Page 9 of The Truth Serum (My Lady’s Potions #2)

“Call me Kynthea,” the lady reminded her gently.

“And I find this very interesting. To answer your question, Lord Nate’s injuries included cracked ribs, several broken toes, and cuts all over.

The worst of the black eye has faded, but you can still see the shadow of it if he were to sit in the sunlight. ”

“Kynthea,” Nate growled. “I can answer for myself.”

“Except you did not.” She leveled a hard gaze at him. “Lord Fletcher targeted me because of you. I have yet to understand why.” Her gaze shifted to Rebecca. “I meant to have a quiet conversation with you, but it appears that the men must intrude upon us, no matter what we want.”

Rebecca completely understood that irritation.

And because she did, she chose to explain what she could.

“Like everyone else in my family, Fletcher blames Lord Nate for everything ill that has happened. Bad crops. A sickened pig. And the death of my father who discovered us one afternoon in a hayloft.” She swallowed.

“In that, at least, I am equally complicit and equally damned.”

“No, Becca. It was—”

“I will take responsibility for my part in this,” she snapped.

“My father’s heart was weak. It is a family trait.

But the shock of the discovery…” She bit her lip, remembering.

She’d been half dressed when her father burst in on them.

And as she shot to her feet, he’d clutched his chest and collapsed.

Her screams had brought everyone running.

The vicar, nearby farmers, the ladies who cleaned the church.

But it had been too late. There was nothing to be done when a man’s heart stopped, though she and Nate both tried.

She’d read that hanging a man upside down could restart the heart.

So under her direction, Nate had lifted her father up by his legs, trying to get him to breathe again.

It didn’t work. And Fletcher had used that attempt to claim that Nate had tried to break her father’s neck.

“My father died that day.”

“Oh my God,” whispered Kynthea. “I’m so sorry.”

“I tried to talk to you afterwards,” Nate said. “I saw you at the funeral—”

She shuddered. She’d seen him there. Of course, she had. But at the time, she’d been too steeped in guilt and pain to do anything about it.

“So many times,” he continued. “I have tried to speak with you. I’ve written letters—”

Her head shot up. “You didn’t send them! Please, no!” What a disaster that would have been.

He shook his head. “I knew they’d never reach you. But I wrote them because I had to. I had to tell you how sorry I was—I am—for everything.”

She didn’t write to him. She knew better.

After their relationship had been exposed, her family took great pleasure in pawing through everything she owned, everything she did.

Flether was the most zealous at it, but everyone else had looked at her private things.

Indeed, her mother continued to search her room on a regular basis.

And the dark accusation in their eyes remained to this day.

“The rift between our family continues,” she said, as she looked to Nate for confirmation.

He nodded, his expression grim.

Then she turned back to Kynthea. “But I cannot imagine why Fletcher would involve you in our family’s idiocy. I don’t believe it.”

“So you still think the feud is idiocy?” Nate asked.

“Don’t you?”

“I do,” he agreed. “But my family was furious I wasn’t able to go back to school.”

He hadn’t? She hadn’t known. “Why not?”

His gaze grew sober. “Fletcher swore he would kill me if he ever saw me again. Even if I was willing to risk it, my parents weren’t.”

She shook her head. Her brother was hot tempered, but… “He didn’t mean it,” she said. But even as she spoke the words, she wondered. Fletcher had been furious back then. And sneaky. What kind of mischief could he have created at a boarding school? She didn’t want to think about it.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.” She’d felt so guilty back then.

She’d spent most of her time hiding from everyone.

Her only respite was when she’d disappeared to study herbs with Mrs. Chenoweth, the local witch woman.

She couldn’t wait to head back to school in the fall and prove to everyone that she was a reformed girl.

And that was exactly what she’d done for the last ten years. She’d worked with the new vicar, she’d waited on her mother hand and foot, and she’d acted in every way as a proper English girl.

Looking back, she couldn’t believe ten years had passed like that. Even when she’d made it to London for her debut, she’d dressed demurely, kept her head down, and pleased everyone as best she could.

