Page 8 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

R ebecca followed Miss Petrelli to a back parlor, steeling herself to demand some answers—in the nicest possible way. But first they had to get through the pleasantries.

They each took a seat while the tea was served.

Then they discussed the décor and if Miss Petrelli would change it once she became duchess.

The tea cakes were delightful. The conversation easy.

All in all, the lady seemed warm and completely rational.

Beyond her obvious distaste of Fletcher, of course.

It took some time, but eventually the servants withdrew. Then Miss Petrelli exhaled in relief. “Well, now that they’re gone, we can finally talk.”

“They” obviously referred to the servants. Rebecca felt a twinge of amusement. “Are you not used to having a full complement of staff?” Personally, she hated having Fletcher’s servants staring at her all the time.

“Good heavens no. I was the staff for my parents. And my aunt and uncle didn’t need as many as a duke. I fear my future. I’ve never managed this many all at once. They’re everywhere.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

The lady chuckled. “I’m sure Ras’s housekeeper will do fine. I merely follow her lead.”

Rebecca suspected the lady was being modest, but what did she know about a ducal household? Perhaps that was the way of things in London. Either way, she had no reason to object. And in the silence, Miss Petrelli folded her hands and finally addressed the issue.

“I’m in a bit of a quandary, Lady Rebecca, and I have absolutely no skill at subterfuge.”

Becca quietly set her teacup down. “How may I help?”

“It has to do with your brother. There seems to be some longstanding animosity between Lord Fletcher and my fiancé’s best friend.

Normally I wouldn’t interfere. Honestly, men’s relationships can be as confusing as a flock of wild birds fighting over a favorite tree.

But the argument seems to have spilled over to me. ”

“I don’t know anything about Fletcher’s friends.”

“Do you know why he hates Lord Nathaniel?”

Ah. Rebecca looked down at her hands, grateful she had thought to set down her tea. But without the cup in her hands, she was left to twist her fingers together in awkward shame.

“It’s a long, ugly story, Your Grace.”

“Oh! Don’t call me that yet! I’m Kynthea. And I shall call you Rebecca, if I may?”

“Of course.”

There was a moment’s awkward silence, and then Rebecca took a deep breath. Might as well get it out in the open. Then she could find out why Kynthea thought so ill of Fletcher.

“Our two families have had long standing animosity going back several generations. Someone poisoned the water between our two lands, we don’t know who.

Everyone claims it was the other family, and as far as I am concerned, it should have been forgotten years ago.

My family has control of the water, and we have prospered because of it.

If anyone should be upset, it should be Lord Nathaniel’s family. ”

“And they aren’t?”

“Oh, they are. For as long as I can remember, we’ve called each other ugly names, accused everyone of cheating, pillaging, murdering.” She shook her head. “I honestly don’t know what’s true. I don’t think anybody does.”

“But they believe it?”

“Everyone in our respective families believes it.”

“But you don’t?”

“No. I haven’t since…” She shrugged. “Since I was fourteen.”

“What happened then?”

“I met Lord Nathinal. We used to spend summers together in secret.”

Miss Petrelli’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“The vicar thought the feud was ridiculous, and he was right. So he lied to our parents and found excuses for Nate and me to be together.”

“That sounds incredibly risky.”

“Not as much as it sounds. We weren’t the Montagues and the Capulets.

” And they certainly weren’t Romeo and Juliet, though the consequences had been equally tragic.

“My grandfather wasn’t as entrenched. And neither was Nate’s mother.

So the vicar helped me see that Nate was just a teenage boy.

Nothing like a monster. It opened the door for our friendship. ”

“The vicar’s gambit succeeded.”

Rebecca shook her head. “It did not. And he lost his appointment because of it.” Because of what she and Nate had done, and the hideous consequence of their discovery.

“Oh dear.”

Rebecca shifted her weight on the chair.

She couldn’t seem to get comfortable, and she shouldn’t confess to this stranger what she had done with Nate.

Guilt ate at her even as her anger simmered that she still suffered for something she had done when she was sixteen.

It was a confusing mix of emotions that tied her insides into knots whenever she thought of it.

