Page 3 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

“Your mind killed our father,” he shot back.

And there it was. The one thing she could never outgrow, outrun, or forget.

Finding her and Nate half naked together had so shocked her father that he’d had a heart attack and died.

From that moment on, nothing was the same.

Suddenly burdened with the title, Henry had retreated into books and management, rarely to be seen beyond the borders of their estate.

Fletcher had turned controlling, as if only he could manage things without disaster.

Any deviation from his plans brought out his vicious temper.

Mama was the least changed. She’d relied on her husband for most things before.

She now relied on her sons. And Rebecca was relegated to the one who had made the mistake, the one who had destroyed their family with her misjudgment.

And the hell of it was…perhaps they were right.

If what Fletcher had just said was true, then she truly did have terrible taste in men.

Before she could say anything more, the mantle clock chimed the hour. Fletcher looked up with a grimace.

“Damnation, I’m late.” He pushed to his feet and pressed a quick kiss to their mother’s cheek.

“Mama, do get some rest. The Season will be taxing for you, I know. And Rebecca…” He patted her arm.

“I hate that I have to disillusion you this way. I truly do, but never fear. I’m looking out for you.

I’ll see you married to someone worthy of our family. ”

Rebecca matched his movements, standing up to face him squarely. Or as squarely as she could, given that she was several inches shorter than he. “Fletcher, I know you mean well, but—”

She saw anger flash across his features, and she tensed. After their father had died, he’d had violent outbursts, but as far as she knew, he hadn’t thrown anything or hit anyone in years. Still, the memory of his rage remained stark in her mind, so she offered him a conciliatory smile.

“Fletcher, I surely will listen to your advice.” That’s the most she could promise.

“I will take care of you,” he said, the tightness in his jaw abruptly fading. “But of course, your wishes will be consulted throughout the process.”

“Do you swear it?”

“Of course!” He pressed a hand to his heart.

“Really, Becs, you wound me. And after all the trouble I’m going to on your behalf.

I want you to have a lovely Season. I want you to marry well.

You’ll be such a beautiful bride.” He grabbed her hands and drew them up to his mouth.

“You’ll love the gentleman I’ve selected. I’m sure of it.”

Gentleman? Singular? “Who is he?”

“You’ll meet him tomorrow night.” He grinned. “I won’t spoil the surprise.”

Of course not. Fletcher did love the dramatic. “What if I don’t like him?” she pressed.

“Then I’ll find another one for you somewhere. Someone worthy of you.”

“Thank y—”

“But you must understand that the field is shrinking. There aren’t many gentlemen interested in an old wife.”

“I’m not—”

“I’ve got it all arranged!” he said with excitement as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “It’s going to be a whirlwind Season.”

“A whirlwind?” her mother gasped. “Oh, I hope my health is strong enough for it.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he said. “Brothers are perfectly acceptable escorts.” And with that, he whooshed out the door.

Rebecca watched him leave, her hands twisting together as the feel of his dry kiss lingered on her cheek.

She didn’t want to rely on her brother. She didn’t want to rely on anyone, but he did have a point.

She didn’t know the members of the peerage, and it was hard to judge a man’s character during a dance.

Who else could she rely on to give her good information?

She had no answer to that for a very long time. Indeed, it wasn’t until late that night when she was talking with her maid that the girl offered up an alternative suggestion. It was a bad one, of course, but such was the nature of gossip and whispers.

“A truth serum?” she said as she stared at Missy. “You must be joking.”

“Am not! It’s been the talk of the ton .”

Missy and a couple other servants had arrived in London three days ago. She’d been in charge of seeing that Rebecca’s gowns were well made. And in that time, Missy had sought out all the London gossip.

“But whyever do you think that would work?” Rebecca pressed.

“Because that same apothecary gave the Duke of Harle a love potion. A couple dabs here and there, and poof! Miss Kynthea Petrelli is engaged to a duke! Their wedding is in a few weeks, just after the end of the Season.”

“Because of a love potion? But if he knows—”

“Doesn’t matter! He’s besotted with her. It’s the talk—”

“Of the ton . Yes, you’ve said. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

Missy sat down across from her mistress, her expression earnest.

“I heard your brother. We all did. You’re an heiress, and all them London gents only want your money.”

“Not every man is a fortune hunter.”

“But how are you going to know the difference?” She patted Rebecca’s knee.

“Just tell me the word, and I’ll pop over and get you the serum.

You can drop it a gent’s wine with no one the wiser.

Then just ask him. Do you want me or my money?

” Missy winked. “He’ll answer with the truth and then you’ll know. ”

“I can’t go dosing a gentleman without his knowledge.”

“Course you can. Just pour a good measure into a man’s drink, wait twenty minutes, and then he’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“That’s silly,” Rebecca pronounced.

“Maybe,” her maid returned. “And maybe not. How are you going to know if you don’t try it?”

A truth serum? Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t know…” she said.

“It’s only a few quid,” Missy said as she set Rebecca’s purse in her hand. “What harm could it do?”

Plenty. She knew enough about medicines and supposed cures to realize that not all of them were harmless. What worked for one person might be poison to another. But for the most part, magic elixirs were a waste of money. Their only danger was in how much coin was spent to buy it.

“It’s a waste of money,” Rebecca said.

Missy grinned. She knew Rebecca too well. “You want to try it, don’t you?”

No. Well, maybe. She was interested in medicines, and the idea of a serum that would force a gentleman to tell her the truth? Well that was intriguing on so many levels.

“Can you find out what it’s made of? How to administer it, and who should take it?”

“Course I can,” Missy answered as she pocketed the pound notes from Rebecca.

“I won’t use it,” Rebecca said. “Not until I know a great deal more about it.”

“Course you won’t. But if a gentleman presses you before you’re sure, you’ll have it to hand.” Then her maid paused. “But it’s a magic spell, you see. So you won’t know as much as you like.”

There was no magic spell. Of that she was certain. In her last few years studying medicine with the widow Chenoweth, she’d learned that potions had no need for special words beyond blessings. The “magic” so to speak, was in the ingredients.

“Don’t you fret,” Missy continued. “I’ll get it and set it in your reticule. You never know when it might come in handy.”