Meanwhile, the future duchess was still trying to understand the history. “What was the original sin? Between your two families?”

Nate shrugged. “We don’t know. Our second summer together, we decided to find out. We searched family journals, and the vicar even looked into the legal records.”

She twisted her fingers into her gown. “All we know is that my family got the water. His owns the forest. The stream between our lands may have been poisoned, but we don’t know how.”

Nate took up the tale. “Our land has not been as profitable as theirs, but that’s because my grandfather was an idiot.”

Her expression softened. “According to Mrs. Chenoweth, both families came to her grandmother to buy curses. She took their money then performed ritual blessings for both sides.”

Nate’s expression softened. “That sounds like her.”

Becca agreed. Theirs was a stubborn community. From mother to daughter, from father to son, no one could change anybody else’s mind. Except for the two of them. Except for a vicar who tried to find a way out for both families.

“Becca,” Nate said, his voice soft. “I think of you often. I would still marry you if you would have me.”

It took a moment for his words to make sense to her. And when they did, his meaning left her reeling. Good God, the man hadn’t changed from the feckless wild teenager he’d been so many years ago. Reckless! Passionate! And…

And so heartbreakingly earnest, for all that he was spouting idiocy.

She closed her eyes against the yearning that swept through her.

She wanted to say yes in the way one wanted to return to childhood innocence.

Wouldn’t that be fun? Fall into the romantic tale of lovers lost. Heal the breach between the Montagues and Capulets.

Take away the taint of being a wanton woman by marrying the man who had touched her body so wonderfully when she was sixteen.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” she said.

“That doesn’t sound like a complement.”

It wasn’t.

“I have changed,” she retorted. “And if you refuse to grow after what we happened, after ten years of whatever it is you have been doing, then you are as stupid as our ancestors. Change, Nate. Mature. And do not ever speak to me of marriage.”

He abruptly leaned forward, his expression shocked. “Becca, I’ve waited all this time just to apologize to you. I’ve wanted to do the honorable thing from the very beginning—”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand.

She didn’t want to hear any more from him.

She’s spent the last ten years trying to get past what had happened that day.

Ten years trying to forgive herself, working to fashion a life from the ashes.

She would not allow him to draw him back into that quagmire where she’d been a confused and grieving sixteen-year-old.

That girl had been a disaster. She was a woman now, and she refused to feel that nightmare again.

But that meant she had to get out of here. She couldn’t look at Nate and stay calm. So whatever it took, she had to find an excuse to leave.

“Miss Petrelli,” she said, “I do not think you wished to speak directly to me. I think you planned this intrusion.”

The lady stiffened. “I did not. I intended to bring you upstairs if you wished to speak to him. I would never have done this to you without warning.”

She believed it, and that gave her a measure of forgiveness to the lady. “Nate always does as he wants. And nary a thought to the consequences.”

“That’s not true!” Nate exclaimed.

She didn’t even look at him. Her words were still for Miss Petrelli.

“I don’t know why this Pickleherring targeted you, but I also don’t believe you are fully innocent.

” She gathered her gloves and reticule with shaking hands.

So many feelings churned inside her. She didn’t want to latch on anger, but it was the only one that kept her from breaking down in tears.

“So much meddling,” she said, her voice tight.

“Gossip columns, secret assignations.” She shot Nate a glare.

“I want nothing of this subterfuge. Good afternoon, Miss Petrelli. Lord Nathaniel. I doubt we will speak again.”

And with that, she turned and walked steadily out of the parlor. Unfortunately, the moment she made to the front foyer, she realized she had a problem.

Fletcher was nowhere in sight. Neither was her carriage. Which meant she was trapped here. Which meant Nate would not let her have the last word. Damn it! Why wouldn’t people leave her alone so she could manage her life as she saw fit? Everyone had to interfere.

Sure enough, Nate hobbled to her side before she could storm out into the afternoon sun.