The love remedy, p.1
The Love Remedy, page 1
Praise for Elizabeth Everett
“Fizzy, engrossing romance . . . a wholehearted celebration of women who choose to live gleefully outside the bounds of patriarchy’s limitations.”
—Entertainment Weekly on A Lady’s Formula for Love
“Smart is the new sexy, and Elizabeth Everett does both better than anyone else!”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Ali Hazelwood
“A delightful romp.”
—PopSugar on A Lady’s Formula for Love
“Explosive chemistry, a heroine who loves her science, and lines that made me laugh out loud—this witty debut delivered, and I’d like the next installment now, please.”
—Evie Dunmore, USA Today bestselling author, on A Lady’s Formula for Love
“Sparkling, smart, moving, original—just delightful from start to finish.”
—Julie Anne Long, USA Today bestselling author, on A Perfect Equation
“Dazzling. A Love by Design is full of heart, brains, and white-hot sizzle.”
—New York Times bestselling author Lynn Painter
“Splendidly entertaining . . . detonates with an ingeniously orchestrated display of wit and whimsy that dazzlingly celebrates the importance of both STEM research and love in a lady’s life.”
—Booklist on A Perfect Equation (starred review)
“A witty, dazzling debut with a science-minded heroine and her broody bodyguard. Fiercely feminist and intensely romantic, A Lady’s Formula for Love is a fresh take on historical romance that’s guaranteed to delight readers.”
—USA Today bestselling author Joanna Shupe
“A brilliant scientist and her brooding bodyguard discover that love can find you when you least expect it. A Lady’s Formula for Love is full of wit, charm, and intrigue. You don’t want to miss this exciting debut from Elizabeth Everett.”
—Harper St. George, author of the Gilded Age Heiresses series
“I’ve always loved Everett’s Secret Scientists of London series—historical romances that revolve around the early women of STEM and the men who are either bowled over by their smarts or self-preserving enough to get out of their goddamn way and let them do their thing.”
—Paste
“Smart, sassy, sexy, and sweet . . . it’s The Bodyguard meets Pride and Prejudice. Mr. Darcy, with his brooding sexiness, doesn’t have a damned thing on Arthur Kneland. This book is an all-around winner.”
—Minerva Spencer, author of the Academy of Love series, on A Lady’s Formula for Love
“A secret society of rule-breaking women . . . irresistible! You’re going to love Elizabeth Everett’s adventurous debut.”
—Theresa Romain, author of the Holiday Pleasures series, on A Lady’s Formula for Love
“A sweet, swoon-worthy tale.”
—Woman’s World on A Lady’s Formula for Love
“A fabulous debut filled with danger, imperfect but fierce found family, and the love story of two stubborn protectors, A Lady’s Formula for Love is everything a romance reader who likes to ponder as well as cheer could want.”
—Felicia Grossman, author of the Truitts series
“Elizabeth Everett’s writing absolutely dazzles. Fiercely feminist, deliciously sexy, and bursting with intoxicating enemies-to-lovers goodness, A Perfect Equation is an instant historical romance classic and Everett an auto-buy author.”
—Mazey Eddings, author of A Brush with Love
“Poignantly feminist and perfectly feisty! Letty and Grey’s romance is a delicious journey from sharp-tongued disdain to smoldering desire.”
—Chloe Liese, author of the Bergman Brothers series, on A Perfect Equation
“A sparkling debut full of humor, heart, and sizzling romance.”
—Jeanine Englert, award-winning author of Lovely Digits, on A Lady’s Formula for Love
“When a spirited mathematician and the straitlaced nobleman she loathes are thrust together to protect Athena’s Retreat, witty one-liners, corsets, and sparks fly. A brilliant balance of comedy, sensuous romance, and smashing the patriarchy, the second installment of the Secret Scientists of London is a triumph!”
—Libby Hubscher, author of If You Ask Me
“With its engaging plot, memorable characters, spicy love scenes, and a bromance for the ages, A Love by Design is one book no romance lover should miss. Highly recommended.”
—Historical Novel Society
ALSO BY ELIZABETH EVERETT
The Secret Scientists of London
A Lady’s Formula for Love
A Perfect Equation
A Love by Design
BERKLEY ROMANCE
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2024 by Elizabeth Everett
Excerpt from The Lady Sparks a Flame copyright © 2024 by Elizabeth Everett
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Everett, Elizabeth, author.
Title: The love remedy / Elizabeth Everett.
Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley Romance, 2024.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023028932 (print) | LCCN 2023028933 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780593550465 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593550472 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Romance fiction. | Detective and mystery fiction. | Novels.
Classification: LCC PS3605.V435 L75 2023 (print) | LCC PS3605.V435
(ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20230626
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023028932
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023028933
First Edition: March 2024
Cover design by Rita Frangie Batour
Cover illustration by Kelly Wagner
Book design by George Towne, adapted for ebook by Molly Jeszke
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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CONTENTS
Cover
Praise for Elizabeth Everett
Also by Elizabeth Everett
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from The Lady Sparks a Flame
About the Author
_146464156_
Dedicated to my husband, a real-life romantic hero
Dear Reader,
Like all my books, The Love Remedy is a historical romance with a hefty dose of humor. However, like all my books, it centers the experiences of women in a historical context with an eye toward current sociopolitical events.
The book includes elements that might not be suitable for some readers. There is an off-page sexual assault of a secondary character and an off-page induction of menstruation following the assault. Readers who may be sensitive to these topics, please take note.
With all my love,
Elizabeth Everett
1
London, 1843
“ ’Ow much for pulling a toof?”
Any other day, Lucinda Peterson’s answer would have been however much the man standing before her could afford.
Since its founding, Peterson’s Apothecary held a reputation for charging fair prices for real cures. If a customer had no money, Lucy and her siblings would often accept goods or services in trade.
Today, however, was not any other day.
Today was officially the worst day of Lucy’s life.
Yes, there had been other worst days, but that was before today. Today was absolutely the worst.
“Half shilling,” Lucy said, steel in her voice as she crossed her arms, exuding determination. She would hold strong today. She would think of the money the shop desperately needed and the bills piling up and the fact that she truly, really, absolutely needed new undergarments.
“ ’Alf shilling?” the man wailed. “ ’Ow’m I supposed to buy food for me we’uns?”
With a dramatic sigh, he slumped against the large wooden counter that ran the length of the apothecary. The counter, a mammoth construction made of imported walnut, was the dividing line between Lucy’s two worlds.
Until she was seven, Lucy existed with everyone else on the public side. Over there, the shop was crowded with customers who spoke in myriad accents and dialects as they waited in line for a consultation held in hushed voices at the end of the counter. Not all patients were concerned with privacy, however, and lively discussions went on between folks in line on the severity of their symptoms, the veracity of the diagnosis, and the general merits of cures suggested.
Laughter, tears, and the occasional spontaneous bout of poetry happened on the public side of the counter. Seven-year-old Lucy would sweep the floor and dust the shelves as the voices flowed over and around her, waiting for the day when she could cross the dividing line and begin her apprenticeship on the other side.
All four walls of the apothecary were lined with the tools of her trade. Some shelves held rows of glass jars containing medicinal roots such as ginger and turmeric. Other shelves held tin canisters full of ground powders, tiny tin scoops tied to the handles with coarse black yarn. A series of drawers covered the back half of the shop, each of them labeled in a painstaking round running hand by Lucy’s grandfather. There hadn’t been any dried crocodile dung in stock for eighty years or so, but the label remained, a source of amusement and conjecture for those waiting in line.
The shop had stood since the beginning of the last century, and even on this, her absolute worst day, Lucy gave in. She wasn’t going to be the Peterson that broke tradition and turned a patient away.
Even though today was Lucy’s worst day ever, that didn’t mean it should be terrible for everyone.
“For anyone else a tooth is thruppence,” Lucy said as she pulled on her brown linen treatment coat. “So I’m not accused of taking food from the mouths of your we’uns.” She paused to pull a jar of eucalyptus oil out from a drawer and set it on the counter. “I suppose I can charge you tuppence and throw in a boiled sweet for each of them.”
Satisfied with the bargain, the man climbed into her treatment chair in the back room, holding on to the padded armrests and squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation. Lucy spilled a few drops of the oil on a handkerchief and tied it over her nose.
While the scent of eucalyptus was strong enough to bring tears to her eyes, the smell from the man’s rotted tooth was even stronger. She numbed his gums with oil of clove as she examined the rotting tooth and explained to him what she was going to do.
His discomfort was so great, the man waved away her warnings, and so, with a practiced grip, Lucy used her pincers to pull out the offending tooth.
Both wept, him from the pain, she from the stench, as Lucy explained how to best keep the rest of his teeth from suffering the same fate.
“You’re an angel, miss,” the man exclaimed. At least, Lucy hoped he said angel. His cheek was beginning to swell.
