A Lily Among Thorns (37 page)

Sophy’s mouth dropped open. “Part—
ownership
?”

“Of the Arms. René’s gone, and it’s too much work for one person to manage this place.”

Sophy blinked. “I—” She tilted her head and thought. “Antoine ought to have a share, too,” she said tentatively.

Serena considered it. It felt frightening. It meant she wouldn’t be in absolute control anymore. But it meant shared risk, too. It meant, maybe, friends. “That seems fair.”

A smile split Sophy’s face. “I’d love to. I’ve got some money put by. Not much, but—”

Serena grinned and held out her hand. “We’ll discuss terms when I get back.” Sophy shook it, and then, impulsively, hugged her. Serena stiffened.

Sophy let go. “If we’re going to be friends, you’ll have to get used to it,” she said heartlessly, and shut the door behind her with a cheerful bang.

No matter what happened in Shropshire, Serena would have this. It made her feel a little less sick.

I really am going to be sick
, Serena thought as the coach jolted and swayed to a stop in the center of town.

“Corfield!” the driver announced.

Serena leaned back against the squabs, closed her eyes, and fought down her nausea and panic as the other passengers clambered out of the coach.

“Are you all right, m’lady?” Becky, the maid she’d chosen to play propriety, asked for the hundredth time. Serena didn’t answer for fear of snapping at her.

Abruptly a flood of cursing met her ears. “Some rum son of a bitch has cut away the luggage!”

She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Solomon’s head poked back into the coach. “However did you contrive to keep our luggage from being taken with everyone else’s?”

She felt her smile spread a little. “Why do you think I tied Ravenshaw Arms handkerchiefs so tightly to the handles? This coach is Tiny Jack Harris’s favorite target.”

Solomon shook his head admiringly. “You’d better come along before the rest of the passengers stone us.”

The rest of the passengers were grumbling suspiciously as
Serena stepped out of the coach and blinked in the low evening sun. But she quickly saw that that wasn’t the only reason they were the focus of attention. From every shop, people were running out the door to point at them. A girl of perhaps fourteen rushed out of the milliner’s shop and threw herself on Solomon.

“You’re alive!” she shrieked.

Solomon disentangled himself and laughed. “I’m Solomon, Peg.”

Peg flushed furiously, turned, and primly held out her hand to Elijah, who shook it.

“I’m glad to see you, too, brat,” he said with a grin. “Is choir practice still on Thursday evenings?”

She nodded vigorously. “
Nothing
ever changes around here. Are you going to the church then?”

Elijah nodded.

“I’ll tell them you’re coming,” she said, and raced off, pigtails flying.

They were only halfway to the church when they met a small whirlwind of Hathaways coming in the other direction.

Elijah dropped his trunk just in time to catch a tall, plump young lady with honey-colored hair who ran toward him screaming “Elijah Elijah Elijah!” But not far behind were Solomon’s parents, both red-faced but not slacking their pace in the slightest.

“Susannah Susannah Susannah,” Elijah said, kissing the girl and setting her aside. Lady Lydia looked into his face for a moment, mouth trembling, before she buried her face in his waistcoat and squeezed him tightly. His arms went around her, too, and his face dropped to her shoulder. They stood like that for a minute, and then Lady Lydia pulled away.

“Here, let me take a look at you. Oh!” she scolded, “as if that coat wasn’t bad enough when you left! People will think you were raised in a barn!” and she started sobbing.

“Now, now, Lydia,” Mr. Hathaway said in a rather choked
voice, throwing an arm around his wife’s shoulders and shaking Elijah’s hand manfully. “Don’t embarrass the boy.”

Indeed, Elijah was flushing deeply and fumbling at the handkerchief on the handle of his trunk. It was nice to know that when the occasion required it, he could blush like a true Hathaway.

Elijah handed his mother the handkerchief. “I’m so sorry, Mama. But I’m back now, and I’ll make it up to you.”

Tears pricked at Serena’s own eyes. What would it be like to see her mother again?

