Page 93 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

Warmth flooded her veins at the look in his gaze. It was exceedingly intent.

“How are you here?” she asked.

Magnus came down the bank, paying no mind to the mud and the damp, though they played havoc with what appeared to be a rather expensive pair of leather boots. Instead of irritation, his face lit with a rare smile. “The usual way, I expect,” he said. “First a carriage, then a train, then another carriage.”

Charlotte closed the distance between them. “I meant…how are you here?”

Magnus took her outstretched hands. He pressed them tightly as the dogs leapt around them. “I arrived an hour ago,” he said. “Your mother told me you would be here.”

She stared up at him in astonishment. “You’ve spoken with Mama?”

“I’ve met all of your family,” Magnus said.

Her heartbeat quickened, understanding what this must mean. Oh, heavens. Oh, goodness. She wasn’t prepared. Indeed, she’d been afraid he was losing interest in her.

She said as much before she could stop herself.

Magnus’s smile dimmed to hear her fears. “Didn’t you get my letters?”

“You know I did. Did you not get mine?”

“I did.”

“Poor as they were,” she said. “There’s only so many ways one can describe autumn and winter at Beasley. I did send sketches, however, and⁠—”

“I have them all.” He pressed her hands again. “I wish you’d sent a sketch of yourself. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you are.”

Charlotte blushed. “Not today I’m not.” She cast a grimacing glance at her simple broadcloth skirt and sturdy wool paletot. “We’re both of us covered in mud from the dogs.” Her gaze returned to his with a hint of shyness. “But you look splendid.”

His voice deepened. “I’m pleased you think so.”

The husky timbre of his words sent a minor earthquake through Charlotte’s midsection. Was it normal? she wondered. To have this reaction, not only to a gentleman’s touch, but to his voice as well?

Whatever it was, it was positively thrilling.

Even more thrilling because this was the gentleman who had her heart.

She searched his face, ignoring the building heat in her cheeks. “Is that why you were in town? To see your tailor? Or was it to settle things with your London house?”

“Your father mentioned that?”

“He did,” she admitted. “I wish you’d have spoken to me on the subject first. I’d have told you not to sell it. There’s no reason to do so, not with my inheritance to⁠—”

“I’ve no need of your inheritance.”

“But—”

Magnus’s expression turned solemn. He directed a look at the stone bench. “Shall we sit?” he asked before Charlotte could finish.

She broke off, uncertain of his change in mood. Possibly it had something to do with money. It had always been a sore spot with him. Given his failure to find his fortune, it must be even sorer now. Indeed, his letters had never even mentioned whether or not he was continuing to search for his missing inheritance.

Doubtless Papa had put an end to that with whatever he’d told Magnus during that meeting they’d had in the Moorcross Manor drawing room. Papa had a knack for such things. She’d seen it often enough with her brothers. Arthur and Nick were always inspired to reform their ways after one of Papa lectures, even if only for a short time.

Charlotte didn’t like it. She didn’t want Magnus to change in order to be worthy of her. She preferred him exactly as he was.

She allowed him to escort her back to the bench. Her sketchbook lay in the damp grass in front of it. She must have dropped it when she’d leapt up.

“Botheration,” she said. “It would have to fall face down, wouldn’t it?”