No sooner had she agreed to the viscount’s proposed forfeits than he’d risen and rung the bell for his butler. He’d issued orders for their hired hackney to be dismissed, his own carriage to be readied, and for all to be done to assure her comfort on the journey back to Green Street.

She assumed the hot brick and carriage rug were Jessup’s doing. The elegant silver flask, however, must have come from St. Clare himself, for upon examination, Maggie had discovered the letter B engraved upon it, along with some odd design which encompassed two animals that looked very much like foxes. She supposed it was the Beresford family crest.

But it hadn’t been St. Clare’s generosity that Maggie had lain awake thinking about until dawn, nor even his scandalous request for three forfeits. Instead, she’d been thinking of the one aspect of her visit to Grosvenor Square that she hadn’t shared with Jane. The one aspect that was unknown, even to Bessie.

Lord St. Clare’s unsettling resemblance to Nicholas Seaton.

“In the meanwhile,” Jane continued, drawing Maggie’s attention back to their conversation, “I shall lend you my new French bonnet. The white satin trimmed in blue ribbons.” She paused to address a passing footman. “See that the barouche is readied, Carson. We’ll be leaving in half an hour.” And then to Maggie: “You must use my blue silk parasol as well. The color will suit you far better than it does me.”

“That’s very good of you. Though I expect your motives are somewhat less than altruistic. After all, it would do you no credit to be seen out shopping with—what did you call me upon my arrival? An unfashionable dowd?”

“No, did I?” Jane stifled another laugh. “But really, Margaret, you were used to look as neat as a pin. And now, well, it seems to me that since your dear papa died, you’re past all caring. I fear that between your illness, Fred’s tyranny, and the circumstances of your papa’s will, your spirit has been broken altogether. I hope you’ll tell me that I’m wrong.”

Maggie reached for the silver pot of chocolate and silently refilled her cup. When she was finished pouring, she looked up at Jane with a taut smile. “You’re quite wrong.”

“My dear, I know that you’ve been blue deviled. Who on earth could blame you? But you mustn’t allow any of these things to weigh on you. Not Fred or Beasley Park or even your poor health. You must put yourself into my hands. I have plans for everything, you see.”

Maggie sipped her chocolate, regarding her friend with interest over the rim of her cup. “Oh, do you?”