Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Epilogue
“A doyen of humorous Regency-era romance writing.”
—Publishers Weekly
Raves for Barbara Metzger’s Romances
“Funny and touching—what a joy!” —Edith Layton
“Lively, funny, and true to the Regency period . . . a fresh twist on a classic plot.” —Library Journal
“Absolutely outstanding . . . lots of action, drama, tension . . . simply fantastic!” —Huntress Book Reviews
“Metzger’s gift for re-creating the flavor and ambience of the period shines here, and the antics of her dirty-dish villains, near-villains, and starry-eyed lovers are certain to entertain.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“The complexities of both story and character contribute much to its richness. Like life, this book is much more exciting when the layers are peeled back and savored.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Remarkable . . . an original, laugh-out-loud, and charmingly romantic read.” —Historical Romance Writers
“A true tour de force . . . Only an author with Metzger’s deft skill could successfully mix a Regency tale of death, ruined reputations, and scandal with humor for a fine and ultimately satisfying broth. . . . A very satisfying read.”
—The Best Reviews
“[Metzger] brings the Regency era vividly to life with deft humor, sparkling dialogue, and witty descriptions.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Metzger has penned another winning Regency tale. Filled with her hallmark humor, distinctive wit, and entertaining style, this is one romance that will not fail to enchant.” —Booklist (starred review)
Also by Barbara Metzger
The Hourglass
Queen of Diamonds
Jack of Clubs
Ace of Hearts
The Duel
A Perfect Gentleman
Wedded Bliss
SIGNET ECLIPSE
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For Valentino, my new best friend
Chapter One
1793
Why do people tell lies, Papa?”
Lord Royce wiped the blood from his little boy’s nose. “Because they can, son. Just because they can.”
“But you told me to tell the truth. Always.”
The earl sighed. “And I am certain most fathers tell their sons the same thing. But children do not always listen. Is that what the fight was about?”
The child nodded. “Timmy Burdock said it was Cousin Daniel’s dumb old idea to steal the apples from Widow Flood’s orchard. I called Timmy a liar and he hit me, so I hit him back.”
“Why didn’t Daniel hit him?”
“Because Daniel is so much bigger. That wouldn’t have been fair, would it?”
Lord Royce dipped his handkerchief in a basin of water his manservant brought, admiring the boys’ code of honor, but wishing his slightly built son would not feel duty bound to defend his bigger cousin. Seeing blood drip from his precious child’s nose tore at his heart, even if the cause was a boyish squabble. “So what happened then, and how did you get so wet?”
“Widow Flood threw a bucket of water on us. And she’s going to tell the vicar.” He shivered, but not with the chill of his damp clothes. “She says Vicar will cane all of us. Will he, Papa?” The six-year-old raised his blue eyes to the earl—the same black-rimmed, heavily lashed sapphire eyes all the Royce males possessed.
Lord Royce could not lie to the boy. He never had, and would not start now. “For lying and fighting, and for stealing the apples? He just might.”
“Daniel, too? It wasn’t his idea, and he didn’t hit anyone.”
If the notion to trespass on the crotchety old widow’s property was not Timmy Burdock’s, and not Daniel’s, the earl had a good idea whose idea it might have been. “Perhaps if you confess, and offer to help stack Mrs. Flood’s wood for her after lessons at the vicarage, then Daniel might get off with a scold, although he did eat some of the apples, I’d wager. No one should ever take anything from another—not his good name, not e
ven a mere apple. Do you understand?”
Young Rex, as Jordan, Viscount Rexford, was called, hung his head. “Yes, Papa. But Timmy should not have lied, either.”
For a moment the earl was afraid— But no, of course Rex knew who had plotted the orchard theft, since Rex himself was the culprit. Then his boy said, “But how did Widow Flood not know Timmy was lying?”
The handkerchief fell to the floor at the earl’s side. “How should she know, son?” he asked, holding his breath for the answer he knew was coming, the one he’d been dreading for years, ever since the boy’s birth.
Rex’s dark brows knitted in confusion. “Can’t everyone tell the difference between a lie and the truth?”
