Page 57 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

“I may not remember everything about them, but I know that they teased my sister and me mercilessly. We’re well armored for it.”

Magnus didn’t reply. He was unusually focused on his bread and jam. Anything rather than engage with her on the subject of his past.

Charlotte sipped her tea until he finished eating. She could see from his face that he was no more disposed to confide in her than the first time she’d mentioned the scandal. It didn’t prevent her from trying once more. “Won’t you tell me?” she asked gently.

His brows lowered. “Charlotte…”

“You’ve already admitted to there being another version. Your version. I simply wish to hear it.” She refilled his cup. The tea wouldn’t be hot any longer, but that wasn’t important. It was the gesture that mattered. It was another sign of her friendship. Her willingness to listen. “That’s not too much to ask, surely, given all that we’ve been through together? For you to tell me what really happened all those years ago?”

Magnus frowned as he took the proffered cup from her. Never had she seen him looking so somber. So pensive.

At length, he exhaled. It was as weary a sigh as she’d ever heard. “There are two schools of thought on the matter,” he said.

Charlotte straightened in her seat. Her every attention fixed upon him. She didn’t speak. Not yet. She had the feeling that a single wrong word on the subject would silence Magnus forever.

“The villagers would tell you that I courted Miss Farr with a view to marrying her,” he continued. “They would say that, when confronted by her family about my intentions, I unilaterally disavowed them.” He returned his teacup to the table without taking a drink. “My version of the story is somewhat different.”

Charlotte’s stomach tightened with mingled anxiety and anticipation. The very air around them was thick with tension. She rather thought she could hear a pin drop.

“It doesn’t change anything,” he said. “I’m guilty all the same.”

She huffed at his abrupt demurral, unable to hold her tongue. “Yes, but guilty of what exactly?”

Magnus’s mouth twisted at one corner in a bitter parody of a smile. “Of kindness.”

Had anyone told Magnus a month ago that, in the very near future, he’d find himself sitting in the kitchen of Moorcross Manor, across from the loveliest young lady he’d ever beheld, discussing the darkest part of his life, he’d have thought them mad.

Yet, here he was.

And here Charlotte was. She didn’t seem inclined to go until she had her answers.

Loathe as Magnus was to give them to her, he supposed it could do no real harm. He wanted her to leave, didn’t he? And what better method to drive her away than to tell her the unpleasant truth about his past?

The trouble was…

He was no longer sure that he wanted her to leave. Even if the whole of their acquaintance was built on a lie. Had been built on a lie from the first. Yes, even then. It was too easy to succumb to the lovely fiction of it all. Seated with her, having tea and conversation, as if they truly were friends.

Or perhaps something more.

Which they very well might be once news of her having spent the night with him was trumpeted abroad.

Yet another reason to hesitate. If they were obliged to wed purely to redeem her tarnished honor, did he really want her thinking the worst of him? It was bad enough that she might find herself shackled to a beastly excuse for an earl, with no grand house and no great fortune to his name. No handsome face, either. The very least he could give her was an unblemished account of his past.

But what use were more lies to either of them?

“Kindness?” Charlotte repeated. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Magnus agreed. “But then, you didn’t know my father.”

She waited for him to go on, still unnervingly attentive. Magnus had the sense that her blue eyes could see to the very heart of him.

What heart there was left.

“He used to keep this place as finely as a palace,” Magnus said. “A fleet of servants, imported wall hangings, hampers of food brought specially from London. It was partially in honor of my mother. She began restoring the estate when they married. She was known for her exquisite taste. After her death, my father was consumed with maintaining her legacy. Improving upon it as well. There was nothing too fine for the house or too costly for the gardens. He spared no expense.”

Charlotte cast a sidelong glance at the dilapidated kitchen around them. She didn’t have to ask what happened. The question was plain on her face.

Magnus speared his fingers through his hair. “My father believed in tradition. He thought we Sterlings were a cut above everyone else. We can trace our lineage back centuries, he used to say. Who in Yorkshire can boast the same? There’s not a one who’s worthy to be entertained in our smallest parlor.”