Possibly not. Fred’s temper had been getting worse since Maggie arrived in town. The more she resisted him, the angrier and more frustrated he seemed to become. It had culminated in his attempt to kiss her in the carriage, and now, with St. Clare’s arrival, Fred was all but ready to snap.

Maggie supposed she should be afraid, but she wasn’t. She was in love. Engaged to be married. And after tonight, she may even have solved the riddle of Nicholas Seaton’s birth. For once, the future looked bright—and the present along with it.

“Fred can’t harm me,” she said, closing her book with a snap. “Today I feel as though nothing can.”

That night, as the longcase clock in the hall chimed the eleventh hour, Maggie slipped out the back door of Beasley Park and made her way to the end of the darkened drive. A rickety two-horse carriage awaited her, driven by a very small man in an oversized greatcoat and hat.

She had but a moment to examine him in the silver glow of the full moon before the door of the carriage open and St. Clare jumped out.

“Is that Enzo?” she asked.

“Never mind him.” St. Clare tossed her into the cab and then climbed in after her, shutting the door behind him. “Did anyone see you leave?”

“No. I don’t believe so.” She’d been quiet as a mouse, only lighting a candle long enough to get dressed in one of her old gowns and her cloak. Only Bessie was aware of what Maggie was doing. The rest of the house had been silent as the grave. Not a trace of Lionel Beresford slinking about, or his equally odious valet.

Or so Maggie hoped.

“Good.” St. Clare sat down in the seat across from her. He was wearing a caped greatcoat, his hat and cane on the dingy cushion beside him.

“It was wise of you to think of hiring a gig for the night,” she said. “No one will remark this vehicle, surely.”

He didn’t reply.

She looked at him in the weak light of the carriage lamps, attempting to make out his face in the shadows. “If you’re going to sulk—”

“I’m not sulking.”

She lifted her brows but said nothing more. What more could she say? He hadn’t wanted her to come with him, which was understandable. She privately acknowledged that visiting a hedge tavern after dark was a trifle dangerous. Dangerous for him as much as her. He wasn’t invincible, after all.

And so she’d told him.

But if his arm was paining him now, he certainly didn’t show it. He seemed to be made of stone, sitting there, across from her, still and quiet, as if he had more important things on his mind than a midnight foray into the past.

Meanwhile, Maggie’s own nerves were fairly crackling with anticipation.