And in that silence, a male voice spoke. It was deeper than she remembered, but she knew who it was. After all, she’d spent the last ten years both hoping and fearing to speak with him again.

“It was my fault,” said Nate.

She looked up and there he was. Nate was taller than she remembered, and his face appeared leaner, as if anything childish in his body had been removed by a hard chisel.

He walked slowly, his gaze never wavering from her.

She matched his gaze, memorizing every curve of his face, every minute shift in his expression.

He’d grown into his height, she realized, her awareness expanding beyond his face.

His shoulders had broadened, and the muscles stood out on his wiry frame.

No fat, she realized. None. Had he not had a sweet in ten years?

But he wasn’t hallowed out in starvation or in the wasted way of a drunkard.

He seemed healthy, though his jaw was gripped tight.

Was he angry? In pain?

“Becca,” he finally said, “how are you?”

She swallowed, her insides shifting like wax under pressure.

She’d forgotten how she responded to his voice.

And no one else called her Becca. Two syllables that held such earnestness.

As if he truly wanted to know how she fared and would wait patiently for her answer, no matter how long it took to frame the words.

When she was fourteen, it had taken her forever to say anything to him. By the time she was sixteen, he knew everything about her.

And now? She felt like she was fourteen again, her voice caught thick in her throat.

He took a step closer, and she saw him wince. His next step was more awkward than the last, and she knew he was hurt. Once, she’d thought she would know his pain from a world away. Now she could see it from across a room. See it but not feel it.

“Sit down,” she chided. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s enough that you’ve been recuperating here for the last week.”

He shrugged. “Did Fletcher tell you that?” There was no accusation in his tone, but she still bristled.

“What I know is irrelevant. What have you hurt? How is it healing?”

His brows rose, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Always so practical. I was attacked by thieves. They took my boots, broke some bones, and I had to walk across London to get home.”

He spoke as if an attack like that had been of no consequence, but she knew better.

She knew that when he tucked his chin, he was making light of something very dangerous.

His eyes could hold steady, his hands casual in their dismissal, but that chin of his would move tight as if he braced against a leash.

The image made no sense, but it had always been true with him.

First things first. “What are your injuries?”

“Did you become a doctor?” he asked, fondness in his gaze. “I remember your fascination with medicines.”

“I had many silly dreams,” she said and even she winced at the strident note in her voice.

“I never thought them silly,” he said.

She felt her body twist. It wasn’t a natural position.

It was a reflection of her split desires.

Part of her ached to reach him again. That part remembered how he never made light of her thoughts, even if he teased her for her worries.

What did she care what others thought? he would ask.

With him, she laughed out loud, spun circles in the fields, and let him touch parts of her body that ached to be free. With him, she’d lived .

The other part remembered that all actions had consequences.

And her freedom had cost her father his life.

Worse, her entire family had never been the same afterwards.

Henry had locked himself away on the estate.

Mama had turned even more helpless than before.

And Fletcher had become so controlling that she no longer really liked her brother.

Which meant that as much as she yearned to speak with Nate again, she also despised him for his part in how her family had fallen apart. And that contradiction made her feel ill.

“Becca?”

Oh, how she loved the way he spoke her name.

“I am not a doctor,” she said firmly. Indeed, her throat nearly closed down on the word. “But I have learned a few things. Are your feet cut?” That would explain the way he limped. “Are the wounds festering?”

“You are going to tell me to slather them with honey.”

She nodded.

“I have made a mess of the duke’s linens, but your poultice recipe has served me well. And the doctor said I could not do much about the broken bones, but give them time.”

She nodded. That much was true. “Still, you must wash regularly and watch for the first signs of infection. Be rough enough on the new skin to push out any pus, but not so rough as to damage healing. It’s painful, but necess—”

“I know. I am.” His voice warmed her. His eyes seemed to hold her. And damn if his very presence didn’t turn her into a twisting mass of conflicting feelings.

What did he want from her? Why was he here?

She looked away, too confused by her own reaction to hold his gaze. So she turned her attention to the other occupant in the room.

“My apologies, Your Grace. This must seem very odd to you.”