Goodstead opened the carriage door for T.W., and a dagger of pain shot through his left hip as he climbed the step into the vehicle, though he did not verbally acknowledge the pain. The deputy then entered the vehicle and shut the door. Outside, the driver snapped his reins and called out. The horses cantered forward.
Beatrice leaned her head against T.W.’s left shoulder.
Goodstead looked at the shoebox. “You’re bringing a hamster?”
“No.”
“More shoes in case the ones you’ve got on start to itch?”
“No.”
“A very small addition for James’s house?”
“No.”
“I’m running out of clever guesses.”
“This is something I want to give Beatrice at the banquet.”
“Stop spoilin’ her—she don’t like it. I could use some spoilin’. I’m completely ready for it.”
“Lilith Ford might like to spoil you,” r
