Page 88 of The Truth Serum
A shiver of fear slid down her spine. One on one chats—behind closed doors—were her father’s favorite method of discipline. He didn’t even have to hit them. Just the moments of terror in his library were often enough of a deterrent. Unless, of course, he did hit her. That was always worse.
Tactic one—delay. “I should be happy to, Fletcher, but I’m afraid I need to bathe before this afternoon’s visit to the modiste.”
“It will take a while for the water to be prepared,” Fletcher countered. “In the meantime—”
“Honestly, I cannot—”
“You can and you will. Now.”
Tactic one failed. Very well. Next step: partial compliance.
“Very well, but do have tea brought in. I’m parched.”
This might keep the doors open and the servants coming in and out.
“Of course.” He looked at their butler. “See the new woman installed and the other,” he waved at the footman, “may go.”
“Right away, my lord.”
So much for the dubious protection of her burly footman. But she’d already known that he wouldn’t be much help. She handed off her hat and gloves and then proceeded into the library.
To her surprise, tea was already prepared. “Go ahead,” Fletcher said as he shut the doors behind him. “I knew you’d need refreshment. You should drink it while it’s still hot.”
Oh. She sat down in front of the teatray. “But there’s only one cup. Let me send for—”
“I’m awash in tea this morning. That pot is for you.”
She could have refused it. Indeed, it was her instinct to do so, merely because Fletcher wanted her to drink. But that was childish. Besides, she’d already claimed to be parched, so she had to stick to her story.
With a bland smile, she poured herself a cup, sniffing at the strange odor. It wasn’t their usual blend.
“What—”
“I’m experimenting,” he said. “You often tout the benefits of new draughts and medicines. I thought to try a new blend of tea. This is called gunpowder green tea.”
“What an ominous name,” she said.
“I like it.”
“Very well,” she said as she poured then sipped. The taste was strange. Bitter, even, but a dash of sugar helped.
“Good?” he asked as he stretched out next to her.
“Not so bad with the sugar.”
“Then by all means, have some more.”
He refilled her cup, but she did not drink it. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap. “Fletcher, perhaps you could tell me about your friend. Why did he propose so impetuously?”
Her brother stretched back in his seat, letting his legs extend before him. “Mitchell has never minded his tongue as he ought.” He arched a brow at her. “Do you say you have no interest in him at all?”
“I didn’t even remember his name!”
Fletcher nodded. “Well, let me tell you about him. About both of them.”
“But—”
“Listen!”
