Page 26 of The Truth Serum
“Fletcher!”
“I’ve already primed him in your direction. Let him touch you a bit, tell him how handsome he is, and he should be amenable. Needs a mother for his daughter. You can be wed as soon as the banns are called.”
“You’re joking.”
“Oh, don’t cut up stiff. We all know that your breasts have been out for everyone to see. He doesn’t know though, so keep that to yourself.”
“Fletcher!” She glared at him, but he was completely impervious to her fury. And damn him for bringing that up whenever he got out of line. It had been her father and the vicar who had seen her. And Nate, of course. But that was ten years ago!
“Fine,” he said, as if he were giving her great boon. “Let him touch them but no more. They’re large enough to be tempting, thank God. Then go all maidenly shy. He’d be down on one knee in ten minutes.”
She shook her head at her brother. “No one will be touching my breasts, and I shall not accept any proposal so soon!”
Fletcher looked at her then, really looked. His expression shifted to rueful even as he patted her knee. “You’re overwrought. Of course you are, seeing that blackguard again after all this time.”
That was the first correct thing he’d said all day. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the least bit relevant. “I want to have a full Season this time,” she said. “Give me time to see who’s about before I make my choice. You can understand that, can’t you?”
Fletcher squeezed her knee, his affection for her obvious. “Of course I can. It’s only that I’m so busy. It’s hard to find time for all this.”
“You don’t have to escort me—”
“But I do. Mama can’t handle all the parties, as much as she wants to. How long before she gets another migraine?”
A day. Maybe two. The London air did not agree with her.
“And I have already looked at the crop of men for you. I know who is suitable and who is not.”
“Then give me a list. Write down their names, and I shall make pains to meet every one.”
His smile softened and she remembered the boy he’d been before their father died. Open. Funny. And if not exactly considerate—what boy was—but at least he’d never needed to manage every aspect of her life. And her future.
“You must trust me,” he said gently. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought. And you’re not at an age where you can afford to be picky.”
And who’s fault was that? His and her mother’s, both. For the last five years, there’d been one problem after another. She’d come into town for a few weeks and then be pulled back home because Mother grew tired or Fletcher had other things to do than ferry her around. She’d barely get comfortable before she’d have to leave again. And any gentlemen she’d liked had disappeared from her life the moment she left London.
But sulking about the past was a child’s game. She had to focus on the present.
“Tell me about this Baron Courbis. What’s he like?”
“Oh, you’ll adore him!” Fletcher enthused. “I’ve spent a great deal of time cultivating him. He’s smart, rich, and willing to give some his considerable fortune to helping my campaign. Mother already approves of his suit.”
She shot him a skeptical look. “Has she really approved or has she just left the matter in your capable hands?” Those last words were a mimicry of how Mama would have phrased it.
“Don’t cut up stiff just because Mama trusts me,” Fletcher said, a teasing note in his voice. “Oh, and the baron has a daughter. She’s cute as a button with big brown eyes and so in need a mother.”
A pang hit her. The idea of a motherless child did tug at her heart. But becoming a child’s mother wasn’t as easy as saying ‘I do’.
“How old is she? What happened to her mother?”
“I don’t know. Four maybe five? The baron’s wife died in childbirth with the second child.”
“How awful.”
“She’d adore you. I’m sure of it.”
She sighed. “Fletcher,” she began, but he cut her off.
“Oh good God. I’m trying every way I can to help you, and you just don’t appreciate it.”
