Page 14 of The Truth Serum
“But I am my sister’s escort—”
“You are not welcome, my lord,” she interrupted. “Why you think I would welcome a man who wrote such horrible lies about me is beyond my comprehension. I was prepared to extend friendship to your sister, but you, sir—”
“Lies!” Fletcher cried. “Whatever have I done to offend you? Miss Petrelli, we barely know one another.”
Rebecca looked between the two. And then, to her horror, she saw people slow down as they promenaded on this exclusive street. Good God, they were creating a scene!
“Perhaps we should go inside,” she offered. “We can discuss things more comfortably—”
“I name you Mr. Pickleherring,” Miss Petrilli said firmly. “And your column was vicious and filled with lies.”
Fletcher gaped at the woman. It was a good expression, but Fletcher was her brother. She’d seen him in every phase of deception, and she knew that this reaction wasn’t genuine.Indeed, she was sure it was for their audience’s benefit. Especially when he began to chuckle.
“Miss Petrelli, you are confused. Whyever would I stoop to writing a gossip column?”
It was a good question, but Miss Petrelli wasn’t swayed. Her arms were crossed now, and she appeared on the verge of saying something else. Except at that moment, the duke appeared a step behind his fiancée.
“You admitted to it, Fletch,” he said, his voice firm.
Fletcher threw up his hands. “Have you gone mad, Ras? Good God, whatever would I gain by tarnishing Miss Petrilli’s reputation? I don’t even know her!” His voice softened. “We have been friends for so long, Ras. Honestly, I don’t understand this animosity.”
Becca looked at her brother, seeing in him the picture of a wounded friend. He was so earnest in his statement that she did indeed begin to question the duke’s sanity.
“My brother doesn’t write gossip columns,” she said quietly. “He has expressed disdain for those who read such things.” Indeed, he thought the novels she read to be pablum for weak minds.
“Quite correct,” Fletcher agreed. Then he stepped forward to bow low before Miss Petrelli. “My dear, pray forgive me for any sleight I may have perpetrated upon your person. I most sincerely apologize. I would never want to hurt you or Ras. You must believe me.”
“I don’t,” Miss Petrelli said, her words thankfully muted. But her tone and her face were very clear.
“Then why invite me to tea?” Rebecca pressed. All of this seemed very strange. “Especially if you believe such a terrible thing of my brother?”
“Not to mention,” her brother added, “that you’ve obviously gotten the better of Mr. Pickleherring. You are engaged, are you not? To a duke.”
Miss Petrelli said nothing. Indeed, what could she say in the face of Fletcher sounding so reasonable? In the end, she turned to her fiancé. “It is your house, Ras. What do you want?”
The man sighed audibly. “I think Fletch and I will go for a stroll. Pray enjoy your ladies’ tea.”
There was a long silent exchange between the engaged couple. A quiet message that only the two understood. But in the end, Miss Petrelli stepped backward into the house.
“Pray come in, Lady Rebecca,” she said. “I have just purchased a new tea that I am anxious to try. I wonder what you will think of it.” It was a polite compromise, and Rebecca accepted the gesture.
“I look forward to tasting it,” she said as she followed the woman inside. Even better, she was quietly pleased that her brother remained outside. Distantly, she noted the duke’s tightly controlled expression and her brother’s gleeful smile, and she had to admit, Fletcher had handled the situation masterfully.
She had no idea what the disagreement was, but she knew enough about society to see that her brother had come out the winner in this instance. Everyone would assume now that it had been Miss Petrelli’s mistake. After all, the duke was walking about in public with Fletcher, so clearly the problem wasn’t between the men.
Which naturally led her to be a bit suspicious of the woman. Miss Petrelli was either more naïve than Rebecca about the workings of society—something that was hard to imagine—or she was indeed simple-minded. Imagine accusing Fletcher of writing a gossip column! Whatever would he gain by it? And whatever would he say? It was clear to Rebecca from their earlier conversation that he knew very little about Miss Petrelli.
The whole situation was very bizarre. But maybe a few private moments with the lady would make everything clear. Especially as she had every intention of forcing an explanation.
Chapter Four
Rebecca followed MissPetrelli to a back parlor, steeling herself to demand some answers—in the nicest possible way. But first they had to get through the pleasantries.
They each took a seat while the tea was served. Then they discussed the décor and if Miss Petrelli would change it once she became duchess. The tea cakes were delightful. The conversation easy. All in all, the lady seemed warm and completely rational. Beyond her obvious distaste of Fletcher, of course.
It took some time, but eventually the servants withdrew. Then Miss Petrelli exhaled in relief. “Well, now that they’re gone, we can finally talk.”
“They” obviously referred to the servants. Rebecca felt a twinge of amusement. “Are you not used to having a full complement of staff?” Personally, she hated having Fletcher’s servants staring at her all the time.
