Page 20 of The Love Potion
“That might work,” said the duchess.
“Mr. Pickleherring could release the news along with his retraction,” Nate offered.
Lady Zoe pursed her lips. “It would make me the most interesting debutante of the Season. Everyone would want to talk to me if only to find out how I’d attracted the attention of a duke.” She looked up at the duke. “Your ball would have to come after mine.” Her come-out ball was scheduled for the next week. The only reason she’d been allowed to attend Almack’swas because she’d gotten the vouchers. And because she hadn’t wanted to wait.
Meanwhile, Nate snorted. “Ras, your ball would have to be the last of the Season. Otherwise everyone would attend it, then cut her afterward.”
Ras shrugged. He didn’t really want to throw one anyway. “Last is fine with me.” He looked around the room. Everyone had agreed except the one person he was most concerned about. “Miss Petrelli?” he asked. “What say you? Are you prepared to become the most celebrated lady this Season?”
She looked up, her brown eyes wide and beautiful for all that they held the hint of tears. “Celebrated? Or notorious?”
His mother sniffed. “As if that matters!”
“Of course, it matters,” the lady shot back as she gained her feet. Good. She was showing some spirit. “No companion or governess can be notorious! Assuming this works, how will I survive after the Season?”
“Well as to that, my dear, you have the same difficulty as every other debutante. Catch your husband now while you’re still interesting to the beau monde. Afterwards, you’ll be no more relevant than yesterday’s fish.”
And so it was that Miss Petrelli became the focus of all his matrimonial designs. Not his own, of course. His intent was to find her a suitable husband this Season so that he wouldn’t be forced to offer for Lady Zoe. If keeping himself out of the parson’s mousetrap was his goal, then he would have to see that Miss Petrelli found her one true love. Or at least a gentleman who would honor her as she deserved.
“Goodness,” Nate quipped as they headed out to speak with Lady Zoe’s parents. “Who knew this Season would be so dashed intriguing? And it has only just begun!”
Chapter Seven
Zoe tried notto fiddle with her purse as she waited in the front room of the apothecary shop. A lady wasn’t supposed to show nerves, but she was bubbling with anxiety. Her father was getting worse, his cough loud enough to be heard in her bedroom. The London air was bad for him, and she feared he wouldn’t be strong enough to dance with her at her come-out ball. That wasn’t her real fear, but the thought of him dying was so scary, she flinched away from the idea even in her thoughts. Instead, she focused on this Season, her come-out ball, and the need to get the duke to propose.
Which was why she was at My Lady’s Apothecary this afternoon.
Someone of note was in the back room, so she had to wait for her private discussion with Madame Ilie. She stood in the corner fussing with her gloves while the dark haired shopgirl offered her tea. She demurred. Her stomach was too upset. Her maid, however, appeared grateful for the cup and was now happily settled in the corner drinking, as if her mistress weren’t in a knot of anxiety.
Kynthea would know how to settle her stomach, Zoe thought ruefully. But Kynthea was right now suffering every sly word and nasty innuendo thehaut toncould fling at her. No less than two dozen people had come calling this afternoon, all under the guise of deep concern for her mother’s health and Zoe’s welfare.
They were gossipmongers, every one of them, trying to stir up trouble for their own amusement. And Zoe told them so, in no uncertain terms. Which helped not at all.
Naturally, Kynthea had more poise. She listened, she apologized for her outrageous behavior, and she served tea. It helped that the duke sat right next to her, appearing the picture of propriety in his austere black coat and snowy linen shirt. He was a handsome man, she had to admit, in a stiffly correct sort of way. Not a hair nor a cravat fold out of place. Zoe could appreciate the effect of it even if she couldn’t emulate it. She liked him and thought they could be friends, if she weren’t trying desperately to get him to fall in love with her.
Fortunately, he had convinced her father not to sack Kynthea, but it was a touchy matter. Neither parent was pleased that the woman they’d brought into their home had become an object of gossip. And even Zoe could see how this whole thing was weighing on her father. He had coughed several times during his private discussion with the duke in their library. She’d been trying to eavesdrop upon the conversation but could only hear her father’s hacking cough. And her mother had shredded a handkerchief while they both waited for the decision.
This whole matter had to get resolved quickly—for everyone’s sake—which is why she had come back for more love potion. She wasn’t doing any good sitting in fury in the drawing room with all those biddies. So she had left to do the only thing that might make things right.
She needed more love potion to make the duke marry her. She would manage his stables, she’d hire Kynthea as her companion, and her parents could rest easy. All would be well.
That was her plan. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to get the duke to divulge any answers for the questions Madame Ilie had given her. She’d tried with the easiest of them all. What would he spend a million pounds on? Didn’t everyone wonderwhat they would do if everything suddenly became easy? But he was either so old or so rich that the question meant nothing to him.
Then a miracle happened. It was as if God Himself had arranged it just to help her. Lord Nathaniel stepped out of the apothecary’s private room.
“My lord!” she cried, belatedly realizing he looked very serious indeed and perhaps didn’t want to be disturbed.
He started, looked around him with an expression of panic, then finally focused upon her. “Lady Zoe? Whatever are you doing here?”
“I’m getting a powder for my mother. Her joints swell, especially in the mornings, and they have a tea here that helps.” It wasn’t a lie, just not the full truth. “Why are you here?”
“What? Oh, I was picking up a headache powder for a friend of mine. She is too ill to come herself.”
A headache powder wasn’t usually put in a bottle, and Zoe was sharp-eyed enough to see him casually slip one into a pocket. She wanted to find out—indeed, part of her was burning with curiosity—but she had more important things to ask, especially as he was starting to tip his hat to her order to leave.
“Well, Lady Zoe, I must get on—” he began, but she interrupted him.
“Please, my lord, I would be most grateful if you could help me. I fear I am in great distress.”
