The carriage continued through the rain, carrying them farther from the empty road toward town. For a while, neither spoke, the steady rhythm of the wheels filling the silence between them.
"I would like to stop at the next street," She said eventually.
Anthony glanced at her before turning his attention toward the front carriage. "Very well."
He leaned slightly forward and tapped twice against the roof with his knuckles. "Next street," he called to the coachman.
A muffled reply came from outside.
Anthony settled back into his seat.
For the first time since she had entered, Penelope allowed herself to relax against the seat, though only slightly. And for another while, neither of them spoke.
The carriage moved steadily along the wet road, its wheels making a soft, rhythmic sound against the damp stones. The worst of the storm had passed, though droplets still clung to the glass and slid slowly downward, catching the occasional glow from the lamps outside.
