into civilised society.”
“By setting me up to work in another household?” Prudence asked as she walked into the drawing room. Charlotte’s flushed cheeks showed they had heard enough of the conversation for her to be wishing they’d spent longer out of the room.
“It will be a respectable household, of that you can be assured, Miss Bamber.” Mr. Collins smiled.
“I would expect nothing else if I were to seek such a position. A pity I won’t be taking up my aunt’s ever-so-kind offer,” Prudence responded, steel in her now stormy grey eyes.
“But my dear Miss Bamber, what could be better than leaving the grime of Manchester behind? I have heard reports it’s quite an unhealthy place to live,” Mr. Collins said.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Prudence responded.
Fitzwilliam stood, bowing to Charlotte. “Mrs Collins, let us leave you in peace. I am sure our aunt is expecting our return by now.”
Nodding in understanding, Charlotte said her goodbyes and squeezed Prudence’s hand in apology.
When the door of the parsonage was closed behind them, Fitzwilliam had to hurry to catch-up with Prudence. He didn’t say anything until they were in the confines of the Rosings parkland, and then he reached out with his hand and stayed Prudence’s progress.
“Whoa there!” He smiled. “Let’s slow down a little. There is no need for us to march back.”
Prudence turned to face him, her eyes blazing. “Who would do that?”
“Do what?”
“Decide on a person’s future and then tell it to other people as if it’s an agreed prospect?” Prudence asked.
“Ah. Aunt Catherine. I was not sure there if your anger was aimed at Mr. Collins or our aunt.”
“Mr. Collins is just repeating what he has heard. He hasn’t the intelligence to form his own opinions.” Prudence dismissed the clergyman in two short sentences. “He is so in awe of Aunt Catherine that he’ll agree with anything and everything she says.”
“He does, and he will.”
“Exactly. But she, she has no right deciding on my future! As if I would give her permission to help me,” Prudence said forcefully.
“In her way, she is trying to help,” Fitzwilliam said gently.
“I do not need her help, or anyone else’s, and the quicker you lot understand that, the better for us all.”
“You lot?” Fitzwilliam asked with a raised eyebrow.
Prudence clenched her fists. “You know who I mean. The type of person who thinks they are doing the best for the little people in the world by deciding what’s best for them. Do you realise how arrogant and patronising that is?”
“Every landowner has a responsibility to his or her tenants,” Fitzwilliam said.
“I am not one of those. I have never asked Aunt Catherine’s opinion on anything to do with my life or my future. Nor would I. Ever.”
“I’m gathering that. Take heart. She tried to interfere with Darcy’s marriage, and he is the owner of one of the largest estates in Derbyshire, so you are in good company.”
Prudence narrowed her eyes at him. “Yet I am the poor relation, so I should be grateful of her condescension?”
Holding up his hands, Fitzwilliam stepped away slightly. “I never suggested that, nor thought it.”
“Is that because you are a decent sort, or just too lazy as a second son?” Prudence asked, her anger replaced with a twinkle of amusement.
“Definitely the latter,” Fitzwilliam answered.
“I thought that might be the case. Does nothing ruffle you deeply? Are you never thrown into a passion?”
“It would seem you do enough of that for the both of us,” Fitzwilliam responded.
“Nodcock.” Prudence insulted him good-naturedly. “I can see now why you’re unmarried. You will not stir yourself enough to entice the women you come into contact with.”
“True. Although in my defence, I have little to recommend me to young women who have independent fortunes, other than my charm, wit, and personality, of course. These features leave a lot to be desired,” Fitzwilliam said, exaggeratedly pointing at his face, which was being pulled into a ludicrous expression.
Prudence laughed. “You are ungentlemanly, sir! You should have let me wallow in my anger rather than diverting me.”
“Then my ears would have been hurting from your rantings. As they are still stinging from Aunt Catherine’s monologues of last night, I beseech you to have pity. I rely on you providing an escape, not taking over where our aunt left off!”
“You brute,” Prudence smiled. “In my defence I have obviously inherited my temper from my mother’s side of the family.”
“The female side of your mother’s side,” Fitzwilliam reasoned.
Chapter 3
The following morning, Fitzwilliam rode out with the ladies, he