Page 79 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

“In the meanwhile—” Papa turned his sights back on Charlotte. “You can tell me exactly what transpired here, and how it is that you came to be missing for an entire day and night.”

Charlotte mustered a weak excuse for a smile. “Really, Papa. You make it sound so dreadful.”

Her father didn’t reply. Neither did he appear amused.

Her courage waned. She began to think that Lucy had the right of it. Better to quit the room than to face Papa’s displeasure.

But Charlotte refused to be a coward.

She set her shoulders. “I was atop the wall that surrounds an abandoned estate, attempting to save an injured dog, when I took an unfortunate tumble. I hit my head on the stones and lost consciousness for a time—” She stopped abruptly at the look on her father’s face. “Papa?"

“Go on,” he commanded.

She swallowed hard. “Only, you see, the manor house wasn’t abandoned. The new Earl of Eversleigh was lately in residence after having just inherited the title. He came to my aid and nursed me until I awakened later that same day.”

“He sent for the doctor, I presume?”

“He did. But… Dr. Calthrop was away at the time. He wasn’t expected back until the following morning. Lord Eversleigh had to look after me himself until then. I was, um, obliged to stay the night.”

Papa’s expression was intent. “Under the care of this gentleman and his lady wife?”

“Lord Eversleigh has no wife.”

“I see.”

Charlotte inwardly withered under her father’s too-perceptive gaze. “He has a valet,” she offered. “He was there most of the time.”

“And Miss Champion?” Papa asked. “She was there too, naturally?”

“She was not,” Charlotte admitted. “Lord Eversleigh would have sent for her, but the thing is…” She steeled herself for her father’s reaction. “I couldn’t precisely tell him to do so because I didn’t exactly remember who I was until the next day.”

Her father said nothing. Indeed, he was so still that, for an alarming moment, Charlotte understood why she had sometimes heard people refer to the illustrious Viscount St. Clare as a sentient block of ice.

“Nothing happened, Papa,” she whispered. Her conscience panged as she uttered the words, bringing a rush of heat to her cheeks. She was viscerally reminded of how Magnus had undressed her in his bed. The way he’d removed her bodice, her corset, her skirts, stripping her all the way down to her shift. That hadn’t been nothing.

“Come here,” Papa said.

Charlotte immediately obeyed. Her father’s arm came about her. Drawing her close, he touched a gentle hand to her head. “Where⁠—?”

“At the back.”

His fingers moved through her hair, lightly brushing over her newly healed wound.

“Oh, why did Agatha have to give you that letter?” she burst out.

“You’re not to blame your sister,” Papa said. “She feels badly enough as it is.”

And well she should, Charlotte thought uncharitably.

“She’s entrusted me with a note for you,” Papa continued, “no doubt explaining her reasoning. Your mother has sent a note as well. I have them in one of my cases.”

“If Lucy had only contained herself, you might all have been spared the trouble—” Charlotte broke off with a wince.

“Is it still very tender?” her father asked in prompt concern.

“Not very,” she lied.

“We’ll see what the doctor has to say.”