Page 38 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

Had he done?

Magnus had spent years asking himself that very question. He still didn’t have an answer. Sometimes, at his lowest points, he believed that he had encouraged Miss Farr. Other times, he knew his conduct to be completely irreproachable.

That was the trouble with memory. It couldn’t be relied upon. Couldn’t be trusted.

Speaking of which…

“Charlotte Beresford,” he said. “Is that really your name?”

She massaged her temples. “It is.”

“And you’ve only just recollected it?”

“It came back to me after reading the letter. Once I remembered my family name, I remembered my father’s title.”

“And your grandfather’s apparently. And great-grandfather’s.” Magnus frowned. He hadn’t thought it was possible for Charlotte to be more trouble to him with her memory than she’d been without it. “The Earl of Allendale? And the Earl of Gordon?”

“Yes.” She paused. “I have two older brothers as well.”

“Perfect.”

“I don’t know why it should make you so cross. You’re an earl yourself.”

“I’m not cross. I’m simply marveling at my astonishing luck.”

“How so?”

Magnus ran a hand through his hair with a grimace. “What are the odds that one of your esteemed male relations will appear on my doorstep with a pistol?”

She gave him an arch look. “Now you’re worried about someone wielding a pistol? Somewhat ironic.”

He scowled at her. “I’m not interested in being cast as the villain in some young gentleman’s affair of honor. Or some old gentleman’s. Or any gentleman’s.”

“Gentlemen don’t have a monopoly on holding villains to account. Ladies are quite capable of defending their own honor.” She continued rubbing her temples. “Which is nothing to the point. You’re not the villain.”

He snorted.

“You’re not. Though gossip certainly paints you so.” Her brows notched. “I assume it’s relating to the crimes Mrs. Kitteridge mentioned. The ones against another young lady.” She gave him a searching glance. “Who was Miss Farr?”

Magnus was on his feet in an instant. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“It’s not a conversation,” Charlotte said as he stalked back to the fireplace. “Only a question.”

“It’s none of your business is what it is.”

“Don’t be absurd. I’m simply curious about the scandal in your past. I knew it involved a young lady, but⁠—”

“You go too far, Charlotte,” he said. “An unfortunate habit of yours, I begin to discern.”

Reaching the mantle, he turned. She was still in her seat. Still pale. Still rubbing her head as though the effort at meeting Mrs. Kitteridge and the constable had taken an undue toll on her.

His conscience twinged sharply for speaking so harshly to her.

Yet, Charlotte didn’t appear to be cast down by his words. Quite the opposite. “Not far enough,” she said. “Indeed, given the circumstances, I think an explanation is the very least I deserve.”

Magnus’s jaw hardened. “I don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he replied coldly. “I don’t owe anyone anything.”

“On that much we agree,” she said. “But I’m not just anyone now, surely.”