Page 41 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

Charlotte gaped. “Stuff him in a crate!” she echoed, appalled. She removed herself from Magnus’s grasp. “Is that how you imagine me taking him back to Sowerby Hall? Like a parcel of produce?”

“He’ll bite you otherwise.”

“He won’t,” Charlotte assured him. She made a futile effort to straighten her dress. It was wrinkled beyond repair. And her hair was surely beyond hope.

She chanced a fleeting look in the small mirror that hung over the washstand. A raggle-taggle specimen of a creature was reflected back at her. Pale, disheveled, and sporting a crooked scratch on her face.

The confidence that had inspired Charlotte to touch Magnus’s cheek vanished. It was replaced by a flood of feminine mortification. She didn’t consider herself a vain person, but this was beyond anything. She looked as though she’d been unceremoniously dragged through a hedge.

What was Lucy going to think? More to the point—what must Magnus?

Not that Charlotte was pretty in this moment, that was certain. Or accomplished. Or amusing. Thus far, he’d only seen her at her worst.

Though she didn’t know why she should care a jot what he thought about her. The man could find fault with a paragon. His instincts were deplorable as well. Putting dogs in cabbage crates? The very idea! Was he lacking in all finer feeling?

“Chance isn’t vicious enough to bite me,” she said. “He has a good heart, I can tell.”

Magnus scoffed.

“I can.” Charlotte struggled to hastily arrange the tangled mass of her hair into a plait. “Besides,” she added, “you can’t possibly move the wardrobe. It must weigh a ton.”

“I’ll move it,” Magnus said.

She cast a sidelong glance at his profile. His towering height, the breadth of his shoulders, and the muscles lurking beneath the confines of his black cloth coat. She’d seen the latter firsthand when they’d walked in the garden this morning. An astounding sight to behold. Indeed, he was a much larger gentleman than her father and brothers.

It was excessively disconcerting.

“You can’t,” she repeated. “It will only terrify him.”

“Do you have a better solution?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” She finished her plait. “Have we any more milk and bread?”

“We haven’t any more provisions,” Magnus replied with an edge of sarcasm. “No thanks to you and that dog.”

Charlotte’s lips compressed. Why must he be so difficult?

“Come,” he said. He offered his arm. “I wasn’t jesting about your friend.”

“Yes, but what about Chance?”

“I’ll sort out the dog later.”

She grudgingly set her hand on his sleeve. “No cabbage crates,” she warned him.

Magnus made no promises.

Downstairs, Lucy awaited them in the drawing room. Clad in a sensible gray carriage gown, her hat and gloves still in place, she stood by the long bank of damask shrouded windows, wringing her hands. Her colorless face was the very picture of worry.

The instant she clapped eyes on Charlotte, she flew across the room. “Charlotte!” she cried. “Oh, Charlotte!”

A flare of guilt went through Charlotte as her friend fiercely embraced her. “I’m well,” she assured her. “Truly. There’s no cause to⁠—”

“I was beside myself!” Lucy said. “And then, when Constable Reeves came to the door? You can’t imagine!”

“I daresay I can.” Charlotte drew back. Magnus was still beside her.

Lucy didn’t register his presence. Not yet. Her eyes were only for Charlotte. “I fainted dead away,” she said, grasping both Charlotte’s arms. “Mrs. Goodenough had to revive me with Mama’s smelling salts. And when the constable told me where you were—” She sank her voice to a horrified whisper. “I very nearly fainted a second time!”