Prudence by Elizabeth Bailey Page A

not have…’
    But Mr Rookham did not appear to be annoyed. He strolled over to where she was standing, his eyes travelling along the shelves.
    ‘What precisely were you looking for?’
    Distinctly disturbed by his presence, Prue shifted a little away. She hardly knew what she replied.
    ‘Something for children. Anything, as long as it issimple. But I can find only these volumes in French and Italian, and they are too advanced to be of the least use.’
    ‘Something simple, eh? In English?’
    He was searching as he spoke, and Prue backed off the more, her eyes on the ragged cut of his dark hair. She answered him at random, taking in, as if for the first time, the loose-limbed figure and the casual set of his clothes. If he had been riding, he had certainly changed, for his simply tied cravat was clearly fresh, and he had on a frock coat the colour of wine, with a waistcoat of lighter hue beneath and buckskin breeches moulded to a pair of long thighs.
    He looked round at her, and Prue hastily cast her eyes in another direction.
    ‘Tell me what it is you need.’
    ‘An English primer,’ said Prue automatically, moving to the nearest window and plonking down upon the seat. It did not occur to her that she ought not to sit uninvited in her employer’s presence. She was only glad of the support beneath her that made it no longer necessary to remain upon legs suddenly become unruly. She made herself look up.
    Mr Rookham was standing before the bookshelf, facing her now, in an attitude of ease, one hand resting on his hip. He was not at all good-looking, decided Prue. How would he be, with such distinctive features? That jutting nose, for one thing. But the lean strong countenance was compelling.
    ‘Is that all?’
    ‘All?’ she reiterated stupidly.
    ‘An English primer, you said.’
    ‘Oh, yes—how silly!’ She made an attempt to pull herself together. ‘I cannot teach them without it, yousee. But I thought that if I could find a simple children’s story, I might have begun with that. But I suppose the French will have to do.’
    To her surprise, that quirky look appeared at his mouth. ‘A waste of time. Dodo and Lotty speak and write both French and Italian with fluency. It is their English that is poor.’
    Prue nodded, feeling a little less flustered. ‘Yes, I heard them conversing with their nurse in French, and they gave me a sample of their Italian.’
    He laughed. ‘I trust it did not shock you. In my experience, they delight in cant phrases in that language. Probably because Yvette does not understand it and cannot correct them.’
    From which Prue deduced that he was himself fluent in Italian. She reassured him. ‘If they had used coarse language, sir, I would not have understood it. But why do you complain of their English? Indeed, I was surprised to hear they had been abroad, for they are well spoken and fluent.’
    ‘You think so?’
    She regarded him uneasily. ‘Do not you?’
    ‘No, I do not! They are impertinent minxes, and the style of their conversation is most improper,’ he said crushingly.
    ‘Oh.’ Blankly said.
    His brows rose, and Prue felt more was required of her. ‘Well, I did feel perhaps their grammar…’
    ‘Grammar? Only wait until you see how they write English, and you may complain of their grammar.’
    Daunted, Prue sighed. ‘Oh, dear.’
    ‘You may well sigh. They cannot spell either, nor write without blots. You would do well to concentrateyour efforts upon these things, if you manage to teach them nothing else.’
    Indignant, Prue forgot herself. ‘Well, and so I would if there was anything I might use to do so!’
    Mr Rookham eyed her with a slight feeling of satisfaction. That had pierced her armour. She was certainly on the retreat today. But the spurt of defiance was of short duration. With mixed feelings, he saw contrition enter her face.
    ‘I beg your pardon, sir. But you did say I should ask for anything I might need.’
    ‘Pray don’t apologise, Miss