Page 51 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

It was all eminently logical, really.

Which didn’t prevent a quiver of trepidation from going through her as she entered the grounds. An image of Miss Farr sprang into her mind. A faceless young lady in an elegant gown, shot dead right here at the manor. Perhaps with the very same pistol that Magnus had pointed at Charlotte.

Another tremor went through her.

“Pull yourself together, Charlotte,” she muttered to herself. “This isn’t some gruesome penny dreadful. You’re simply paying a call on the gentleman who saved your life. What harm can it do? You’ve already seen him at his worst. And he’s certainly seen you at yours. There’s nothing left to fear.”

Stiffening her spine, she headed away from the gravel drive. There was no point in attempting entry at the front of the house. It was far more sensible to go to the back door. A roundabout walk through a stand of trees, a crouch under a fence-rail, and a duck through the cracks of a prickly hedge and Charlotte was in the yard outside of the kitchens.

She fully expected to hear the muted sound of spades striking dirt and stone just as she’d heard on her final day in residence. And there was noise, to be sure. Today, however, it was emanating not from the garden but from inside the manor itself. A great clamor of hammers and of boards splintering and cracking, as though the very walls were being pulled from the house’s frame.

Good gracious. Was he still hunting for whatever it was his father had hidden from him?

“A secret will, I surmise,” Charlotte murmured. “Or a cache of jewels. Or some other variety of buried treasure.”

What else could inspire a gentleman to tear apart both his garden and his house in such a careless manner?

Charlotte took a final moment to smooth her hair and dress before rapping at the kitchen door.

The clattering in the house continued unceasing.

Charlotte knocked again, harder this time, and with increasing insistence, until the noise abruptly stopped.

A muffled oath drifted from somewhere within. Another muffled voice replied to it. There seemed to be some debate.

She stood on her tiptoes to peer in the kitchen window. Through the greasy, soot-stained glass she caught a glimpse of a shadow passing by. An exceedingly large shadow.

Her heart thumped hard. It was Magnus.

He flung open the door halfway with a furious snarl. “What the devil do you mean by—” He broke off at the sight of her, visibly taken aback. “Charlotte.”

“Good morning,” she said brightly.

Magnus’s expression darkened, transforming into a scowl before her eyes. He was dressed in a plain black shirt and trousers, his collar open at the neck and his sleeves rolled up. He didn’t appear to have shaved this morning. Nor did he seem to have done much to put his hair in order. A fine scattering of wood shavings and splinters covered his chest and shoulders. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Not how are you. Not how delightful to see you. Not come in.

It was no less than Charlotte had expected.

She pasted on a smile. “I’ve come to look in on my dog.”

“Your dog,” Magnus repeated flatly.

“Chance,” she reminded him. “You haven’t forgotten your promise?”

He cast a narrow glance at the empty kitchen yard behind her. “You came alone?”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t have.” Charlotte didn’t blush at the lie. It was far kinder than the truth. To admit to him that no one else would have dared accompany her even if she’d asked them to.

“You can’t be well, then,” Magnus replied uncharitably. “Only someone with an addled brain would claim⁠—”

“My brain isn’t addled,” she interrupted. “Dr. Calthrop has given me a clean bill of health. It was he who said I might walk as far as the village today.”

“You took a wrong turn.”

“Don’t be stupid.” She craned her head to look behind him. “About my dog…?”

“Your dog is an unmitigated pain in the arse,” Magnus informed her.