Page 28 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

R ebecca spent the evening at the theater.

Normally, she would enjoy the stage productions, but the London audience was particularly rude this night.

It was hard to hear over the noise in the pit, and their seats were not the best, as they were guests of some of Fletcher’s friends—two younger sons, both with seats in the House of Commons.

And—Fletcher hoped—allies in his bid for a seat of his own.

Neither of her hosts were married, and she could see that Fletcher was watching for any gleam of interest from her. But given what she’d learned in the last twenty-four hours, her opinion of her brother had reached rock bottom.

She believed Nate now. Not just that he was Pirate Lucifer, but also that her brother had been vicious in his attacks on Kynthea.

She couldn’t definitively say that Fletcher had written those awful paragraphs in Mr. Pickleherring’s column, but she did see a marked similarity in style.

She’d often been the victim of Fletcher’s biting wit.

If he knew that Nate was writing the column, her brother could have damaged it out of simple spite.

And damn it, Fletcher had succeeded. The column had been shut down. Whatever income Nate received from that work was gone. It was a miracle that the situation hadn’t damaged his relationship with the duke.

Speaking of whom, it appeared the duke and his fiancée were in attendance this night.

She could see them in the ducal box, and she was determined to get a word with him.

Fortunately, Fletcher was interested in doing the exact same thing.

As soon as he noticed the direction of her gaze, he offered to escort her there.

Indeed, all three gentlemen wanted to join her.

She allowed it because she really had no choice in the matter. And as they walked, greeting everyone of a certain status or above, she began to chuckle. Hadn’t she once read this in a novel? A heroine escorted by a bevy of gentlemen to speak with a duke! What more could a lady want?

A husband who loved her. Children to nurture.

Good work for her mind and body. All of which could be summed up by saying she wanted a life that served her own purposes instead of her brothers’.

She included her older brother Henry in this.

She’d written the man just this afternoon.

She’d voiced her concerned that Fletcher was not who they thought.

Indeed, she very much wished Henry would quit his hermit ways and help her manage the family’s London affairs.

She did not want to marry the men Fletcher thrust in front of her.

And she very much feared that their brother was engaged in unsavory actions.

She hadn’t been specific about what those actions might be.

She wasn’t sure herself. But his spiteful personality was becoming clear, especially when she adamantly refused to see the baron this night.

That was, after all, why they were here at the theater and not at another ball.

Rebecca had told Fletcher in no uncertain terms that if the baron approached her, she would make a scene out of refusing him.

So after ranting for an hour, Fletcher had stormed out.

Then a little bit later, he’d sent around a note commanding her to prepare for a night at the theater.

She’d agreed because it was an olive branch from Fletcher.

A quiet acknowledgement that she was not going to marry the baron.

So here she was approaching a duke’s box, just like a heroine in one of Nate’s novels. Or not Nate’s novels, because those weren’t about the women. Those were about a man having exciting adventures while poor Beauty waited in torment at home.

They entered as someone else was leaving, all four of them cramming through the door as if they were entering a spacious ballroom. They were not. The duke’s box might be larger than most, but it did not hold enough room for the several people chatting there.

The duke was a popular man. His fiancée, on the other hand, looked like she was tired of all the attention.

Indeed, unlike Fletcher’s characterization of the woman, she did not seem a social creature.

She never came alive when the attention centered on her.

Unless, of course, it was the duke’s attention.

And at the few balls they’d both attended, Kynthea had spent several minutes sitting companionably with the dowagers.

Those were not the actions of a “social climbing hag,” as Fletcher had termed her. And here was more proof that her brother was not seeing society with any accuracy.

That was the kindest interpretation Rebecca could give.

Rebecca watched the duke as they stepped into his box. Fletcher and friends were enthusiastic in their greeting. If the duke returned such regard, she couldn’t see it. His response was neutral, his expression carefully blanked.

His fiancée, however, wasn’t as careful. Her gaze hopped to Rebecca and the two shared a moment of surprised connection. Miss Petrelli seemed startled that Rebecca was open to speaking. And Rebecca was grateful the woman didn’t hold her in disdain.

After that, a bit of careful maneuvering—and an ignored scowl from Fletcher—allowed Rebecca to get a quick word with Miss Petrelli. She didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“Miss Petrelli, please, can you get a word to Lord Nathaniel for me?”

“Um, I’m certain I can.”

“Please tell him I’m desperately sorry. I was wrong. I believe him.” She twisted her gloves as she looked in the lady’s eyes. “And I believe you. Please forgive me.”

“Oh my. That wasn’t at all what I was expecting to hear from you,” the lady said. “But I’m pleased.”

“That’s good,” she breathed. “But…” Her gaze shifted to see her brother watching her intently. “I don’t really know what more I can do. He’s my brother. He controls everything here in London.”

“Yes,” the lady mused. “That is the unfortunate truth for us women, isn’t it?

” Then her expression softened. “Would you like to come to tea tomorrow afternoon? Ras will be at the House of Lords, and I should be delighted to share a little conversation with you. My aunt and uncle keep too modest a household, you understand. So it should have to be at the ducal home. If that would be convenient for you?”

“I should be honored to share tea with you.” And anyone else who might happen to attend.

Their conversation continued about mundane things.

Curiosity pushed Rebecca to ask about reading tastes.

Did Miss Petrelli enjoy novels? The answer was a slightly embarrassed, yes, and they began to compare different volumes that they had both consumed.

In fact, the future duchess had a particular fondness for Memoirs of a Flying Magician which made Rebecca smile in pure delight.

Nate was a talented writer.

Rebecca had no connection to the tales beyond knowing their author, but it still made her flush with pride that Nate had penned something that so many others enjoyed. She was just about to ask about the pirate series, when one of Fletcher’s friends made a spectacle of himself.

