“It is because his wife perished and he feared I’d met that same fate.” And she hated herself for having inflicted the terror of this scene upon him.

Her brother snorted. “I’ve never been in love, but I do expect if I were, it would look something like the way that man looked when he came upon the scene looking for you, believing you’d died.”

“Just stop,” she cried. “It is over.” And as if fate sought to mock her with the truth on that finality, the carriage dipped as the driver climbed atop the box, and then he sent the conveyance slowly into motion. “He is gone.” And she was never going to recover from this loss. At last, she understood the pain that had sent him fleeing from the world and why he’d locked himself inside that townhouse with Horace.

Oh, God. Horace.

“But—”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Dallin! So if you would please just—”

There came a loud bellow from the driver, and Kinley yanked on the reins, halting the conveyance.

Her brother frowned and yanked the curtain aside. “What in thunderation . . .” And then he stopped.

Myrtle reached for her own curtain, and she went absolutely still, her heart forgetting its job in her breast.

Like a dark warrior of old, Val came striding forward, trudging through the snow. “Myrtle McQuoid,” he shouted in that rough way of his, and she reached past her brother, pushing the door open.

“Val,” she whispered, drinking in the sight of him. “You came—”

“You left,” he said accusatorially.

She touched a hand to her breast. “I . . . You did,” she corrected.

“I wanted to look after the other passengers.”

Of course he had. That was the manner of man he was. Her heart swelled all the more with her love for him.

“You forgot this,” he said, his voice sharp. He brandished a book.

Myrtle’s eyes went to the familiar tome, and for a second time that day, hope faded. “I . . . gave the volume to you,” she said softly. “That was a gift.”

His nostrils flared, and he rocked back on his heels. “You misunderstand. You promised we would discuss it.”

“What is the meaning of this?” her brother demanded.

Myrtle and Val ignored him.

“I want that discussion, Myrtle,” Val said, shaking the volume at her.

“Now?” she asked.

Her brother strained at her shoulder.

“Not now,” Val said, taking a step toward her. And another. And another. Until he stopped just a pace apart. “In the future.”

“I don’t know . . .” She didn’t understand what he was saying or what he was asking. It was all confused in her mind, clouded by a hope that refused to be fully extinguished. Myrtle shook her head.