Page 26 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

R ebecca watched Nate leave and her heart sank into her gut.

She knew she’d hurt him. Even before he’d walked away, she’d seen the betrayal stark on his face.

But the idea that Nate—the boy who couldn’t sit still for more than two minutes—could write not just one book, but several? It was ludicrous.

For whatever reason, he felt the need to create dangers all around him. Secrets and lies, dramatics fit for…well, for any of the novels that Minerva Press published.

She frowned, an unwelcome twinge pulsing through her belly.

Nate had fabricated tales as long as she’d known him. Pirates had been his favorite subject, but she remembered a story about a great inventor who created a flying machine. He’d flown over the world, seeing great sights.

Just like in another book. This one titled Memoirs of a Flying Magician . She’d loved that one so much, she’d started it over from the beginning as soon as she’d read the last page.

She stood up and searched the shelves for a copy. She found one that was tattered and obviously well-used. Just as she remembered, the author’s name was the character’s name, Menard da Vinci, the descendant of the great inventor.

As she scanned the shelves, she saw that pennames were common. One of her favorite novels, Sense and Sensibility , was written by “a lady.” Others listed “a gentleman” or “XYZ” or “author of” an earlier work. Which meant that Nate could be the writer or he could simply be pretending.

She thumbed through the flying magician book, scanning the prose to see if it resembled Pirate Lucifer’s book.

It did. The style was certainly the same, but the Nate she remembered would not have hidden his authorship.

He loved crowing about his accomplishments.

She remembered him bragging about the extraordinarily exquisite pig wallow he’d constructed. He’d told everyone!

And, to give him his due, it had been very well done. But it was not something most men would claim as a great accomplishment. Of course, Nate had been seventeen at the time. A boy, really, and boys bragged. Especially to girls who listened.

Setting the book back, Rebecca resolved then and there to figure out the truth of it. She couldn’t trust anyone she knew, but she had the means right here. Assuming she could credibly lie to a stranger.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked with determination into the offices of the Minerva Press. She approached the nearest secretary and gave him a winning smile.

“I should like to talk to Mr. Newman, if you please.”

The young man frowned at her. “I’m sorry, Miss—”

“You may tell him that Lady Rebecca Pendarves is here. And that I wish to speak to him regarding Lord Nathaniel Killigrew.”

The young man gaped for a moment, and she arched her brow in a way that Fletcher and her mother had perfected years ago. This was her first time trying it in public, and it turned out to be surprisingly effective.

“Er, um, yes, my lady. One moment.”

She stood waiting, her gaze travelling over the narrow space. Books and papers lay everywhere, and she itched to read them all. She’d never been to a publisher before, and she found the place intriguing. Damn, it was hard to keep her air of aloof aristocracy when surrounded by books in the making!

“Good morning, Lady Rebecca. How may I help you today?”

She turned as Mr. Newman’s greeting. “Good morning, sir. Is there a place we could speak? Someplace private?”

“Yes, right this way.”

He led her to his office which was moderately clean compared to everywhere else. Nothing on the floor, a small window, and a very large desk covered in books, though these appeared to be account books.

At Mr. Newman’s gesture, she found her seat. He took his, a moment later. “Would you like—”

“Why were you arguing with Lord Nathaniel?” she interrupted.

“Er, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Time to bring out that arch look again. She did so, then abruptly abandoned it.

Acting haughty wasn’t in her nature. “Let me explain. I have known Lord Nathaniel since we were children. I’ve stood by his side when our families quarreled.

” That was an understatement on so many levels.

“I have only his best interest at heart.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” he said, clearly confused as to why she was telling him this.

Now it was time for the big lie. “I know all of his secrets,” she said. “Or nearly all. And I am in a position to help him over certain difficulties. If, perhaps, he should need the assistance.”

He frowned. “I fail to see what help you could provide.”

“Are his accounts in arrears?”

The man’s eyes widened. “Er, no, my lady.”

Oh hell. She was in the wrong then. “Then it is you who are defaulting in payment?” That was what Nate had said, hadn’t he?

“Uh, no! Er, I mean, his account… I…” He straightened in his seat. “It is not appropriate for me to discuss these things with a lady.”

She nodded. He did have a point. First, women were rarely included in financial matters. Second, she had no claim to Nate’s business matters. “Very true,” she said. “But you see, I am in a position to help you with what you want.”

“You are?”

“A new manuscript, yes?”

Mr. Newman’s relief was palpable. “So you do know.”

