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

L ady Rebecca tucked away her novel and dismounted from the travelling carriage, breathing deeply of the London air despite the coal dust that hung everywhere.

She was out of the carriage and away from her mother—for a moment—and that was cause for relief.

As was the idea that she would be able to get a new book soon.

Indeed, she couldn’t wait to get to the lending library. But first—

“Don’t just stand there!” her mother called. “Help me out!”

Rebecca sighed. First, she had to get her mother settled in their London home. She smiled, reminding herself that she was moments away from locking herself in her room to read. She just had to get through this final bit.

“Here you go, Mama,” she said as she extended her hand. A footman stood by her side, his own gloved hand outstretched. Together, they got the Countess of Estril safely onto the street outside their Mayfair townhouse.

“Where is Fletcher? He was supposed to meet us here.”

“I’m sure he’ll show up soon,” Rebecca lied. She wasn’t sure of any such thing, but her mother liked to believe everyone was at her beck and call. And sometimes she was right.

Like now, when Fletcher appeared at the front door and then condescended to come greet them halfway down the walk. His expression was pulled into his habitual smile, one that never reached his eyes and often missed his tone.

“Welcome,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Hello Fletch—”

“Mama!” he cried with all semblance of enthusiasm. “How can it be that after all those hours of travel, you look as if you are freshly stepped from the boudoir?”

“Oh stop with those Frenchie terms,” Mama chided. “We’re at war with them, you know.”

“Have we ever stopped?” her brother quipped.

“All the more reason to call it my bedchamber.”

“Absolutely not!” her brother said, his brows arching. “You shall never hear me refer to such a location that way, as it pertains to my beautiful mother. Come inside. I’ve made sure the tea is ready.”

Their mother dimpled prettily and allowed Fletcher to escort her into the house.

Rebecca was left to watch the baggage to make sure it was adequately unloaded and sent to the right rooms. Normally this would be the job of the butler, but he seemed to be occupied elsewhere.

Didn’t matter. She knew how to direct servants.

Just because their London home was Fletcher’s primary establishment, that didn’t mean she was unprepared.

And truthfully, she relished the moments away from her mother.

“Rebecca! Quit dawdling and come here. Fletcher has things to tell you.”

“Coming Mama,” she replied, feeling a twinge of guilt because she had been lingering. “Are you feeling chilled?” she asked as she entered the house. “Shall I fetch your shawl?”

“Chilled?” her mother said, rolling her eyes. “It’s perfectly warm in here. Now come listen to what Fletcher has to tell you.”

Rebecca dutifully crossed into the parlor to face her second brother.

How handsome he was, she realized, as he stood right where the sun would turn his hair to burnished gold.

But his face was sour, and his words likely moreso.

She didn’t know what had happened to the sweet boy he’d been.

As an adult, Fletcher was a pompous ass.

Nevertheless, he was her second older brother, and she was unmarried.

Custom dictated that she must listen to him, and she did. She just didn’t always obey.

Rebecca faced him, gave him the tiniest bit of her attention, and began thinking about something else entirely. She’d already realized that her best friends from school were away this Season, but maybe some of their younger sisters were around.

“Yes, Fle—”

“I’ve done a great deal to arrange your visit to London. I’ve told all the right people that you’re here. I know Mama would like to rest this evening and I haven’t the time to squire you about today anyway, but it’s time to get serious about marriage.”

She bristled at the statement but didn’t interrupt.

It only caused more delays. Besides, he was right.

She was much older than most girls in their come-out, and though she’d been to London on and off for the last five years, she’d never caught a husband.

And now, at twenty-seven years old, she was technically on the shelf, but she still had hopes.

Fortunately, she’d sent her measurements ahead, and several gowns should be waiting for her upstairs.

“I should be happy to accompany you tomorrow,” she said, hoping it was true.

“Good. I’ve primed the pump with several gentlemen, and thanks to your dowry, you should take with one of them. But you must follow my directions.”

Follow his directions? “Fletch, I’m perfectly capable of selecting my own husband—”

Her brother dropped down to one knee before her, his expression kind even if his words were not. “I don’t want to hurt you, but it’s time for plain speaking, don’t you think?” He turned on that last bit, his brow arched at their mother.

