Page 63 of The Truth Serum
“Miss Petrelli, please, can you get a word to Lord Nathaniel for me?”
“Um, I’m certain I can.”
“Please tell him I’m desperately sorry. I was wrong. I believe him.” She twisted her gloves as she looked in the lady’s eyes. “And I believe you. Please forgive me.”
“Oh my. That wasn’t at all what I was expecting to hear from you,” the lady said. “But I’m pleased.”
“That’s good,” she breathed. “But…” Her gaze shifted to see her brother watching her intently. “I don’t really know what more I can do. He’s my brother. He controls everything here in London.”
“Yes,” the lady mused. “That is the unfortunate truth for us women, isn’t it?” Then her expression softened. “Would you like to come to tea tomorrow afternoon? Ras will be at the House of Lords, and I should be delighted to share a little conversation with you. My aunt and uncle keep too modest a household, you understand. So it should have to be at the ducal home. If that would be convenient for you?”
“I should be honored to share tea with you.” And anyone else who might happen to attend.
Their conversation continued about mundane things. Curiosity pushed Rebecca to ask about reading tastes. Did Miss Petrelli enjoy novels? The answer was a slightly embarrassed, yes, and they began to compare different volumes that they had both consumed. In fact, the future duchess had a particular fondness forMemoirs of a Flying Magicianwhich made Rebecca smile in pure delight.
Nate was a talented writer.
Rebecca had no connection to the tales beyond knowing their author, but it still made her flush with pride that Nate had penned something that so many others enjoyed. She was just about to ask about the pirate series, when one of Fletcher’s friends made a spectacle of himself.
“I cannot stand it anymore,” the man cried. Then he dropped down on one knee before her, grasping her hand while she wasstill looking at Miss Petrelli. “Lady Rebecca—my love—please say you feel the same about me!”
She turned, no doubt with a look of utter shock on her face. “What?”
“Marry me! I cannot bear to spend one more minute without you!”
Good God, was he serious? She couldn’t even remember his name accurately. Was he Mr. Martin? Marin? And why would he not shut up?
He continued his passionate declarations in the loudest possible voice. Enough that people in the other boxes had quieted to listen as he…oh God, no! He was talking about her bosom! It was all a part of his extolling of her beauty, but sweet heaven.
“Stop it!” she hissed.
He just grew louder. But apparently her refusal was all the duke needed to interfere. He stepped forward, grabbing the man by the arm, but it was Fletcher who shut the man up.
While the duke was saying, “Leave off, man! This is unseemly,” Fletcher leaned down and whispered into the man’s ear.
Whatever he said, it was effective. The man’s eyes bulged, and he stopped mid-word. Then he flushed bright red and ducked his head.
“Mr. Mitchell was overcome,” Fletcher said coldly. “He is departing now.”
Mitchell! That was his name. And the gentleman in question stumbled to his feet and withdrew with all haste. Meanwhile, Fletcher turned to her.
“It is unfortunate, my dear, that you are so delightful to so many people. You must exercise better discretion.”
“Me?” she squeaked. He was Fletcher’s friend!
Fletcher turned to the duke. “As you can see, my sister’s choices continue to be difficult. For everyone. Please excuse us.”
“Fletcher—” Rebecca began, but her brother cut her off.
“We will discuss this later.”
And so she was silenced. It wasn’t her fault, but to argue now would make even more of a scene. Which was damned infuriating. But it was also a familiar pattern. At least at home, everyone knew who she was. She could roll her eyes at her friends as they left. She could quietly keep her sanity by disappearing to complain to her intimates.
But she had no intimates in London. No one to vent her frustrations to. No one to think that Fletcher was being anything but a careful, reasonable brother.
“Fletcher,” she said quietly as he tugged her to the back of the duke’s box. “I believe I will let you go with your friend. See that he doesn’t harm himself.”
“What?”
