Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Magnus understood the old busybody’s words, even if Charlotte did not. And he didn’t disagree. Having to marry him would be worse than outright ruination.
But that didn’t matter now.
All that mattered was getting Charlotte safely back to her people, and getting these two interlopers out of his house.
“Miss Beresford’s in no condition to contemplate such things,” he said to the constable. “What she requires now is the same thing she required yesterday. A bloody doctor.”
Mrs. Kitteridge’s lips pinched with disapproval at his language. “We’ll take her back to the village. She can reside with me until the doctor returns.”
Magnus met the old tartar’s glare. She was as strong-minded in her opinions now as she’d been over a decade ago.
Biased, bigoted, and intent on getting her own way.
But if her will was iron, his was iron-forged steel.
“She will remain with me,” he said, “until the doctor verifies that it’s safe for her to travel. ”
Constable Reeves slowly closed his notebook. “You put us in a difficult position, my lord. We can’t leave Miss Beresford here unattended, as I’m sure you understand. And it may yet be sometime before the doctor returns from Upper Beadwell.”
“Could you not summon Miss Champion?” Charlotte asked. “I still can’t remember the name of the Champions’ house, but—”
“You’ve lost your memory!” Mrs. Kitteridge’s jaw dropped in renewed horror. “What else can’t you remember? How you came to be here? What this monster has done to you? If he’s laid a finger—”
“Mrs. Kitteridge, please,” the constable begged. “Will you let me do my job?”
“You’re still new around these parts, Reeves,” she said. “You’d do well to listen to those of us who were here when this person last committed crimes against a young lady.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened.
Magnus didn’t look at her. “The Champions,” he said to Reeves.
“Yes, my lord.” The constable tucked his pencil and notebook back into his pocket. “They reside at Sowerby Hall. I shall go myself and bring Mrs. Champion back directly.”
“Miss Champion,” Charlotte said. “Her mother is away at present.”
The constable rose from his chair. “I will see to it,” he said. “Until such time…” He awkwardly cleared his throat. “I suggest that Mrs. Kitteridge remain as chaperone for Miss Beresford.”
“The devil she will,” Magnus growled.
“I don’t require a chaperone!” Charlotte exclaimed at the same time.
“But the damage to your reputation,” Mrs. Kitteridge sputtered. “The stain on your family’s good name—”
“The damage is already done,” Magnus said. “A few more hours will make no difference.” He straightened from the mantle before the woman could launch into another argument. “My man will show you out.”
Turner at once materialized in the doorway. He’d been eavesdropping outside, just as Magnus had suspected. “This way sir, ma’am,” he said.
Mrs. Kitteridge went stiff as a poker. “Well, I never—”
Constable Reeves set a staying hand on her arm. His face bore an expression of grim resignation. “It’s for the best, ma’am. As Lord Eversleigh says, another hour will make no difference.”
“Even a second would be too long in this villain’s company,” Mrs. Kitteridge snapped back. “Her parents won’t thank you—”
“I hold myself responsible,” Reeves replied. He bowed to Magnus. “You may expect me back straightaway, my lord.”
Magnus inclined his head to the man.
Turner waited for the constable and Mrs. Kitteridge to take their leave before following them from the room. The guests’ murmured conversation continued as they departed, drifting to Magnus’s ear in damning scraps.
“—can’t undo it now,” the constable said.
“—she’s still alive, isn’t she?” Mrs. Kitteridge returned. “Unlike Miss Farr.”
“—a long time ago, ma’am. You can’t compare—”
“—a leopard doesn’t change his spots—”
Their footsteps creaked loudly as they descended the stairs, gradually fading into the distance, along with their words.
Charlotte stared after them for a moment before resting her head in her hands. “An explanation is no doubt in order.”
Magnus wondered how much she’d overheard. “From you or from me?”
She lifted her gaze as he came to join her on the sofa. “Who was that woman?”
Magnus sank down beside her. The rusty sofa springs groaned under his weight. “Mrs. Kitteridge. The self-proclaimed leader of village society. Or rather, she was in my time, after another family abdicated the role.”
Magnus well remembered that family. The Farrs had been residents of the district nearly as long as Magnus’s own family. That had, at the time, been the very crux of the problem. Squire Farr’s imagined equality with the Sterling clan.
And his daughter’s aspirations to one day be Countess of Eversleigh.
Even now, Magnus couldn’t think of the affair without bitterness. It had taken over a decade to reach even this questionable degree of equanimity. In the immediate aftermath, all he’d felt was an ungovernable rage at the injustice of it all.
You’re not blameless, my boy, his father had said before Magnus was cast out. You must have had a part in it. Said something to the girl. Done something to encourage her.
Had he done?
Magnus had spent years asking himself that very question. He still didn’t have an answer. Sometimes, at his lowest points, he believed that he had encouraged Miss Farr. Other times, he knew his conduct to be completely irreproachable.
That was the trouble with memory. It couldn’t be relied upon. Couldn’t be trusted.
