Val gripped his knees hard. How he envied them. How he envied that level of joy. And yet he was not the man of his youth. For he pitied them, too. He pitied them for the pain that would invariably come to them, because ultimately one would be left behind here on this cold, unforgiving earth, and all that would remain was the agony of memories of what joy had once been.

It was also a much-needed reminder for Val about how essential it was to get Myrtle out of his life and back to hers.

Because this? This caring about her as he did—his yearning to hear her laugh and see her smile, and to listen to her as she sang—was the stuff of danger, more perilous than even carriage rides in the middle of snowstorms.

And he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to feel this way.

Val squeezed his eyes shut and banged the back of his head silently and slowly against the wall, wishing he could rid himself of the thought of her.

Then, as if she sought to ensure that he couldn’t shut her out, Myrtle raised her voice louder in song.

“For all Thy will I would fulfill—

Thou knowest well, in fay,

And for all this I will Thee kiss,

And sing, ‘Bye bye, lullay.’”

Suddenly, the door opened, making her voice soar even more out into the narrow corridor.

Heart racing, Val hopped up.

The young woman who’d been helping Myrtle stepped outside, drawing the panel shut behind her.

But not before he caught a glimpse of Myrtle.

Oh, God.

He looked up at the ceiling. “Thank you for helping my wife,” he said roughly, his mind balking at how easily those words fell without so much as a stumble or sense of betrayal. When there should be. And they were a lie, at that. But it was a lie that felt dangerously too easy to speak.

The young woman smiled and sank into a curtsy. “Happy to help, Your Lordship. Her Ladyship is a kind one. She likes to sing. Invited me to join her”—he couldn’t tamp down the smile—“but I dinna know the songs she sang. Didn’t know there were people who celebrated Christmas.”

There were many who didn’t, and some who did. Aside from his family, he’d never known another family who knew the ancient traditions, and ones learned from distant lands . . . until Myrtle. “She is quite special,” he murmured.

“And she is lucky to have your love, too,” the serving girl said. “Not every husband and wife find that kind of love like my ma and da did.”

Love.

His stomach muscles seized, and his facial features froze.