She sent him off with the promised sweets as well as a tin of tooth powder and, seeing there were no customers in the shop, she locked the front door and closed the green curtains over the street-facing windows to indicate the shop was closed.
Lucy’s younger sister, Juliet, was out seeing those patients who were not well enough to visit the shop, and her brother, David, could be anywhere in the capital city. Some days he was up with the sun, dusting the shelves and charming the clientele into doubling or even tripling their purchases. Other days, he was nowhere to be found. Days like today.
Worst days.
Lucy sighed a long-drawn-out sigh that she was embarrassed to hear exuded a low note of self-pity along with despair. Exhaustion weighed down her legs and pulled at her elbows while she cleaned the treatment chair and wrote the details of the man’s procedure in her record book. She’d not slept well last night. Nor the night before. In fact, Lucy hadn’t had an uninterrupted night’s sleep for nine years.
Standing with a quill in her hand, she gazed at the etching hanging on the far wall of the back room, sandwiched between a tall, thin chest of drawers and a coatrack covered in bonnets and caps left behind by forgetful patients. Made in exchange for a treatment long forgotten, the artist had captured her mother and father posed side by side in a rare moment of rest.
Constantly moving, and yet always with time for a smile for whoever was in pain or in need of a sympathetic ear, her mother had been a woman of great faith in God and even greater faith in her husband.
“We work all day so we can make merry afterward,” her father would tell Lucy when she complained about the long hours. Indeed, evenings in the Peterson household were redolent with the sound of music and comradery, her father loving nothing more than an impromptu concert with his children, no matter their mistakes on the instruments he’d chosen for them.
The etching was an amateurish work, yet it managed to convey the genuine delight on her father’s face when he found himself in company of his wife.
It had been nine years since her parents died of cholera, a loathsome disease most likely brought home by British soldiers serving with the East India Company. When the first few patients came to the apothecary with symptoms, the Petersons had sent their children to stay with a cousin in the countryside to wait out the disease. Lucy and Juliet had protested, both having trained for such scenarios, but their father held firm.
Her parents’ deaths had come as less of a shock to Lucy than her father’s will. Everything was left to her; the apothecary and the building in which it stood, as well as the proprietary formulas of her father and her grandfather’s tonics and salves.
She had been eighteen years old.
“What were you thinking back then, Da?” she asked the etching now, the smell of vinegar and eucalyptus stinging the back of her throat. “Why would you put this on my shoulders?”
Her father stared out from the picture with his round cheeks and patchy whiskers, eyes crinkled in such a way that Lucy fancied he heard her laments and would give her words of advice if he could speak.
What would they be?
A yawn so large it cracked her jaw made Lucy break off her musings and remove her apron.
Exhaustion had played a huge role in her string of bad decisions the past four months. Ultimately, however, the fault lay with her. Lucy’s guilt had been squeezing the breath from her lungs for weeks.
On the counter, slightly dented from having been crushed in her fist, then thrown to the ground and stepped on, then heaved against the wall, sat a grimy little tin. Affixed to the top was a label with the all-too-familiar initials RSA. Rider and Son Apothecary.
Rider and Son. The latter being the primary reason for this very worst of days.
The longer she stared at the tin, the less Lucy felt the strain of responsibility for running Peterson’s Apothecary and keeping her siblings housed and fed. Beneath the initials were printed the words Rider’s Lozenges. The ever-present exhaustion that had weighed her down moments ago began to dissipate at the sight of the smaller print beneath, which read “exclusive.” The more she stared, the more her guilt subsided beneath a wave of anger that coursed through her blood. “Exclusive patented formula for the relief of putrid throats.”
Exclusive patented formula.
The anger simmered and simmered the longer she stared until it reached a boil and turned to rage.
Grabbing her paletot from the coatrack and a random bonnet that may or may not have matched, Lucy stormed out of the shop, slamming the door behind her with a vengeance that was less impressive when she had to turn around the next second to lock it.
Exclusive patent.
The words burned in her brain, and she clenched her hands into fists.
One warm summer afternoon four months ago, Lucy had been so tired, she’d stopped to sit on a park bench and had closed her eyes. Only for a minute or two, but long enough for a young gentleman passing by to notice and be concerned enough for her safety to inquire as to her well-being.
While the brief rest had been involuntary, remaining on the bench and striking up a conversation with the handsome stranger was her choice, and a terrible one at that. Lucy had allowed Duncan Rider to walk her home; not questioning the coincidence that the son of her father’s rival had been the one to find her vulnerable and offer his protection was down to her own stupidity.
