Page 97 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

Agatha frowned under the weight of Charlotte’s regard. “What I wish, is to find even a fraction of the happiness that you have found.”

“A very diplomatic answer,” Charlotte replied. “You attempt to disarm me with a roundabout compliment.”

“I also wish that you didn’t have to move all the way to Yorkshire after you marry,” Agatha said. “I shall miss you dreadfully.”

Charlotte smiled at that. “You won’t have to miss me. Magnus is taking a house for us here in Somerset.”

Agatha came to a surprised halt by the Christmas tree. “Is he truly?”

Charlotte stopped along with her. “He is,” she answered. “Moorcross Manor is in such a terrible state. It will be a long while before it’s made fit to live in. And we neither of us wish to reside in town.”

“When did—you⁠—?”

“This morning,” Charlotte said. “It was one of my Christmas presents.”

“He gave you a house?” Agatha shot an astonished glance at Magnus. “I hesitate to ask what his other gifts were.”

Charlotte followed her sister’s gaze, catching Magnus’s eye from across the room. His mouth ticked up at one corner in silent reply. She smiled foolishly back at him, recalling the way he’d kissed her this morning when they’d encountered each other on the stair on their way down to breakfast. It was when he’d told her about the house, and when he’d given her the diamond necklace and bracelet that matched her engagement ring.

“Look how well he fits into our family,” Charlotte said proudly.

It was a great source of satisfaction to her, especially since Magnus had initially been reluctant to accept her invitation to come to Heywood House with them. Not many newly engaged gentlemen would have been willing to face their fiancée’s extended relations on a moment’s notice. But Magnus had acquiesced for her sake. He’d met them all, the Beresfords and the Heywoods, suffering through the endless congratulations (and interrogations) and coming out the other side, not as a stranger any longer, but as a member of the family.

“He fits better with the Heywood side than the Beresford side, I think,” Agatha observed. “It’s known for its grumpy soldiers and naval officers.”

“Nick and Arthur like him too,” Charlotte pointed out. “And Mama and Papa.”

“Papa likes that you’re happy,” Agatha said. “As for Mama… She’ll be even happier knowing that you’ll remain in Somerset for a time. She’ll doubtless have a whole list of houses to recommend to you.”

Charlotte squeezed her sister’s arm as the two of them resumed their perambulations. “What about your happiness, Aggie?” she asked. “You’ve been so much on your own lately, always closeted away with your letter writing.”

Agatha dismissed the question with a shrug. “I’ve always had a healthy correspondence. You know that.”

“It used to be healthy. Now it’s downright mysterious. Who is it you’ve been writing to so diligently?”

Casting a cautious glance around them, Agatha drew Charlotte farther into the corner. Their words were all but drowned out by the pounding of the piano. Agatha nevertheless sunk her voice. “Do you remember the Duke of Rutledge’s second youngest son, Lord Standish? The one who was always so rude to us whenever we encountered his family in London?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “No!”

Agatha nodded solemnly. “We crossed paths again when Mama and I were in town in the spring. He was still rude, and still excessively impressed with himself, but…”

“But?”

“He was interested in submitting an article to the Animal Advocate. He asked if he might write to me for advice on how best to go about it.”

Charlotte couldn’t believe it. The gentleman she remembered had had no interest in academic pursuits, and even less in animal welfare journals. “And he’s written?”

“He has,” Agatha said. “But not for advice. Or rather, not after the first two letters.”

“Agatha!” Charlotte breathed.

A rare flush of pink stained her sister’s cheeks. “Stop.”

“He must have grown very clever since last I saw him,” Charlotte said. Her sister would be impressed by nothing else. Not handsomeness, certainly. Not riches, either.

“I confess, he didn’t strike me as being clever when we met, nor even in his first two letters, but his subsequent ones read as if they were written by a completely different person. He’s kind and compassionate. And rather progressive in his views. Indeed, I wouldn’t have thought a duke’s son would have had such a vast and varied experience among the common folk.”

“Nor would I.”