The Scoundrel and the Debutante by Julia London

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.”
    â€œThank you, but I prefer to walk,” she said lightly.
    â€œWalk! To where? There’s naught a village or a person for miles.”
    â€œMiles?” she repeated, trying to sound unimpressed.