Page 13 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

R ebecca entered the ballroom behind her brother and mother.

They greeted their hosts with general politeness and then wandered away as was their usual pattern.

Her brother would set their mother down with the dowagers, then he would head straight for the nearest group of political gentlemen, usually near the footman who served liquor.

Neither would glance back at her. They assumed she would find her own group of friends.

In a smaller setting, she would have no problem.

She knew how to make small talk with strangers.

But this was a ballroom stuffed with people, and she had entered the Season late.

The young girls had all made their clutch of friends.

And her older schoolmates were not in town this year for a variety of reasons, but primarily because the married ones were increasing.

Just about everyone she called a friend was married.

“Oh sweet angel, I have been waiting an age for you to arrive!”

She smiled as Baron Courbis sauntered up to her. He was a broad man with exquisite taste in clothes. His hazel eyes sparkled when he saw the flowers pinned to her bodice.

“I knew the lilac would be perfect on you.” He took a deep breath. “Smells heavenly when it mixes so sweetly with you.”

She felt her cheeks flush. He’d worn a lilac waistcoat to match the flowers he’d sent, and when he bowed to kiss her hand, his gaze travelled lovingly over the flowers she’d pinned to her gown and then slid down to linger on her cleavage.

Fletcher had ordered all her gowns altered to emphasize her bosom.

She thought it just on the edge of vulgar, but there was no denying the male attention she received.

Whether because of her breasts or her dowry, she’d already been labelled a success.

Of course, out of all the gentlemen who stepped forward to scribble their name on her dance card, none was as attentive as the baron.

He never left her side as she slowly walked the perimeter of the ballroom.

She was looking for some of her old friends while he entertained her with constant expressions of his devotion.

“Did you find any entertaining books at the lending library? I recall that you were specifically looking for a tome on medicinal plants.”

It was uncanny how well he remembered her plans.

“Sadly, I didn’t find anything useful. At least nothing I haven’t read before. Though I did find some fun things.”

“A few novels of romance and derring-do?” His brows rows suggestively.

“Maybe.” She did have a weakness for those silly tales. Who didn’t want to read about love and adventure? “Oh, hello Mr. Moltzer, Mr. Bremen.” She curtsied politely to the gentlemen, then offered her dance card at the appropriate time.

The baron stood by, looking on like a disapproving uncle.

Once the niceties were completed, he took her arm and continued to escort her around the room.

“You know,” he said as they moved past the lemonade, “I was at a bookseller’s yesterday and saw something you might like.

Have you read, William Withering’s Account of the Foxglove and Some of its Medical Uses ? ”

She turned to stare at him. “No, I have not, but I have heard of it. Please tell me the name of the bookseller. I shall get a copy immediately.”

“Oh dear, I’m afraid he can no longer help you,” the baron said with teasing smile. “His last copy was purchased this morning.”

She sighed. “Well, perhaps he can find me—”

“By me, my dear. I bought it off him, sent it round as I was leaving to come here. It’s probably waiting in your bedroom now.” He leaned forward and tapped her nose. “Promise me you won’t stay up all night reading it.”

She blinked. “I shall promise you no such thing!” And though she knew it was improper for her to accept such a precious gift from a man not related to her, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse it. But she could attempt to be proper. “Pray let me repay you. That book was probably very expensive.”

“You are worth it, my dear. And if I have my way, I shall be buying you many more books in the years to come.”

She flushed and looked away. He was always saying things like that, declaring his interest for all to hear. It would be delightful in a man who had known her for years, but their acquaintance was barely a week old.

“I have embarrassed you,” he said, his voice filled with contrition. “Janet used to tell me that my passions overwhelmed people. That I should moderate my public desires. It is only that when I see something I desperately want, I cannot stop myself.”

Janet was his first wife, tragically gone of childbed fever. “How was your daughter this morning? Has she recovered from her cough?”

“Nanny says she is nearly recovered. But of course, what she really needs is a new mother. And perhaps a brother.” At this, he slid his hand down her arm to grasp her fingers through their gloves.

The fabric muted his touch, but she felt his meaning like a heavy cloak.

He was clearly anxious to find a new wife, and he’d obviously selected her.

But why? Why her?

Just about any woman in the room would leap at the chance to marry him. He was handsome, rich, and not disgustingly old. At thirty-nine, he wasn’t young, rash, or foolish either. She should be falling over herself at his attention.

Instead, she felt a bit smothered. And ungrateful.

He was giving her wonderful gifts, showering her with more attention than she’d ever received.

Better yet, he’d encouraged her to talk about her interests (medicines) and her fears (biting insects).

They’d even discussed her teenage disaster with Nate, and he had seemed to understand.

Teenagers are so impetuous, he’d said, and relayed a tale of his own adolescence.

