Page 56 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

No three words could have acted to quiet Charlotte’s pulse more effectively.

If Magnus were really a danger to her—or to anyone—he wouldn’t be so eager to send her away, would he? And he hadn’t confessed to killing the Farr family, after all. He’d only admitted to feeling responsible for their deaths. The two things were very different to Charlotte’s mind.

“You should sit back down,” she told him. “And it’s not Miss Beresford. It was Charlotte before I upset you and Charlotte it must remain.”

He didn’t speak. Neither did he return to his chair.

“Really, Magnus,” she said with a trace of exasperation. “You must sit down again. It makes my neck ache to look up at you in this irritating way.”

His taut countenance was transformed by immediate concern. Another scowl swiftly followed. As if every lapse into tender feeling must be masked by an even greater display of ill temper.

He returned to his seat, making a great clatter about the business. “We’re not having this conversation.”

“So you said the last time I broached the subject.”

“So I meant.” The coldness of his tone gave every indication that he considered this his final word on the subject.

Beneath the table, Chance nudged Charlotte’s knee with his nose. She tore off another piece of bread crust for him, wordlessly dropping it to the floor. It was quieter now. And not only between her and Magnus. There were no more sounds of hammering or splintering boards either. Turner must have given up his labors.

Charlotte didn’t care for it. Prolonged silence during a disagreement made everything worse. Hearts hardened, poor opinions became fixed, and prejudices grew beyond all proportion. The only solution was to talk to each other. Charlotte was sure of it. She was accustomed to expressing her emotions with words, even if those words were only to herself.

Picking up the small knife, she methodically buttered another piece of bread. She spooned some jam atop it. “If you don’t tell me what happened,” she said, “all I have to go on is everyone else’s version of the story.”

Magnus ran a hand over the back of his neck in frustration. “Why do you want to know? What difference can my version possibly make to you?”

She handed him the bread she’d prepared. “Because you’re my friend.”

Magnus’s expression fractured. “Friends?” he echoed bitterly.

She nudged him again with the bread until he finally took it. “You needn’t say it in such a disparaging way.”

Sunlight filtered through the grease-streaked window. It cast Magnus’s scarred face in harsh relief. “You don’t know me, Charlotte.”

“I think I do.” She returned to her cup of tea. “You saved my life. And you treated me kindly.”

“I threatened to shoot you.”

“You’ve convinced Chance to like you. Dogs are discerning judges of character.”

Chance looked from Charlotte to Magnus. His tail quivered hopefully.

Magnus frowned at the little dog. “I’ve made him my prisoner. He has no choice but to like me.”

“I wasn’t your prisoner.,” Charlotte pointed out. “What’s my excuse?”

An inexplicable emotion flickered in Magnus’s gaze. It was gone as quickly as it came. “You were,” he said. “For a time.”

“It didn’t feel that way.”

“Because you didn’t know who you were.”

“But now I do.” She raised her cup to her lips, confident in her reasoning. “I still came back, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he grumbled as he bit into his bread. “I begin to question your intellect.”

She smiled briefly. “If you think you can discourage my questions with childish insults, you may think again. Recall, I have two older brothers.”

“I could scarcely forget the fact.”