Page 9 of Pride: The Rogue
“It usually is,” Livian mumbled.
“…Livvie…”
Sighing, Livian played the game she and Verity always had over the years, only this time, alone.
Livian did a glance about. How could it be worse? How? So many ways, which one to choose—first. “The carriage hasn’t crashed or broken.”
“…Good, Livvie…”
“Yet,” Livian added, effectively but not intentionally drowning out Verity’s always more positive outlook.
The carriage sped on ahead at a dizzying rate. Whimpering, she summoned among Verity’s many assurances over the years.
“We always hope, and in all things, it is better to hope than to despair…”
“It can always be worse…”
Livian took a deep breath and tried again. “It’s not…snow?” she ventured, with a hesitancy that tipped her statement up into the form of a question.
If it had been snow, she stood to freeze to death.
She troubled her lower lip. Except one could die from a freezing rain. She’d come close enough several times, to know.
Not helpful. Not helpful.
She brightened. “The window didn’tbreak!”
That moment, an enormous ball of hail struck the fractured pane; it exploded in a sea of shards and splintered glass raining all over Livian and the carriage floor and benches.
Rain streamed inside, pummeling her face, stinging her eyes, but washing her free of those sharp remnants.
“Thatis helpful,” she said, rivulets of water streaming into her mouth.
Livian’s shoulders shook wildly with amusement. For if she didn’t laugh, she’d cry and never stop.
“It could always be worse,” she reminded herself, needing to hear the sound of her own voice so she could forget she was alone on the road.
The ride that seemingly went on forever, ended as abruptly as it started.
And not in any way that was smooth or natural.
Livian’s carriage came to such a sudden stop, this time, she went flying across the opposite side of the carriage.
Her head slammed against the gilded wood, and she collapsed onto the floor, dazed.
Well,thatgame is ended. Aside fromdying, this was absolutely as bad as it got.
“Or you hope,” she muttered, and promptly regretted having spoken as her skull throbbed in response.
The door exploded open, blasting rain and ice inside.
Livian gasped.Highwaymen. She’d forgotten the peril of highwaymen on these roads.
Except, a soaked Mr. Dryver stood ringing his drenched hat the same way Verity had wrung her hands when Livian boarded the same conveyance.
“Lightning struck, Miss Lovelace.” His booming voice matched even the greatest round of thunder that’d followed them these days. “I…” He paused and furrowed his wet brow. “Wot are ye doing on the floor, miss?”
“Oh, I’m just inspecting the interior of the earl’s conveyance.”
