Page 99 of Miss Beresford and the Beast

“That was before,” he said.

She searched his face. “And now?”

A solemn smile lit his gray eyes. “It wasn’t an ordeal,” he said. “It was a gift.”

Charlotte’s heart swelled. She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She understood him perfectly. Magnus had never had a family before. And now he did, thanks to her. “It seems only fair,” she said. “You’ve given me so many.”

“Speaking of which…” He directed her attention back to her mother and grandmother. They were watching Magnus and Charlotte expectantly from their seats in front of the fire. “Shall we rejoin your family and choose the house where we’ll settle as newlyweds? Mrs. Heywood and Lady St. Clare have several in mind.”

“I don’t care where we settle,” Charlotte said. “So long as we’re together. And so long as there’s plenty of room for Artemis, Chance, and Mr. Aloysius.” She paused. “And any other animals that might come along.”

Magnus offered her his arm. “There will be room for as many horses, dogs, and cats as my love requires.”

Charlotte beamed up at him. Slipping her hand in Magnus’s arm, she returned with him to her family—to their family—and to planning the glorious future that awaited them, here in Somerset and beyond.

Author’s Note

When writing Miss Beresford and the Beast, I wanted this story to be a small cast, with the main focus not on the intricacies of history, or on the Heywood/Beresford extended family, but on the relationship between Magnus and Charlotte, the subject of memory and what that means for each of them, and the importance of seeing past someone’s defenses to their true character beneath.

I did, however, feel compelled to include two bits of actual history, one from the Victorian era and one from my own life.

Magnus’s ship, the HMS Euryalus, was a real warship that took heavy cannon fire during the 1863 Bombardment of Kagoshima. Both the ship’s captain and commander were killed as a consequence. I imagined that, as a junior officer, this battle would not only have resulted in Magnus rising through the ranks more swiftly than was normal, but that it would explain some of his disenchantment with serving in the Navy.

The incident from my own history isn’t quite so bloody or dramatic. It involves a little, black rescue Chihuahua named John who I fostered many years ago. He had been abused and didn’t trust people. After the first week in my care, I didn’t think I could get through to him. All he wanted to do was hide. I spoke with the head of the rescue organization, telling her that I thought we would have to find him another foster home. She suggested I put John on a collar and leash and, for the next week, keep him with me wherever I went, even in the house.

Miraculously, it worked.

John bonded with me that week, becoming so attached that I ended up adopting him. He was my canine soulmate and constant companion, seeing me through college, law school, the bar exam, and many adventures and romances, until he passed away over a decade later at a ripe old age. I’ve since dedicated several of my books to him.

This book is also a nod to my love of fairytales. I’m sure you will all recognize its many allusions to Beauty and the Beast. It’s one of my favorite fairytales, not only for the romance of it, but for what it teaches us about looking past outward appearances.

On contrast to the actual beast, you’ll notice that, in my story, Magnus isn’t overly self-conscious of his battle scars. That he’s become something of a recluse is based purely on his past, the treatment he’s received from the judgmental and unforgiving people around him, and on his own inability to forgive himself for the transgressions of his youth.

As the beauty of my story, Charlotte’s true gift to Magnus isn’t seeing past his burns, it’s seeing past the evil murk of gossip that surrounds him. That’s the primary reason I don’t focus on Magnus’s appearance in the story. His looks aren’t the reason he’s viewed as a beast. It’s the opinions of others and—more importantly—his poor opinion of himself.

Keep reading for a peek at the first book in Mimi Matthews’ acclaimed Parish Orphans of Devon series.

Available now.

CHAPTER ONE

North Devon, England

September 1859

Helena Reynolds crossed the floor of the crowded taproom, her carpetbag clutched in her trembling hands. The King’s Arms was only a small coaching inn on the North Devon coast road, but it seemed to her as if every man in Christendom had gathered there to have a pint. She could feel their eyes on her as she navigated carefully through their midst. Some stares were merely curious. Others were openly assessing.

She suppressed a shiver. She was hardly dressed for seduction in her gray striped-silk traveling gown, though she’d certainly made an effort to look presentable. After all, it was not every day that one met one’s future husband.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” the innkeeper called to her from behind the crowded bar.

“Yes. If you please, sir.” Tightening her hands on her carpetbag, she approached the high counter. A very tall man was leaning against the end of it, nursing his drink. His lean, muscular frame was shrouded in a dark wool greatcoat, his face partially hidden by his upturned collar and a tall beaver hat tipped low over his brow. She squeezed into the empty space beside him, her heavy petticoats and crinoline rustling loudly as they pressed against his leg.

She lowered her voice to address the innkeeper directly. “I’m here to see⁠—”

“Blevins!” a man across the room shouted. “Give us another round!”

Before Helena could object, the innkeeper darted off to oblige his customers. She stared after him in helpless frustration. She’d been expected at one o’clock precisely. And now, after the mix-up at the railway station and the delay with the accommodation coach—she cast an anxious glance at the small watch she wore pinned to the front of her bodice—it was already a quarter past two.