Page 55 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

“Just who is Charlotte Beresford?” he couldn’t resist asking. “That’s what I want to know.”

Charlotte spooned some jam onto her own slice of bread. “A simple West Country, girl,” she said. “A sister. A daughter. A granddaughter.” A smile came into her eyes at the mention of her family. “I’m a person in my own right, too. I have keen interests.”

He bit into his buttered bread. It was fresh. Soft. The best thing he’d had in days. The butter, it seemed, had been sweetened with honey. “Such as?”

“Walking, riding, reading, sketching. The usual things.” Charlotte returned the spoon to the jam jar. “I’m excessively fond of animals as well. All animals.”

“Yes, I recall. Even wild beasts, you said.”

She licked a stray bit of blackberry jam from her fingers before raising her bread to her mouth. “I’m not intimidated by a challenge. My parents raised me to be bold.”

“This bold?” Magnus cast a wry glance at their current surroundings, seated together at his table, enjoying tea and conversation, without benefit of a chaperone.

She swallowed her first bite of bread and jam. “I know my own mind.”

“All of it?”

“Most of it.”

“That’s comforting,” he remarked with unconcealed sarcasm.

Charlotte tore off a piece of her bread and jam and passed it to Chance under the table. “Anyway, it’s as I told you. I had to see my dog.”

“And now you have.”

Her eyes met Magnus’s. “And now I have.”

Magnus held her gaze. His pulse wasn’t entirely steady.

“Besides,” she said. “I doubt anyone would have accompanied me here. They’re all terrified of you for some reason or other.” A frown shadowed her face. “Actually, that’s not true. I do know the reason.”

Magnus’s stomach tightened. He slowly returned his teacup to the table.

Naturally someone had told her. A great many someones, no doubt. Mrs. Kitteridge. The constable. The doctor. The servants at the Hall. Charlotte had probably heard the sordid story a dozen times by now.

She fell quiet for a protracted moment.

He didn’t help her. If she wished to confront him, she would have to muster the words herself. If he remained silent long enough, there was every chance she might lose her nerve. All he had to do was wait and⁠—

“It’s because of what happened to Miss Farr, and her father and brother, isn’t it?” she blurted out.

Magnus couldn’t conceal a flinch. So much for her losing her nerve. “You seem to already know the answer,” he said.

Her bosom rose and fell on a heavy breath. “But I don’t really know it, do I? I only know what other people have told me. And it can’t be right. It simply can’t be.”

“Can’t it?”

“That because of you, a whole family died? That you were somehow to blame⁠—”

“I was to blame,” Magnus said. He stood abruptly, pushing out his chair with a resounding scrape of wood on stone. “And yes, Miss Beresford. They all died. Arabella Farr, Squire Farr, Jermiah Farr. All of them dead because of me. Any other questions?”

Chapter Eighteen

Charlotte stared at Magnus, temporarily speechless. Her heart was beating in her ears like a drum. She didn’t know what to think. What to say.

Magnus appeared similarly affected. His throat was mottled red. His muscles tense, and his jaw hard as granite. He was upset, to be sure. But not angry, she didn’t think. Not with her anyway.

“You should go,” he said roughly.