Page 75 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

“Yes,” Lucy shot back. “But you’re not a housewife. You’re not any wife at all.”

“Perhaps not,” Charlotte allowed. “However, I can manage things. And Lord Eversleigh’s estate is desperately in need of proper management.”

“Not by you!” Lucy drew closer, her face betraying a sudden flare of shock. “Unless you mean to⁠—”

“Hitch up the horse and cart, lad!” the shopkeeper shouted out to someone across the store. “Got a sizeable delivery for Sowerby Hall!”

Charlotte stepped away from Lucy without answering her. “Not Sowerby Hall, sir!” she called to the shopkeeper.

He poked his head up from behind a display of goods. “What’s that?”

Charlotte beckoned him back to her with a discreet wave of her hand. The man promptly returned, holding several paper-wrapped items in one arm and a bundle of candles under the other.

Mrs. Kitteridge was not far behind. She stopped a few yards away, pretending to examine a tin of biscuits.

“It’s a rather delicate matter,” Charlotte said to the shopkeeper in what she hoped was a suitably solemn tone.

His bushy brows elevated.

She sank her voice. “This order is to be delivered to Lord Eversleigh at Moorcross Manor.”

The man’s expression froze on his face.

Lucy briefly closed her eyes, as though anticipating the worst.

The shopkeeper didn’t disappoint. “Lord Eversleigh?” he returned in a burst of ire. “That devil son of the late earl who caused the village so many years of suffering?”

“What’s this about Eversleigh?” Mrs. Kitteridge hurried over, abandoning all pretense of indifference. She thrust herself in front of Charlotte. “You don’t mean to tell me you continue to have dealings with the man?”

Charlotte took a step back. “I’m not telling you anything, ma’am. And I would thank you to⁠—”

“Sending household goods and sundries to him?” Mrs. Kitteridge demanded. “Without care for the little reputation you have left?”

Charlotte’s fingers clenched on the drawstring cords of her purse. Somehow, she managed to keep her countenance. “It’s by way of a thank-you,” she said to the shopkeeper. “Lord Eversleigh has recently done me and my family a great service.”

“I’ll not do business with him or his ilk,” the shopkeeper returned. “And I won’t be subject to the japes of strangers and interlopers who waste my time with foolish⁠—”

“A very great service,” Charlotte interrupted.

“He’s ruined you, girl,” the man said. “It’s the talk of Bead’s Hollow. Kept you up at the manor and⁠—”

“Gossip is a vile pastime,” Lucy interjected sharply. “I’ll thank you not to spread it any further, sir.” She glared at Mrs. Kitteridge with a fearsomeness Charlotte had rarely beheld. “That goes doubly for you, madam.”

Charlotte stared at her friend in amazement.

Mrs. Kitteridge’s face flushed. “Well, I never!”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” the shopkeeper asked. “She was up at the manor? And him there with no one to stay his evil impulses.”

“I witnessed it myself,” Mrs. Kitteridge pronounced in defiance.

“Aye, so did my missus,” the shopkeeper said. “The devil’s manservant came here twice on his foul errand and twice my missus turned him away. A girl up at the manor, the fellow told her. We didn’t believe it was possible. Know better now, don’t we?”

Charlotte’s heart was beating very hard. No one in her life had ever confronted her in this insulting manner. Not publicly anyway. It was difficult to withstand, even with Lucy there to defend her.

Dear Lucy! Charlotte’s instincts had been right about her.

Just as they were right about Magnus.