She did now. “I told you as much, didn’t I?” And now she owed Nate a huge apology. “Did you think he would give you what you want if you resist paying him what he is owed?”

He man snorted. “The money will be paid when—”

“The money will be paid now.” She leaned forward. “I am only middling with accounts, sir. I can add and subtract better than most. Percentages come easily to me. And I am a fair hand at deciphering appalling handwriting.”

He frowned at her.

“But my brother, the Earl of Estril, is a veritable genius. He sorts things out for all our friends. It would take him no time at all to figure out what is owed Lord Nathaniel.”

“There is no need for that!” the man said stiffly.

“Well, that is excellent news!” she said as she pushed up from her seat. “Once those accounts are settled, then I am sure I can help Lord Nathaniel with his promise to you.”

“And what exactly do you do for Lord Nathaniel?” Mr. Newman’s tone wasn’t exactly insolent, but it did suggest more than a friendly relationship.

“I sometimes act as his secretary when I’m in town. Appalling handwriting, that man.” She tsked. “I wonder how you decipher it at all.”

He dipped his chin. “It has been a challenge at times.”

“I shouldn’t wonder. Well, let me see what can be done. There are so many demands on his time, you know. It’s—”

“But he’s finished his newspaper work! I double-checked to be sure. I assumed that was so he could spend more of his time writing for me.”

Newspaper work? Good God, Nate really had been Mr. Pickleherring.

“And how would you know that?” she asked, her voice stiff.

The man folded his arms across his chest. “Do you think I’m completely ignorant? There aren’t that many people who write like Lord Nathaniel. I’d recognize his wit if he signed it from the Prince Regent.”

“Really? But what about the recent bits? The parts about—”

“Miss Kynthea Petrelli?” The man huffed. “I was surprised by those bits. Not like him at all. I wondered if he’d been struck ill.”

Rebecca’s hands tightened on her reticule. “Almost as if they were written by someone else?”

He brightened. “That’s it exactly! They were written by someone who glories in the petty.”

“Someone mean.” Like her brother.

“Yes!” He blew out a breath. “Which means I think it appropriate that the column was ended. If Lord Nathaniel hasn’t the time for it, then I’m glad he knows we are his first priority.

I don’t even care which series he continues, so long as I have pages from him on a regular schedule.

” He gave her a pointed look. “He’s one of our slowest writers, you know.

He cannot risk the public losing interest in him.

Which means he needs to send me pages on a regular, dependable schedule. ”

Rebecca met his gaze but inside her belly was twisting into knots.

The Nate she remembered could never be kept to a dependable schedule.

She doubted it was possible now. Either way, she couldn’t promise to keep him on track.

She couldn’t promise he’d even speak to her now.

But she could try to keep his publisher from hounding him.

She pulled out her haughty look and prayed that it would work. “Lord Nathaniel has a great many priorities that have nothing to do with you. I shall do my utmost to help him on your behalf,” she said, trying to appear gracious, “but neither of us answer to his other obligations.”

The man frowned. “What other—”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Newman. I shall see myself out.”

She turned on her heel and walked out with as much dignity as she could muster. Which was all well and good regarding Mr. Newman, but now she had to find a way to apologize to Nate. That was going to be hard, given that his good-bye had sounded final. As in he never wanted to speak to her again.

She didn’t blame him. She knew that Nate prized his honor, and she’d just called him a bold-faced liar. Lord, her brother was right. She had terrible judgment!

And speaking of her brother, there was one more thing she needed to understand. She didn’t relish the thought of confronting Fletcher—that never went well. So if she was going to do it, then she had to be absolutely certain of her facts.

But first things first. She grabbed copies of Pirate Lucifer’s books. She knew she had a better copy of the magician book already, so she skipped that. She should have found a way to ask Mr. Newman which other series Nate had penned, but these would have to do for now.

She purchased those, then collected her maid from the opposite corner of the library where she was sharing tea and gossip with the other servants gathered there.

Normally, Rebecca would disdain such talk, but she was beginning to see that information was vital.

Accurate or inaccurate, one had to understand what was said.

And out of everyone she knew, her maid Missy was very good at hearing what was said.

“Come along,” she said. “I’ve got one more appointment before we head back home.”

“Yes, milady,” Missy answered. “Where are we going, if I might ask.”

Rebecca waited until they were out of earshot. And then she squared her shoulders and headed in the appropriate direction.

“Milady?”

“We’re headed to the newspaper office. I have some things I need to read.”

Like every column Mr. Pickleherring had ever written, and in particular, the very last two. And after that, she intended to have a very serious conversation with her middle brother.