Arthur Morgan

The glowing glass lanterns and gilded archways of the Saint Denis mansion felt suffocating. Inside, Dutch and Bill were mingling near the bar, but Arthur hadn't moved from his spot near the courtyard doors. His eyes were locked on you and Joseph Moore.

He watched the wealthy oil heir lean in close to whisper in your ear. He watched you laugh, touch his lapel, and kiss him.

A sickening, hot knot tightened in Arthur's chest. Turning on his heel, he walked out into the humid night air of the courtyard garden, resting his hands heavily against a stone balustrade while trying to force his breathing to slow down.

When he heard your footsteps on the gravel, he didn't turn around immediately.

"You oughta be inside," Arthur said, his voice a low, rough rumble. "Dutch said we keep our eyes open, not... entertain the locals."

"Me and Joseph have been sweet on one another for some time now," you replied quietly, taking a step closer. "And he intends on asking for my hand."

Arthur let out a mean, dry exhale—almost a laugh, though there wasn't a grain of humor in it. He turned his head toward you, his eyes narrow and dark under his brow. "You thinking on leaving us? Your family? For a—"

"I sleep on the hard dirt," you cut him off, your voice rising with raw honesty. "And the only wash I get is cold enough to freeze the blood in my veins. Ain’t got no rouge for my cheeks, no fine powders to make me feel like the kind of woman I wish I was when I look in a glass. Then that man comes along, and for a few fleeting minutes, he makes me feel like a proper lady. Now, I ain't stupid. I know them sweet, honeyed words tumbling out of his mouth likely ain't got a lick of truth to 'em. But God help me, I just like hearing 'em. Even if it’s all a lie, just let a woman hear it for a little while."

"You ain’t gonna be free in some big house, girl," Arthur said, his voice a low, bitter rasp that steadily climbed as the anger got the better of him. "You’re gonna be an ornament. A maid he gets to sleep with. You think sleeping on a soft mattress means a damn thing when you gotta ask permission just to open the FRONT DOOR?"

The last words cracked out across the dark garden like a gunshot, sharp and echoing off the surrounding brick walls and trees.

Arthur instantly stopped. His mouth stayed half-open for a second as he caught himself, his eyes darting back over his shoulder toward the lighted windows of the estate to see if anyone was watching. A dark flush crept up his neck. He rolled his jaw, swallowing down the rest of his temper, and rubbed the heel of his hand hard over his face to force his composure back into place.