Page 73 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

Charlotte closed her parasol with a snap. “I never said so.”

“Then what⁠—”

“I mean to purchase some supplies for Lord Eversleigh.”

“Lord Eversleigh!” Lucy exclaimed in horror.

Mr. Frog remained on his perch, offering the girls no assistance out of the gig.

Charlotte exited without his help, easily leaping to the ground. A small, embroidered drawstring purse dangled from silk cords at her wrist. On setting out for their drive, she had quite intentionally filled it with the whole of the pocket money her parents had given her for her summer in Yorkshire. It was no minor sum.

“The village shops won’t supply his lordship and his staff,” Charlotte explained as she straightened the bustled skirts of her cambric day dress. “And I can’t let them starve. Not after all the help they’ve given me.”

Lucy clambered out behind her, making ready use of Charlotte’s shoulder for balance. “He doesn’t have servants. Only one poor excuse for a butler. The man wasn’t even in proper livery! And you don’t owe them anything, Charlotte.”

“You can wait in the gig if you like.” Charlotte crossed to the door.

Lucy hurried after her. “Charlotte!”

Charlotte walked into the shop. A little bell above the door tinkled to announce her entry. She’d been here only once before. It was a clean, orderly establishment, with a long wooden front counter and plentiful shelves of tinned goods, wheels of cheese, and barrels containing flour, sugar, and salt.

An apron-clad shopkeeper with a bristly mustache stood behind the counter attending to a female customer in a black stuff dress. The woman’s back was to the door, her face hidden from view.

Lucy came up alongside Charlotte, breathless. “I may join you on this folly, Charlotte Beresford,” she whispered sharply, “but you may be sure I won’t be accompanying you back to Moorcross Manor.”

“I’m not going back,” Charlotte said.

Not today, anyway, she added silently.

“Then how—?” Lucy began.

“I shall convince the shopkeeper to deliver my order to the manor, of course.” Charlotte approached the counter with a smile just as the previous customer was turning to leave. “Good morning, sir,” she said. “I⁠—”

The greeting died on her lips when she saw the thin lady’s face.

It was Mrs. Kitteridge. The very woman who had caused such a fuss at the Manor. She regarded Charlotte with a frigid glare.

Charlotte acknowledged her with a polite nod. “Ma’am.”

The shopkeeper approached before Mrs. Kitteridge could make a reply. “Good day,” he said with stiff reserve. He bent his head to Lucy. “Miss Champion, isn’t it?”

Lucy inclined her head in return.

Charlotte summoned a smile. “And I am Miss Beresford.”

“I know who you are, miss,” the man replied.

Mrs. Kitteridge lingered beside him with a knowing smirk.

A surge of self-consciousness nearly made Charlotte waver. There was only one way the man might have heard of her. Gossip about the night she’d spent with Magnus must have already traveled through the village, courtesy of Mrs. Kitteridge herself, no doubt. Heaven knew what the people here must think of Charlotte.

“Er, yes,” she managed. “I expect you do.”

“Has your mother not returned yet, Miss Champion?” Mrs. Kitteridge asked Lucy with all the delicacy of a bull charging into a china shop. “Is she still away in Hampshire?”

“She is, ma’am,” Lucy said.

Mrs. Kitteridge’s flinty eyes gleamed. “While you and Miss Beresford remain unchaperoned?”