Horace whined, and scrambling awkwardly on the floor of the carriage, the creature put his front paws on her knees, and lapped at her face.

A laugh broke through her tears, and she hugged his head.

“You are wrong,” she said. “He will be happy to never again see me.”

Horace gave her cheek another lick.

“Now, you, I know, will miss me,” she assured, hugging him all the tighter.

And then, as soon as the words left her lips, the reality hit her: this parting would signify the end of her time not just with Val but also with Horace.

Myrtle promptly burst out into fresh tears, besieged by an onslaught of grief and fresh suffering.

She’d miss the both of them.

She’d miss the brooding master and agreeable pup.

She’d miss their company and friendship. In a very short time, she’d come to be closer with these two than with any other soul in the world.

And instead of having a life with them, she’d set out alone on her London Season, never catching so much as a glimpse of him—it being expected by her family and all, that she would marry some other man, a man who was not Val.

Myrtle sobbed all the harder.

And she didn’t want to do it.

She didn’t want to do any of it. Suffer through the machinations of a Season where she was paraded before suitors and expected to hope that one of those dandies with lily-white, uncallused hands would find her amenable enough to pay call on and court and ultimately marry.

And there’d be kissing and wedding vows exchanged and a marriage bed and—

Myrtle shuddered, horror and disgust taking the place of her misery.

She couldn’t do it.

“I won’t do it,” Myrtle said into the quiet, and with his tongue lolling sideways from his mouth, Horace bobbed his head excitedly, as if he understood her vow and, with his love of her and his master, approved.

And she didn’t have to.

A calm stole through her.

All along, it’d been expected that she conduct herself a certain way; she’d been sent away and spent years crafting a facade of a perfectly flawless lady in the hopes that her parents might welcome her back, in the hopes that Mrs. Belden and the other instructors might deem Myrtle’s edification complete. Ultimately, she’d . . . lost herself.

With Val and because of him, she’d found her way. She’d remembered what it was to speak freely and not stifle her words or her humor or her thoughts. She’d just . . . been herself these past days, and she didn’t want to go back to who she used to be. She wanted a husband who loved her and accepted her as she was, with all her garrulousness and dry sarcasm.

And in the absence of both, she’d not settle.