Page 4 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

But it wasn’t that which made Charlotte’s heart hammer uncontrollably in her breast. It was the pistol the man was holding in his right hand. A pistol that was presently aimed at her.

Her knees weakened. She caught hold of one of the tree branches to steady herself. It creaked dangerously beneath her hand. “I b-beg your pardon, sir,” she stammered. “If you would give me a moment to explain⁠—”

“You have exactly thirty seconds.” He cocked the pistol. “Either remove yourself from my property or say your prayers.”

She took a reflexive step back on the edge of the wall, still clutching the branch for balance. This was surely the devil that Lucy and Mrs. Goodenough had warned her about. A pitiless, black-eyed demon who seemed to have no qualms at all about shooting Charlotte dead. Everything within her told her to flee.

Yet she couldn’t forget the dog.

This dreadful man—whoever he was—didn’t appear to be the sort to minister to such a creature.

She mustered her courage. “I was only looking for a dog. Perhaps you’ve seen him? He has an injured⁠—”

The branch cracked loudly under her hand before she could finish. It fell away beneath her grip, plummeting down into the tangled shrubbery. Robbed of her balance, Charlotte tumbled after it. A startled scream was wrenched from her lungs as the ground rose up to meet her. And then⁠—

Darkness.

Chapter Two

Magnus Sterling, former captain in Her Majesty’s navy and current Earl of Eversleigh, carried the unconscious trespasser into his house.

Turner kept pace at his side. “She’s dead, I reckon,” he remarked unhelpfully.

Magnus shot his valet a cold glare. The girl was a lifeless bundle in his arms. Scarcely breathing, as far as he could tell, but not dead.

Not yet, anyway.

“Summon the doctor,” Magnus commanded.

Turner shut the door after them, blocking out the light of the morning sun. They were at once consumed by the unrelenting gloom of the manor house. It was colder inside than out. Damper too. The cloying fragrance of structural decay was punctuated, not by drafts of fresh air, but by the scent of rotting papers, disintegrating tapestries, and silk damask upholstery that had long since been decimated by moths and mice.

“A doctor?” Turner questioned as though hearing the name of the profession for the first time.

Magnus mounted the creaking stairs. “There must be one in this godforsaken village.”

Turner trotted after him, careful to avoid the broken steps. He’d been with Magnus for nearly ten years, originally assigned to him after Magnus had been injured during the Royal Navy’s bombardment of Kagoshima in ’63. Turner had been a simple steward then. A bit coarse in manner, slightly long in the tooth, and never what one might call top shelf in the brains department. But he was capable when it suited him.

Since returning to England, it seemed to suit him less and less.

“Maybe so,” he replied with his usual pessimism. “Don’t mean he’ll come here. Not when he finds out who you are.”

Magnus’s already foul mood darkened further.

“No one in the village even knows you’re back,” Turner continued as they reached the first landing. “Or that you’ve inherited the title. Might come as a shock to ’em.”

Magnus didn’t doubt it. He was rather shocked to be back himself. Given the choice he’d have preferred to remain abroad. But someone had to unravel the mystery of what his late father had done with his fortune. Magnus’s fortune now, if he could find it.

The best Magnus had hoped for was to be left alone to do so. To be here and gone before any of the villagers were the wiser. He’d come with that very plan in mind, arriving in the dead of night, with no horses, no carriage, only Turner and what little luggage they’d carried with them from the station.

But it wasn’t to be.

Not three days in residence and a trespasser had already infiltrated the grounds.

Magnus glowered down at the girl. She showed no sign of stirring. And why would she after falling from a nine-foot stone wall? Precious few could have survived such a spill without a broken limb or two to show for it. Or possibly a broken neck.

Perhaps she would die after all.

A fresh surge of irritation tightened Magnus’s chest. He directed another glacial look at his valet. “Go,” he snapped. “If the doctor balks, offer him money.”