Speaking of which…
“Charlotte Beresford,” he said. “Is that really your name?”
She massaged her temples. “It is.”
“And you’ve only just recollected it?”
“It came back to me after reading the letter. Once I remembered my family name, I remembered my father’s title.”
“And your grandfather’s apparently. And great-grandfather’s.” Magnus frowned. He hadn’t thought it was possible for Charlotte to be more trouble to him with her memory than she’d been without it. “The Earl of Allendale? And the Earl of Gordon?”
“Yes.” She paused. “I have two older brothers as well.”
“Perfect.”
“I don’t know why it should make you so cross. You’re an earl yourself.”
“I’m not cross. I’m simply marveling at my astonishing luck.”
“How so?”
Magnus ran a hand through his hair with a grimace. “What are the odds that one of your esteemed male relations will appear on my doorstep with a pistol?”
She gave him an arch look. “Now you’re worried about someone wielding a pistol? Somewhat ironic.”
He scowled at her. “I’m not interested in being cast as the villain in some young gentleman’s affair of honor. Or some old gentleman’s. Or any gentleman’s.”
“Gentlemen don’t have a monopoly on holding villains to account. Ladies are quite capable of defending their own honor.” She continued rubbing her temples. “Which is nothing to the point. You’re not the villain.”
He snorted.
“You’re not. Though gossip certainly paints you so.” Her brows notched. “I assume it’s relating to the crimes Mrs. Kitteridge mentioned. The ones against another young lady.” She gave him a searching glance. “Who was Miss Farr?”
Magnus was on his feet in an instant. “We’re not having this conversation.”
“It’s not a conversation,” Charlotte said as he stalked back to the fireplace. “Only a question.”
“It’s none of your business is what it is.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’m simply curious about the scandal in your past. I knew it involved a young lady, but—”
“You go too far, Charlotte,” he said. “An unfortunate habit of yours, I begin to discern.”
Reaching the mantle, he turned. She was still in her seat. Still pale. Still rubbing her head as though the effort at meeting Mrs. Kitteridge and the constable had taken an undue toll on her.
His conscience twinged sharply for speaking so harshly to her.
Yet, Charlotte didn’t appear to be cast down by his words. Quite the opposite. “Not far enough,” she said. “Indeed, given the circumstances, I think an explanation is the very least I deserve.”
Magnus’s jaw hardened. “I don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he replied coldly. “I don’t owe anyone anything.”
“On that much we agree,” she said. “But I’m not just anyone now, surely.”
The words pierced Magnus like a blade.
He couldn’t fathom why. He’d known her all of two days. It wasn’t enough time to form an acquaintance, let alone an attachment. Nevertheless…
She was right, wasn’t she? She wasn’t just anyone. Not to him.
That didn’t mean he had to admit it.
Exhaling heavily, he shook his head. “Charlotte—”
“Was she your sweetheart?” she asked.
It was all Magnus could do not to recoil at the suggestion. “No, she bloody well wasn’t my sweetheart.”
“Then who—”
“A squire’s daughter,” he said brusquely. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Charlotte studied his face. Her own was ridiculously easy to read. She knew that it mattered. She knew that it was the reason for all of this. For the miserable state of the house and of Magnus himself.
His shoulders slumped. He was suddenly more tired than he’d been in his life. “The constable will be returning with Miss Champion forthwith,” he said. “You must rest until then. Save your strength.”
“That won’t be for an hour, at least,” Charlotte said. “That leaves plenty of time—”
“You will retire,” Magnus said. “I insist.”
Her eyes narrowed at the thread of steel in his voice. Weak and weary as she was after her injury, she was made of stern stuff. Any other female would have been quailing by now, both at his tone and his manner. “Perhaps I will,” she said. “But not because you command me.”
“I don’t care what compels you, so long as you return to your room.” He paused. “My room.” Another pause. “Whatever the hell you want to call it.”
Some of the starch went out of her spine. “I suppose I am a little tired.”
“You look it.”
“Are you trying to insult me?”
He folded his arms. “I’m attempting to put this episode back in its proper context,” he said. “We’re not married. We’re not friends. We’re not even cordial acquaintances. We’re two strangers brought together by chance.”
Charlotte stilled, staring at him. Rather than being offended by his words, she appeared vastly diverted by them. A spark lit in her blue eyes, making them gleam like twin jewels. “Oh, but that’s it!” she exclaimed. “Well done, Magnus.”
He scowled at her. Was she mocking him?
She hastened to explain. “My Grandmother Heywood always told me that an animal’s name becomes evident. One only has to wait for the flash of inspiration. And you’ve just provided it.”
His scowl deepened. “What are you on about?”
“Chance,” she said. “That’s his name.”
Magnus was incredulous. “That scruffy devil upstairs?”
“He’s not a devil,” she said. “Only neglected and misunderstood. It’s nothing a little kindness won’t remedy.” She smiled. “It cures all ills, I believe.”