He straightened, bringing his shoulders back. “Because the duke was a bit brusque? I would never. His Grace was hurting, and I was disgusted that so many of the men and women who served under me should abandon him in his hour of need. Alas, they proclaimed too many hours of his snarling and stomping about had passed for them to remain on any longer. I had to set up a new staff, a smaller one, who is willing to overlook his bluster. People who do not remember him as he used to be.”

“Happy,” she said, gripping the stem of her cup hard, and then forcing her hand to relax so as to not crush the porcelain.

“Yes. Happy.” Jenkins’s eyes met hers. “But these past few days, His Grace has been different.”

Her heart stirred in her breast. “Different?”

“He’s never apart from his dog.” Jenkins glanced pointedly at the dog slumbering at the front of Val’s desk. “And that dog never wishes to be apart from him. Horace was a gift from Her Grace, and the bond between master and pup was strengthened between them when they survived that tragic accident.”

Myrtle leaned down reflexively and stroked the dog’s silken coat, seeing him in a new light. Seeing him as that special gift Val had received from a woman who’d meant more to him than anything . . . and then imagining the agony of her death, which had left Val and Horace alone. “I trust a person can never truly recover from that loss,” she whispered. But, oh, how she wished they could.

“No.” Jenkins murmured his assent. “One does not ever truly emerge from such tragedy.” He paused, a pregnant stretch of silence that brought her attention back to him. “Or that was what I believed. Until now.”

Until now.

“He’s been more the man he used to be, and I do believe that is not coincidental,” he added, giving her a meaningful look.

Myrtle touched a hand to her breast. Was he suggesting . . . ? Was he saying . . . ? Surely he did not mean that Val had appeared changed for the good . . . because of her.

Jenkins inclined his head. “That is precisely what I am saying, miss,” he said, answering her unspoken question.

There came a brisk, perfunctory knock, and she shot to her feet with Horace hopping up beside her.

A knock that was so very clearly his that her heart raced.

Val entered the room. At some point, he’d changed his garments, swapping them for more of those familiar black clothes.

His gaze went between Myrtle and Jenkins before landing squarely on Myrtle.

With a murmur and a bow, the butler slipped from the room, leaving the two of them alone.

“You returned!” She couldn’t contain the joy that found its way into her exclamation.

“Did you think I would not?” he asked, and had that question come from any other man, it would have been gently teasing.