Right on cue, Mama sighed and nodded. “He’s right, dear. You’ve had five Seasons to find a husband.”

“Interrupted Seasons, late start Seasons,” Rebecca reminded them, but Fletcher squeezed her hands to silence her.

“And you’ve always gone for the wrong kind of gentleman. Always. ”

She winced. Always her family returned to her indiscretion when she was sixteen. They had good reason to. What she’d done was foolish and had had dire consequences. But why did one mistake when she was a teenager have to color her entire life?

“That was ten years ago,” she said. “I’m a grown woman now.”

“Of course you are,” he soothed, “but you’ve led a sheltered life. You don’t know London the way I do, and you certainly don’t understand men. Add in your very large dowry, and every blackguard in England will be trying to seduce you.”

“I know—”

“I won’t let you fall for another rake or scoundrel.”

She hadn’t fallen for anyone. She’d never had the chance.

As soon as she showed a partiality to anyone, she’d been whisked away back to Cornwall because Mama fell ill or something had to be managed there.

Bad timing or ill luck didn’t matter. She’d ended up aging another year with no appropriate suitor.

Even this Season was already underway because Fletcher had said he couldn’t find the time to escort her until now.

“I’ll be careful,” she said. “I’m not so gullible—”

He sighed and truly looked apologetic as he began listing off all the gentlemen she’d shown some partiality toward.

“Do you recall Mr. O’Brien? Debtor’s prison right now.

How about that Van Der Berg gentleman? He was drummed out of society for scandalous activities.

Then there was Lord Cholmondeley. At least he had a title, but what a rake!

My dear, you fell for them all and if we hadn’t gotten you back home, you’d be miserable right now, married to a wretch, and fat with his babe. ”

She looked away. She truly had enjoyed the company of those gentlemen. If they were now exposed as fortune hunters, then she really didn’t know how to judge London company. And that thought ate at her confidence.

“I won’t mention the men back home,” he added with a repulsed shudder.

“There haven’t been any,” she snapped. Except for Nate, but that had been ten years ago.

“Nevertheless, you must see my point. You don’t know anyone in London or how to judge their true intentions.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Her friends from school might not be here, but there were girls she’d met during other Seasons.

Most were married with children now, but she planned to visit as many as she could.

“I’ve been writing to several of my friends,” she said. “If you would give me the schedule, I—”

“Yes, yes, of course I’ll tell you the schedule. Every morning over breakfast, I’ll tell you where you’re going and who you’ll meet. I’ve got it all planned, so you needn’t worry about anything.”

“I’m not worried—” she said.

“Good. Because I’m running for our seat in the House of Commons. There’s a lot to do with managing that, meeting the right people, and greasing the right palms.”

She winced. She didn’t like to think that her government ran on bribes, but according to Fletcher, everyone everywhere wanted a bribe and only a fool would ignore that.

“Oh don’t worry,” Mama said as she beamed at Fletcher. “Henry will support you. You’re very well thought of back home. You’ll get the votes.”

Henry was her oldest brother and the current viscount. He held his place in the House of Lords by virtue of being born first. Fletcher, on the other hand, had to make his political bones in the House of Commons, and that required the county to vote him in. And not everyone back home loved him.

Fletcher smiled. “You see me with the eyes of love, Mama. But in order for this family to prosper, we must all pitch in. And that means Rebecca cannot make a bad marriage.”

“I don’t intend to,” she said, some of her pique showing through.

“And you won’t,” Fletcher returned, “I’ll make sure of it. Henry has given me total control over the selection.”

Unfortunately, that was true. Her oldest brother despised London, hated the social rounds, and wanted nothing more than to live in the country with his books. He knew as little as possible about the peerage and would follow Fletcher’s advice in such things.

Nevertheless, she’d had to draw clear lines with both brothers over the years, and this was the clearest, darkest line she could imagine.

“You’re not picking my husband,” she said, her voice firm.

He sighed, the sound coming from deep inside him. “You want a husband, don’t you? You don’t want to molder away as a spinster, do you?”

“No,” she admitted. “I don’t, but—”

“Then you must let me guide you or you’ll end with a fortune hunter or worse.” His expression softened as he gave her a tender smile. “I will get you what you want. I promise.”

“I’m twenty-seven. I know my own mind.”