“I cannot stand it anymore,” the man cried. Then he dropped down on one knee before her, grasping her hand while she was still looking at Miss Petrelli. “Lady Rebecca—my love—please say you feel the same about me!”

She turned, no doubt with a look of utter shock on her face. “What?”

“Marry me! I cannot bear to spend one more minute without you!”

Good God, was he serious? She couldn’t even remember his name accurately. Was he Mr. Martin? Marin? And why would he not shut up?

He continued his passionate declarations in the loudest possible voice. Enough that people in the other boxes had quieted to listen as he…oh God, no! He was talking about her bosom! It was all a part of his extolling of her beauty, but sweet heaven.

“Stop it!” she hissed.

He just grew louder. But apparently her refusal was all the duke needed to interfere. He stepped forward, grabbing the man by the arm, but it was Fletcher who shut the man up.

While the duke was saying, “Leave off, man! This is unseemly,” Fletcher leaned down and whispered into the man’s ear.

Whatever he said, it was effective. The man’s eyes bulged, and he stopped mid-word. Then he flushed bright red and ducked his head.

“Mr. Mitchell was overcome,” Fletcher said coldly. “He is departing now.”

Mitchell! That was his name. And the gentleman in question stumbled to his feet and withdrew with all haste. Meanwhile, Fletcher turned to her.

“It is unfortunate, my dear, that you are so delightful to so many people. You must exercise better discretion.”

“Me?” she squeaked. He was Fletcher’s friend!

Fletcher turned to the duke. “As you can see, my sister’s choices continue to be difficult. For everyone. Please excuse us.”

“Fletcher—” Rebecca began, but her brother cut her off.

“We will discuss this later.”

And so she was silenced. It wasn’t her fault, but to argue now would make even more of a scene.

Which was damned infuriating. But it was also a familiar pattern.

At least at home, everyone knew who she was.

She could roll her eyes at her friends as they left.

She could quietly keep her sanity by disappearing to complain to her intimates.

But she had no intimates in London. No one to vent her frustrations to. No one to think that Fletcher was being anything but a careful, reasonable brother.

“Fletcher,” she said quietly as he tugged her to the back of the duke’s box. “I believe I will let you go with your friend. See that he doesn’t harm himself.”

“What?”

She looked back to Kynthea. “Miss Petrelli, could I trouble you for a ride home tonight? It appears my brother has other matters to attend, but I should like to stay for the next play.”

Fletcher’s hand tightened painfully on her arm. “You will come with me,” he growled.

“I do love a comedy,” she said loudly.

And thankfully, Miss Petrelli caught her cue. “I should love to have your company this evening. We can continue our discussion!”

“Yes,” added the duke. “I am quite happy to escort her home.”

He reached out his hand, and Rebecca was quick to grasp it.

That had her suspended between the duke on one side and her brother on the other, in a kind of tug-of-war.

Her brother wasn’t one to give up, but then he’d never squared off with the duke before.

And she knew for a fact that he wanted to be in the duke’s good graces.

But did he want that more than he wanted to yell at Rebecca for some imagined mistake?

She didn’t know and there was a long, tense moment where quiet fury filled Fletcher’s eyes.

“Fletcher,” the duke said in a jovial tone. “Pray let her stay as a personal favor to me.”

Her brother’s expression lightened. “A personal favor? Goodness, Ras, what are you suggesting with my sister?”

Nothing like her brother implied. Nothing salacious. Thankfully, the duke didn’t take the bait. Instead, he remained friendly though his eyes seemed cold.

“I should love for my duchess to make a friend in your sister.”

“Of course, of course,” Fletcher said. “I shouldn’t want to stand in the way of that.” His gaze turned to Rebecca. “I shall see you when you get home, sister. Don’t stay out late.”

Ice skated down her spine. Fletcher was furious. She didn’t really understand why. None of this was her fault, but that clearly didn’t matter. And she briefly thought of giving in. She should go home with him and try to reason—

No. She’d only this morning realized that the things her brother had been telling her about Nate were completely wrong. What else had he told her that was equally off? She needed friends. She needed people who saw things that she could not. And she needed them now.

“Good evening, Fletcher. I do hope you are able to calm your friend.” She tried to emphasize that Mr. Martin or Mitchell or whomever had nothing to do with her. That little rebellion wasn’t lost on her brother either.

“Mr. Mitchell can go to the devil,” he said quietly. Then he glanced at the duke. “No man makes my sister uncomfortable.”

No man, of course, except him.

God, how had she not seen the extent of her brother’s frightening personality? How had all of her family ignored it? And what was she going to do about it now, when he controlled every aspect of her life?

Fletcher bowed to the duke and his fiancée. Then he smiled at her. “I’ll see you at home, Rebecca. Good night.”

And on that unsettling threat, Rebecca found her seat.

The comedy started, but she had no thoughts for it.

She fidgeted and twisted in her seat. Enough that Miss Petrelli asked if she was well.

And as much as she wanted to spill all her thoughts, she couldn’t.

The woman was a virtual stranger. Better to wait for a response from Henry.

Sadly, that wouldn’t solve what might be waiting for her when she got home.

She was still stewing on her problem when something strange happened. A footman in livery she didn’t recognize discreetly entered the box. He bowed to the duke and proffered a note. A moment later, the duke started up from his seat in alarm.

“What is it?” Miss Petrelli asked.

“Nate—” He cut of his words. “My apologies, darling. Do you think you and Lady Rebecca could manage without me tonight? I’ll leave the carriage for you.”

“Of course,” Miss Petrelli responded, but Rebecca was already gathering her things.

“I’m coming,” she said firmly.

The duke’s brows drew together. He was going to argue, but she would not allow it.

“I have medical training,” she said softly. “And knowing him, he probably needs it.”