. His gaze landed on her and his brow creased into a frown at the sight of her smile. “What is it?” he demanded irritably. “Have I said something to amuse you?”
    All heads swiveled toward Prudence, which only made her amusement more irrepressible. She had to dip her head, cover her mouth with her hand. Her shoulders were shaking with her effort to keep from laughing out loud.
    â€œSplendid,” Mr. Matheson said, nodding as if he was neither surprised nor unsettled by her laugh.
    â€œI beg your pardon,” Prudence said, and stood up, the smile still on her face. “I do
sincerely
beg your pardon. But you’re very...distraught.”
    He looked her up and down as if she puzzled him, as if he couldn’t understand what she was saying. His study of her made Prudence suddenly aware of herself—of her arms and limbs, and her bosom, where his gaze seemed to linger a moment too long. “Of course I’m
distraught
,” he said, in a manner that had her curious if he merely disliked the word, or if he disliked that she was not equally distraught. “I have important business here and the delays I’ve already suffered could make this entire venture disastrous!”
    Prudence paused. “Ah. The delay you brought on by going in the wrong direction, of course, and then this one on top of that.”
    He glared at her.
    â€œOh. Pardon,” she said, and glanced at the others. “Was it a secret? But another coach will be along shortly,” she cheerfully added. “You may depend that there are at least
two
more coaches that travel this route each day.”
    â€œThat’s wonderful news, Miss Cabot,” he said, moving toward her. “And what are we to do while we wait? Nothing? Should we not try and solve our problem?” he asked, gesturing to the coach.
    â€œWell, I certainly don’t intend to
stand
and wait,” Mrs. Scales announced grandly.
    As no one seemed inclined to stand and wait, or solve their problem, the waiting commenced.
    The men settled on the side of the road on upturned trunks, the ladies and the old man on their rocks. Mr. Matheson made several sounds of impatience as he wandered a tight little circle just beyond them. Occasionally, he would walk up to the road and squint in the direction they’d come, trying to see round the bend in the road and through the stand of oak trees that impeded the view of the road. And then he’d swirl back again, stalking past the men sitting around the broken wheel, and to the meadow, only to repeat his path a few moments later.
    Mrs. Scales, Prudence realized, was studying her as Prudence studied Mr. Matheson. “Did you say there was
no one
who might have seen you safely to your friend, my dear?” she asked slyly.
    The woman was impossible. But Prudence had grown up with three sisters—she was well versed in the tactics of busybodies and smiled sweetly. “I didn’t say that at all, Mrs. Scales. What do you think? Perhaps the time might pass more quickly if we think of something to do,” she suggested, hopping up from her seat.
    â€œWhat might we possibly
do?” Mrs. Scales scoffed.
    â€œA contest,” Prudence said, her mind whirling.
    â€œGod help me,” Mr. Matheson muttered.
    â€œYes, a contest!” Prudence said, stubbornly standing behind her impetuous idea.
    â€œSuch as?” Mrs. Scales inquired. “We’ve no cards, no games.”
    â€œI know! A footrace,” Mrs. Tricklebank suggested brightly, which