Chapter 43
Maynard woke with a pounding heart. He glanced over at the clock: three in the morning.
What did the dream mean? He must be more troubled about the note than he’d thought. He trusted the men in the brotherhood—men who believed in philanthropy without the egregious self-congratulatory posturing that accompanied most charitable works. But he couldn’t shake the idea that someone from the Black Scroll didn’t want him at the ball tonight. Didn’t want him in his own summer house.
Early as it was, he gave up on sleep and dressed. Perhaps a visit to the college’s stable would settle his disquiet. He’d always found the company of horses soothing. Ever since he was a boy, the summers spent on his uncle’s farm were more pleasurable than anywhere else. He could read a horse’s mood, and