“Can you, Rex?”
The boy smiled, showing a gap where a tooth was missing. “That’s silly. Of course I can.”
The earl knelt to his son’s level and stared into those eyes, so much like his own. “What if I said I bought you a real horse for your next birthday, not another pony?”
The child threw his arms around his father and kissed him noisily on the cheek. “Oh, Papa! That’s capital! That’s what Daniel says, you know.”
Lord Royce slipped out of his son’s enthusiastic embrace, sweet though it was, despite the dampness. He could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his own skin. “What if I said the mare’s name is Cowslip?”
“Why, that’s a clanker, Papa. What is her name?”
“Molly Mischief?”
Rex shook his head no, now smiling at the game.
The earl studied the boy’s face for a sign that he was guessing. Rex looked as certain as if his father had said the sun would rise tomorrow. “Very well. Your new horse’s name is Angel.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Midnight?”
Rex jumped up and down. “Oh, Papa, does that mean she is a black? That’s just what I wanted, you know.”
He knew. But how did Rex know that name was the correct one? The earl lifted his son to sit on his lap in the worn leather armchair, glad he could still cuddle with this boy he loved so much, and wanted so much to protect. His son would grow past kisses and confidences soon enough. Why, he was in long dresses just yesterday, it seemed. Now he wore short pants and skinned knees, bloodied noses instead of diapers. The earl sighed and said, “Tell me, Rex, can you always tell when someone is lying? Not just a guess, and not just when you know the truth?”
“Like when Cook says there are no more macaroons, because she is saving some for her own supper, or when Nanny says she is visiting her sister on her afternoons off?”
The earl vowed to find out exactly where the nursemaid was going on her free time, and why Cook would lie to the boy, but not now. “Like that. How do you know? How do you know I did not eat the rest of the macaroons, or that Nanny is not going where she says?”
Rex frowned and hunched his shoulders. “I just do. Don’t you know, Papa?”
Lord Royce brushed back his son’s dark curls and kissed his forehead. “Yes, I do. I was hoping you did not.”
“I don’t understand, Papa.”
“No, I do not suppose you do. I will do my best to explain, but I fear I cannot understand all of it myself.”
Rex nodded solemnly. “That’s true.”
“I always tell you the truth. Except when we are playing games, like before.” When the boy just stared up at him expectantly, the earl cleared his throat and went on: “Not everyone can tell a lie from the truth. Only a lucky few.”
“You mean I can tell Vicar that Timmy wanted to steal the apples, and Mr. Anselm will believe me?”
“No, that is not what I mean. Not at all. You must not lie, ever, not even if you will not be found out. You have a gift, and must treat it honorably.”
“Like my horse?”
“Yes. Just as you must care for the mare and never mistreat her, you must also show respect for this other gift.”
“I do not know if I want this one, Papa.”
“I am afraid you have no choice. Men in the Royce family have had the truth-seeing back through the ages. Now, it seems, you do, too.”
Rex considered that for a moment. “And no one else does?”
“No, and you must never tell anyone of this gift, for they will think you . . . odd.” Just how odd, the earl did not want to tell his son; how the talent for truth-seeing was frightening to some, horrifying to others—including Lord Royce’s own wife, Rex’s mother. But he had to make the boy understand. “One of our ancestors, Sir Royston, was hanged as a wizard.”
Rex’s dark blue eyes grew round as he thought of Merlin and magic and all the creatures in his fairy stories. “You mean I can change Timmy Burdock into a toad?”
“No. I mean Sir Royston’s ability to recognize the truth was so uncanny, so different from what other people knew, that they thought he was sent by the Devil. He was not, of course. Such a gift”—if a gift it was, and the earl was never sure—“could only come from heaven. His son, and all of the Royce sons who came after, were more careful. They became magistrates and ambassadors and advisors to the Crown, all positions where knowing the truth was valuable, but they never let on about the talent.” They’d become wealthy through knowledgeable investments, well titled for service to the country, and well respected for their sense of honor. “People admired them as wise men.”
