Page 6 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

L ady Rebecca didn’t know the duke’s fiancée except by reputation.

So when the invitation came for tea, she wasn’t sure what to do.

Naturally, she was incredibly curious, given that gossip said the woman had caught a duke by love potion.

Since the truth serum was currently burning a hole in her reticule, she was desperate to quiz the woman.

But she also couldn’t bring up the topic with someone she’d just met.

She was still staring at the invite when Fletcher intruded upon her morning salon. Like her, he was a ridiculously early riser, and so she had no escape from his intrusive presence.

“What’s that you got there?” he asked as he peered over her shoulder.

She didn’t bother trying to hide it. He would badger her about it until she gave in. He was nosy that way.

“An invitation to tea.”

“With whom?”

She didn’t want to answer. There were some names that were anathema in their house. The duke’s fiancée wasn’t on that list—yet—but the duke himself had sparked several outbursts over the years.

“Come, come,” Fletcher chided. “You cannot go without my approval anyway, so you must tell me.”

“Fletcher, I am a full adult who has been managing my correspondence and mother’s for years without your—”

“Sweet heaven, Becca, why must everything be an argument between us? I swear you have been in a foul mood since you turned twelve. I’m only trying to help.

You don’t know anyone in London, and an invitation to tea is never just tea.

Especially since I’ve started my campaign for the House of Commons. Can you not simply trust me?”

Rebecca bit her lip. Had she really been surly since she was twelve? Maybe. Her mother had certainly said as much.

“I’m sorry, Fletcher. And of course I don’t want to hurt your campaign.”

“Good, good,” he said, patting her shoulder. “I’m glad we understand one another. Is that the duke’s stationery?”

Well, there was no stopping disclosure now. “It’s from his fiancée, Miss Petrelli. She’s inviting me to tea.”

To her shock, he brightened immediately. “Excellent! I shall be happy to escort you.”

“You can’t.” She traced her fingers over the words. “This is a ladies’ tea. It would be horribly rude to—”

“Nonsense,” he said as he lifted the invitation from her fingers. “Gentlemen come to these things all the time as escorts and friends of the family. Besides, I have things to discuss with her.”

She twisted to face him directly. “Whatever do you have to say to Miss Petrelli?”

“Just that her fiancé and I are the best of friends. And if you women truly don’t want me there, I can wander off with Ras. Hopefully outside, where everyone will see.”

So that was his true goal. He wanted to be seen in the duke’s company.

“I don’t like being used in this way,” she said. “If you want to speak to his grace—”

Fletcher set the invitation down with more force than necessary. “You are fighting me again. You don’t know the rules, Rebecca. You don’t know London.”

“I’ve been here for five Seasons already! And I know that a women’s tea is not a place for men.”

He regarded her solemnly, his expression sad.

“Very well,” he said softly. “I can see that you don’t understand.

I am running for a seat in the House of Commons.

The duke’s support could make the difference, but he has been caught up with his new fiancée.

Understandable, of course, but this gives me the perfect reason to be seen in a friendship setting with the man.

Indeed, that was probably the reason for the invitation in the first place.

Why else would you get invited to tea with a woman you’ve never met? ”

She had no answer to that. Indeed, she’d wondered that exact thing a few moments ago.

“This is politics, sister dear. Men use their wives and their sisters to have an excuse to be seen together. Do you understand now why I must be there?”

When he put it that way, it sounded plausible. And she certainly didn’t want to hinder his run for the House of Commons.

“If you’re sure,” she said.

“Of course I am,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Trust me. I have it all in hand. Be sure to wear something nice.”

“Yes, Fletcher.” He always liked it when she said that.

He waited again, then patted her head as if she were a dog before sauntering away.

She watched in growing frustration. Fletcher always liked to be in control of things.

Ever since Father died, his need to control every aspect of life had bordered on obsessive.

Rebecca guessed it was his reaction to grief.

He needed to feel safe and so he made everyone dance to his tune.

At home, she would either laugh it off when he became encroaching or, if possible, pretend to agree before doing exactly as she wanted anyway.

