“Will you get back inside?” he asked, a trace of franticness in his low baritone.

“I will,” she promised, and then edged out a fraction more. “If you—”

“Mincemeat pies, a roast with potatoes, carrots, lobster bisque, and Shrewsbury cakes for dessert. Now, for the love of God, will you please just . . . sit back in your seat and leave me be.”

The “for the love of God” had felt totally unnecessary. The “leave me be,” however, cut to the quick.

Fighting to mask the hurt that ricocheted through her, Myrtle forced a smile and sat back on her buttocks. Very well. “Horace wishes to join you outside.”

At hearing his name mentioned, and the possibility of joining his master beyond these carriage walls, the dog popped up.

“No,” Val said tightly.

With a little whine, Horace sank onto the floor once more and rested his giant head on her knee.

“He would prefer it.”

“I would prefer you shut the window, and yet I’m not getting that, am I?”

“You are quite surly today,” she said on a huff.

“Myrtle,” he said, bringing his mount even closer, so close if she stretched a hand outside, she could touch him and his magnificent black horse. “It is cold.”

“I’m fine with the t-temperature.” Her teeth chattered, and she thanked the noisy turn of the carriage wheels and the pounding of the horses’ hooves that concealed that tremble.

He gave her a pointed look. “You’re shivering,” he shouted over the din.

He’d heard that?

She smiled, and to make sure he could better hear her, she leaned out a fraction more. “I am more than fine. In fact, I quite enjoy the weather and—”

“And you are hanging precariously out the window, Myrtle. So for the love of the Lord in Heaven, will you please sit back on your bench and shut the window?”

He’d used her Christian name in the presence of a servant. It was a testament to the extent of his fury that he’d allowed that lapse.

Nay, it wasn’t just fury. It was . . . annoyance.

He was annoyed with her.

As eager to be rid of her as she was to remain with him.

Tears threatened, and mustering the remnants of her tattered pride, Myrtle lifted her chin. “I am fine with the cold, you know.” And keeping her features as even as possible, she made a show of closing the window.

Almost immediately, Val kicked his mount ahead, putting distance between himself and the carriage, and she followed him until he’d disappeared to no more than a speck, and then not even that in the horizon ahead.

A lone tear streaked down her cheek, and no sooner had she raised her palm to dash the drop away than another was there, followed by another. And another.

“He really cannot wait to be done with me,” she whispered, and then promptly burst into tears.