“Like you, Papa. Daniel’s mother says you are the bestest, fairest judge in all of England.”
The earl laughed. “Daniel’s mother is my own sister. You must not put credit in her boasting.”
Rex shook his head. “No, it’s true. I can tell, remember.”
“And if I say you are the best son in the entire world, would you believe me?”
With a gap-toothed grin the boy replied, “Of course, it is true-blue,” which earned him another hug.
“Soon you must learn to be a bit more discriminating between truth-saying,” the earl said, “and when someone believes what they say; when it is true to them. Of course your aunt Cora believes I am wise beyond measure. That does not necessarily make it true.”
“It is true,” Rex insisted.
“Thank you, my lad. But other judges’ families must also consider their relative the wisest, just as every patriot believes his country the finest, and every believer feels his religion is the only path to heaven. The truth is not always black and white, you see.”
“Of course not. It is blue.”
“Pardon? The truth is blue?”
Now the boy looked uncertain. “That’s what I said. Don’t you know it, Papa? Can you not see it?”
“Do you mean the truth is . . . a color to you?”
“Of course. When someone lies, that’s red. When they think they are telling the truth, like you just said, then it’s yellow. Vicar Anselm talks yellow a lot. Except when he tells Mrs. Anselm’s mother she is welcome to come visit. That’s a big fat red lie. And sometimes people say things that are like rainbows, because they don’t know, but hope so, I guess. And sometimes their words are all mudcolored—whenthey are confused, I think. Don’t you see the colors when people talk?”
“No, I don’t. I hear the truth in their words, like the purest note. A lie jangles, like when the pianoforte is out of tune, or when a church bell is cracked. My father said he always got a headache when a lie was told, and his father could smell the truth. One of our ancestors grew hot or cold, and another felt a buzzing in his ear. You see, the gift appears to everyone differently. No Royce ever saw colors, not that I ever heard of, so your gift is special, lucky boy.”
The earl was not sure his son was so lucky after all, and now that he knew the boy could sense his uncertainty, he explained: “Sometimes even the most wonderful of gifts has disadvantages. What if Midnight bolts at thunderstorms or gnaws on the paddock gates? What if your old pony grows sad when you ride Midnight instead? Just so, knowing the truth is not always comfortable.”
“Like?”
“Like when I say I will punish you for stealing
Widow Flood’s apples if Mr. Anselm does not. You know it is true, but you might wish it otherwise. Or when your friends tell fibs rather than hurt your feelings. White lies, they are called.”
“Like when Nanny says I look handsome, even with my tooth missing? I know she is telling a Banbury tale.”
“Or when we went into the village yesterday, and the apothecary told Mrs. Aldershot what a pretty baby she had, and told Lady Crowley her bonnet was charming. Such sour notes I heard! But just think if they knew he was lying. Their feelings would be hurt.”
Rex giggled. “Not as much as if he said the baby looked like a monkey and the hat looked like a coal scuttle.”
The earl ruffled his son’s curls. “Those are polite lies, and you will have to get used to them if you want to go out in the world.”
“Will I have to tell them?”
“Of course not. You can be polite without speaking a falsehood. You can tell Mrs. Aldershot how amazingly small her infant’s hands are, and tell Lady Crowley that her new hat suits her. Or you can say nothing at all. Just tip your hat and smile.”
“The way you did, Papa?”
“Precisely. But there is a worse disadvantage to our gift than knowing false compliments for Spanish coin. Sometimes people will fear you. They cannot understand how you know they lie, and so they are afraid you can read their thoughts. Then you lose their trust, or else they are wary of saying anything at all.”
“Is that what happened with Mama?”
“No, she—” He could not lie, not to his own son. “Yes. Partly. There were other reasons she left, reasons that had nothing to do with truth or lies.”
They were both silent, thinking of the countess so far away in London. They were both wondering what they could have done or said to change her mind and make her stay. They were both missing her. The earl was drinking to dull his pain; the boy was fighting to relieve his anger. They both had tears now in their similar, startling blue eyes.
Truly Yours Page 1