He’d been trapped by a scheming barmaid and discovered by her horrible mother. He’d barely escaped marrying the shrew which, he claimed, was very similar to her own tale. An innocent teenager faced disaster because of someone else’s duplicity.

But Nate hadn’t been duplicitous or scheming, and so she’d explained. But the baron waved away her comment with casual dismissal. “You were innocent. He was not.” Then he’d taken her hand and kissed it. “I forgive you,” he’d said.

And the next morning—during Fletcher’s regular grilling of her activities—her brother had crowed about how generous the baron was being about her indiscretion. No other gentleman, he claimed, would be so understanding.

That was likely true. So why wasn’t she falling at the baron’s feet?

Why wasn’t she blushing with delight every time he whispered that he wanted to deepen their relationship?

She wanted to get married. She wanted children, and he already had a four-year-old girl desperate for a mother.

She’d met little Edith on their walk in Hyde Park.

The girl had been sweet as she’d walked alongside her nurse.

He was everything a woman could desire in a husband: attentive, understanding, and rich. But she just wasn’t sure. Or perhaps she didn’t trust herself to know what she wanted.

“Why?” she abruptly blurted.

The baron stopped their slow circuit of the ballroom. “Why what?”

Oh! Goodness, she hadn’t meant to be so blunt. But now she’d said it, so she might as well explain. “You’ve been so attentive, Baron Courbis. Wonderful and amazing.” So many adjectives could apply. “But why me? You could have anyone.”

He chuckled and patted her hand. “So modest. Beauty, intelligence, and modesty. What more could a man want?”

That didn’t seem like a real answer, and she gently removed her hand from his. “Your first wife was correct. You’re overwhelming sometimes.”

“But surely that’s not a problem. She understood that it came from a place of love.”

“Of course,” she said as she resumed walking. He matched her pace, his words earnest.

“Do you wish me to declare myself? I will. I have! I shall go down on one knee now—”

“No!” Her cry was too loud and nearby people turned to look at her. She felt her cheeks heat as she quickly moved further down the room. “No,” she repeated. “I’ve just gotten to London. I been here barely a week. I cannot make such a decision so quickly.”

He firmly picked up her arm and placed it on his. She could have resisted, but that would be churlish.

“I know my mind,” he said in an undertone. “What can I do to convince you that we are perfect for one another? Tell me, and it shall be done.”

Who wouldn’t be overcome by such a statement?

By such a declaration! She couldn’t think of a thing that would satisfy her questions.

Especially since they’d had some version of this conversation at least three times already.

Why do you want me? Because you’re beautiful or intelligent.

This was the first time he’d added “modest,” but that was hardly convincing.

She needed a way to get him to answer honestly. But how…

She bit her lip, the bottle in her reticule suddenly burned into her awareness. Indeed, she’d tried to forget it several times this week, but her maid insisted she keep it with her at all times. And the dratted woman kept adding it to her tiny purse.

Just how far was the baron willing to go? Just how much silliness would he accept from her in the name of honesty? Especially since their entire future hung in the balance?

“I should like a private conversation with you,” she began.

“Done.”

“But, um, only after…well, it’s silly, of course.”

“I adore silly.”

Really? He’d disparaged the way his daughter had pretended to be a walking flower. Rebecca had thought it sweet and funny.

“It’s a silly thing my maid wants me to try.”

He turned to face her. “Sounds intriguing.”

“It’s a truth serum. You’d drink it a half hour or so before—”

“What? Truly?”

She shrugged. “Well, I should like to know if it works. And I should like to have a private conversation with you.”

“Do you have it with you?”

She blinked. “Uh, well, yes. But it doesn’t—”

“Give it to me. I shall take it now. The dancing is about to begin. That should be enough time, yes?”

“I, um, I suppose so.”

“And then after the set is done, we can take a walk in the gardens. No wait, that won’t be private enough, will it?”

Given the size of the ball, it wouldn’t be very private. Everyone would want to wander during the pause between sets.

“I know. There’s a window into the library. I’ll make sure it’s open, then we can stroll outside before ducking in there.”

She frowned. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“Taken a truth serum? Of course not. But every gentleman knows how to be secretive when a lady’s honor is at stake.”

She stared at him, completely overwhelmed. Again. The man did nothing by halves. “Baron, surely this is not the right—”

“Come, come. It’s time to be a little daring, don’t you think? Give me the potion.”

What could she do? He was insistent upon it now. She opened her reticule and pulled out the small bottle. It was made of heavy clay with a cork stopper. It could contain anything from simple water to poison, but he clearly trusted her. He pulled out the cork and sniffed.

“There’s lemon in there, I think.” He looked at her. “Do you know the recipe for this?”

“No. It came from an apothecary. But you shouldn’t—”

Too late. He’d already tipped the full bottle into his mouth and swallowed.