“What a morbid handkerchief,” Lady Lydia said, looking at Serena’s painstakingly embroidered ravens. “Wherever did you get it?”

“It’s part of the Ravenshaw Arms livery,” Solomon said. “Here, everybody, let me introduce you to Lady Serena.”

Five blond heads and five pairs of reddened Hathaway eyes turned toward Serena. She swallowed and straightened.

“Lady Serena, may I present my mother, Mrs. Hathaway; my father, Mr. Hathaway; and my sister, Susannah.” So Lady Lydia didn’t use her title. What would she think of Serena’s? “Lady Serena was instrumental in finding the Hathaway earrings and she’s saved my life on at least two separate occasions, so I’d like all of you to be very kind to her and make her feel at home.”

They all stared at her. How could they not, after an introduction like that? She was painfully conscious that there was a still a fading yellowish bruise on her jaw.

And yes, she had vowed to be unfriendly and shocking and end this farce as soon as possible, but of course she was quite incapable of doing it. “How do you do, Mrs. Hathaway,” she said awkwardly. Damn. She shook herself, gave a brilliant smile, and held out a hand in a charmingly frank manner that faltered only a little when she met Mrs. Hathaway’s eyes. Lord Dewington had been right; this was where Solomon had got his sharp hazel gaze.

“Very well, thank you,” Mrs. Hathaway said with a smile, and shook her hand firmly. “What a lovely bracelet!”

It was the gorgon bracelet Solomon had given her. She had worn it—might as well admit it—for reassurance. But she had hoped Solomon wouldn’t notice. Not looking at him, she hurried into speech. “Mr. Hathaway picked it out. Isn’t it darling? He’s so thoughtful!” Oh Lord, she sounded like an idiot.

Mrs. Hathaway gave Solomon a sharp look, but she said, “All my children have been blessed with a great deal more taste than their mother.”

Then Serena was forgotten totally as the Hathaways once again crowded around Elijah. “We told the choristers to go home,” Susannah said. “Let’s go to the vicarage directly. Jonas is coming for a late supper! We are all dying to hear about your shocking exploits as an agent of the Crown.”

“Later, brat,” Elijah said, laughing. “For now I want to hear all about how you snared such a fine catch as the shopkeeper! After his stores of peppermint candy, weren’t you?” With his mother hanging on to his arm, his father’s arm around his shoulder, and his sister dancing backward in front of him, Elijah proceeded to the vicarage.

Solomon was left to walk with Serena. “You needn’t act like Miss Jeeves, you know. This isn’t St. Andrew of the Cross. I told you, they’ll like you. And they would hate Miss Jeeves.” He looked ahead, his eyes shining as he watched his family.

“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have put flowers in the spare room,” Mrs. Hathaway apologized. “But fortunately I aired out the sheets only Monday. I’ll fetch you some water and you can freshen up before supper.”

“Thank you,” Serena said, and gratefully shut the door behind Mrs. Hathaway.

The spare room was airy and bright. Serena found herself longing with a dreadful homesickness for her dark, stately room
at the Arms. She sank down on the quilted counterpane for a moment. The sheets smelled of lavender.

“Do you want to change for supper, m’lady?” Becky asked. Resolutely, Serena got up and let Becky help her take off her dusty traveling gown and shake out her petticoats. She donned her severest gown, and while Becky buttoned it up, she brushed out and repinned her hair. She examined herself in the mirror. Except for the bruise on her jaw, she looked prim and proper enough in her forest-green cotton and trim linen fichu. Was it only two days ago she had vowed never to wear another fichu?

Serena sighed. She could face down a pistol-wielding spy, she could banter coolly with the regent—but these people paralyzed her, with their goodness and their respectability. She could not possibly go down to supper in a low-necked gown.

She hated that she was willing to crawl for their approval, that she was trying to pretend to be something she was not. But what
was
she? A whore?

That was the problem: she didn’t know what she was. She had been the owner of the Arms; she had shared her bed with no one, and been proud of it; she had been defiant and acid-tongued and fiercely alone. None of those things felt permanent anymore. She wanted to be herself—not the embittered Siren; not Lady Serena, the consummate woman of business; not the silver-eyed Thorn with her web of favors and connections. They were all part of her, but she had never really believed, until she met Solomon, that she was capable of being something more.