But that was where she knew everyone and could accurately judge his claims. Did he need to be involved when purchasing a new horse for him?

Absolutely. Did he need to be there directing her selections? No.

Better yet, she had allies at home. The servants were her servants, and they knew to agree to his demands and then run whatever request through her.

But she was in London now, the place he spent the bulk of his time.

The servants here were loyal to him, and she had little control.

Plus he had made a big show of excitement when they’d first arrived.

He’d been truly helpful getting her to a good modiste and making sure everyone knew she was ready to join the Season.

There were a stack of invitations waiting for her when she first set foot in the house. And more came every day.

She couldn’t have managed half as well without him.

So it was only logical that she let him guide her now.

It was only that he patted her head at the end that truly bothered her.

And if she cut up stiff at such gestures, then she was the one being silly.

What difference did it make if that was the way he expressed his love?

Maybe she’d mention later that such things were insulting.

But she already knew she wouldn’t. Fletcher’s moods were unpredictable, and it made no sense to risk that on something as silly as a pat on the head.

In any event, she needed to respond to the tea invitation. And really, Fletcher was right. She was looking forward to meeting the duke’s fiancée. From what little she’d heard, Miss Petrelli sounded very interesting or very silly.

Imagine using a love potion to catch a duke. But it had worked!

*

Rebecca and Fletcher set off for the London residence of the Duke of Harle at precisely twenty minutes before the appointed hour. Fletcher had been very specific about the time, and Rebecca had met it easily. She was never the one who delayed a departure. That was their mother’s particular foible.

She was even in a genial mood as they climbed into the carriage, but then Fletcher handed her a list of discussion topics. A written list! She’d been conversing in polite society since she was seven. She didn’t need his guidance, but then he pointed out one significant item.

Love Potion

“You must find out if she believes in that nonsense.”

She’d been fidgeting with her reticule, the one that carried the truth serum. But at his words, her head shot up.

“Why do you want to know about that? Especially if you think it’s nonsense.”

Her brother rolled his eyes. “Because if Ras is marrying a ninny, I want to know.”

“I wouldn’t think it’s your business either way.”

“That only shows how provincial you are. The Duke of Harle is one of the foremost leaders of the country. If he is set to marry a ninny, it is everyone’s business.” Then he got a sly grin. “And if she is an idiot, then we must work to get you in Ras’s company as much as possible.”

“Why?”

“So you can marry him, instead!” He leaned forward, his eyes dancing. “Shall I teach you? Listen, Ras isn’t a fool. If Miss Petrelli is, then he will soon tire of her. We must delay their wedding, and you must show him that you’re clever.”

He smiled indulgently at her, and she was human enough to warm at his words. Fletcher’s compliments were rare things.

“Thank you, but I can’t chase after an affianced man.” Or any man, for that matter. “And you said you’d selected someone else.”

“Of course there are other options. I’ve got them at the ready, but can you honestly think of anyone better than a duke? If he will have you, then you must say yes!”

She smiled wanly at her brother. He couldn’t possibly think that the duke would take one look at her and drop his affianced bride. Especially with her sitting in the room!

“Fletcher, this is a ladies’ tea.”

“No buts. Learn what you can about her and most especially about that potion. If she believes in that, then she can be manipulated.”

“You should talk to the duke directly. You don’t need me to—”

“If he’s going to marry you, then you must be involved! Rebecca, this is why you haven’t taken in previous Seasons. You don’t think strategically. But never fear, I shall show you the way.” He patted her knee fondly. “I fear moldering in the country has dulled your wits.”

He wasn’t the only one to think that. As much as she loved her life back home, many of her days did indeed feel dull.

Certainly, she found ways to fill her time, but she often longed for more.

Something that occupied her mind. Or perhaps someone .

All of her friends were wed, and many already had their first child.

She’d begun to feel like a forgotten piece of clothing stuck at the back of a wardrobe.

She couldn’t wait to be pulled out and worn, so to speak, so that she could finally be used as a woman was meant to be used.