A forlorn wind howled, recalling his attention to the land around them, and he looked away.

The moment shattered.

“We should go,” he said gruffly.

“Yes,” she said, unable to keep the sadness from creeping into her reply. “We should.”

Val handed her inside the carriage, and whistled once.

Horace immediately jumped inside. He gave his big head a shake, dislodging drops of snow, before settling onto the floor.

Val shut the door behind them.

Myrtle gave the dog’s damp head a distracted pat, and she waited for the elegant, gleaming conveyance to lurch back into motion almost immediately.

Only, it didn’t.

There was a brief exchange between Val and his brother’s driver, and her heart hammered.

Surely he wasn’t sending her on her way, alone. Surely—

A moment later, the carriage door opened, startling a gasp from her.

Horace’s head popped up, and he released a happy bark.

“Val,” she whispered as his broad frame filled the entryway, blotting out the grey winter skies at his back.

“I thought I would join you, after all,” he said gruffly.

She stilled. Every part of her stopped.

Well, that was, with the exception of her heart. That organ thumped so very loudly, so wildly in her breast that surely Val heard the excited hammering.

“It is snowing,” he explained.

It was . . .

Frowning, Myrtle caught the curtain, and looked outside.

Sure enough, between the moment he’d deposited her for a second time that day in the carriage and spoken to the driver and seen to his horses, the skies had unleashed a flurry of tiny white specks that fell down, swiftly coating the earth.

Her heart fell.

You stupid, naive, pathetic, pitiable fool . . . And here you thought he’d had a sudden change of heart because he wanted to be with you . . .

Val cleared his throat. “Unless you’d rather I n—”

“No!” she exclaimed. “I . . . It makes sense,” she finished lamely. “That you would not ride.”

“It doesn’t,” he said gruffly.

Myrtle angled her head.

“I . . .” Val’s gaze slid away from hers, and he moved it over the carriage. “I’ve not stepped inside one since . . . since . . .”

Her heart suspended its function once more. “Since your wife’s passing,” she said softly.

He gave a jerky, uneven nod. “Yes. Since her death.”

He looked ready to bolt.

Worse, he looked ready to cast up the contents of his stomach.

And likely he was.

Given what he’d revealed about how his wife had perished, how would he ever feel comfortable setting foot inside a carriage again?

Yet he intended to do so.

“You won’t be alone, Val,” she said gently. Myrtle stretched a hand out. “I am with you. Horace and I both are.”

Val stared at her fingers, then slid his palm into hers.

And this time, as he squeezed himself past his dog and shut the door behind the three of them, they rode off . . . together.

Chapter 19

Chapter 19