Everything had been stripped away until all that really seemed to belong to her was the cheap trinket around her wrist—and why was Solomon’s gift the one thing about her that did not seem created by someone else?

Mrs. Hathaway brought in the water. “There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry,” she told Becky. Becky, knowing a dismissal when she heard it, looked at Serena. She nodded and the maid ran off. “I brought a fresh towel, too.”

Serena washed the dust off her face and hands, sharply conscious of Solomon’s mother behind her.

“If you’re nervous, don’t be. We’re all very glad to meet you.”

“Thank you.”

“Did you really save Solomon’s life twice?”

Serena turned around and looked at her. For the first time she noticed the deep lines in Mrs. Hathaway’s round face, the way they fell into place when she frowned, as if they were carved there. Had Elijah’s “death” done that? Would Solomon look like that, when he was older? Would he be happy without her? “Don’t worry,” she said. “No one will ever dare touch him again. I promise.”

Mrs. Hathaway blinked. “I, er—all right, then.”

It had been a very strange thing to say. Serena gritted her teeth.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” Solomon’s mother said, and folded her in a warm embrace that smelled like lavender and kitchens. Serena had been hugged more in the last few days than she had been in the previous ten years. This time she managed not to stiffen, but before she could contemplate raising her arms, Mrs. Hathaway released her.

“And if you don’t care for the books in here, there are plenty more downstairs,” she said, as if that was the most important thing for a guest to know. Serena almost laughed. There were two bursting bookshelves in her room already, more than most families owned in total. She looked at the titles: the Bible (in English, Latin, Hebrew, and Greek), Hannah More, and old novels jostled for space with a host of radicals and bluestockings: Wollstonecraft, Locke, Barbauld, Montagu, Godwin, Rousseau, Bentham. Perhaps supper would not be so bad after all.

The folly of hoping for a smooth meal was evident before supper even began. The young people were waiting in the parlor while Mrs. Hathaway put the finishing touches on the roast and Mr. Hathaway set the table. Jonas, Susannah’s betrothed, was struggling through his first conversation with Elijah, who didn’t sound particularly keen on talking about the religious habits of the French but was trying.

Susannah flopped down next to Serena on the settee. “Is it true you were Lord Byron’s mistress?”

Serena stared at Susannah in dismay. How could she talk to Solomon’s innocent little sister about her past? But the girl’s brown eyes were shining with admiration and pleasantly scandalized curiosity. It reminded her a little of Solomon, asking about the Prince Regent’s corset.

“Susannah, Lady Serena doesn’t have to answer any of your questions unless she wants to,” Solomon said firmly. But he had paused just long enough that, although no trace of it showed in his voice, Serena knew he was curious. She glanced at Elijah. He was leaning forward in his chair with a dare in his smile. Well, what was the harm? Serena nodded.

Susannah sighed dreamily. “Did he ever write you any poems?”

Serena couldn’t help it. She smiled. “Yes.”

Susannah gasped. “Do you still have them?”

Serena did, but they were utterly unfit for the girl’s perusal. “I’m afraid not.” Her smile widened at Susannah’s melancholy sigh—and she caught Jonas’s shocked, angry gaze. She froze.
That
was the harm. How had she been so stupid?

“And is it true that you beat him in a shooting match wearing nothing but—”

“Susannah, that is
enough
!” Jonas burst out, rather red in the face. “You shouldn’t know of such things!”

“Lady Serena knows of such things,” Susannah pointed out.

“Lady Serena is—” Jonas began hotly, but he broke off as both Solomon and Elijah half-rose from their chairs. “Whatever Lady Serena’s conduct may or may not have been, I do not wish my future wife to know of such matters, and if she knows of them, she can jolly well refrain from discussing them in company.”

Susannah’s mouth set in a hard line. “I apologize for Jonas, Lady Serena. And certainly I did not mean to pry.”