Page 17 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

Charlotte’s lips trembled.

“As to the house…” Her husband returned to the bed, frowning. “You’re not an imp or a fairy, I take it? Not a goddess possessed of supernatural power?”

She eyed him uncertainly as he sat down on the mattress beside her. “No. Of course not.”

“You don’t possess some latent ability to lift evil curses?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“Then such capabilities as this house requires are beyond you.”

She searched her husband’s face, intrigued in spite of herself. “You’re saying this house is cursed? Like a castle in a fairy story?”

He picked up the teapot from the tray. “Anyone else would tell you the same.”

“Fairy stories aren’t real.”

“No indeed.” He poured out her tea. “Fairy stories have happy endings.”

Charlotte knit her brows. “And ours doesn’t?”

“Our story?” His mouth hitched briefly. There was no humor in the expression. “You and I don’t have a story, my lady.”

Her throat tightened painfully. She silently accepted the cup of tea when he passed it to her. He’d only filled it halfway, making it easier for her to lift to her lips without sitting all the way up in bed. The consideration stood in sharp contrast to the harshness of his words.

She took a meditative sip. “You don’t like me at all, do you?”

Lord Eversleigh stilled. For a moment she didn’t think he would answer. Possibly because she’d offended him. Possibly because he didn’t care. It was difficult to tell by his expression. He was incredibly hard to read.

She’d almost given up any hope of a reply when⁠—

“I don’t know you at all,” he said. “Our acquaintance has been of short duration.”

Her brows lifted. “We are newlyweds?”

“Something like that.” He moved to rise.

Charlotte touched his sleeve, arresting his movement. “Then…we haven’t lived here long?”

His eyes met hers. They weren’t steel gray at all, she realized. They were softer. Smokier. Like the morning fog on the moors. “Is that what you’ve been thinking?” he asked.

“I’ve been wondering about the house’s condition.”

He made a dismissive sound. “It’s always been thus at its core, even when there was an entire staff of servants to clean and polish all day long. It was never what you would call a home.”

“Our servants?”

“My father’s servants. The late Earl. This was his estate.”

Her head throbbed, struggling to make sense of things. “But not yours?” she asked.

“I grew up here,” Lord Eversleigh said. “And then I was gone. I’ve only returned for a time.”

“With me,” she concluded. “Then…it’s not our home at all.”

His lips twisted in another bitter smile at the relief in her words. “You sound pleased to hear it.”

“I am,” she admitted frankly. “I thought all of this was my fault.”