A Lily Among Thorns, page 28
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.
Chapter 27
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.”
“It’s quite all right,” Serena said hastily. “I suppose it is not a fit story for your ears.”
Susannah looked daggers at her beloved. “Jonas is not my father.”
“I think you know what your father would say about your behavior,” Jonas snapped, and Susannah turned bright red.
Serena tried to remember why she had agreed to come here.
“Jonas, I am very warm,” Susannah said in freezing accents. “Will you take a turn with me in the garden?”
“Certainly, my dear,” Jonas said, equally coldly. He offered her his arm with a stiff bow.
Soon everyone in the room could hear the shouts (Jonas’s) and low angry murmurs (Susannah’s) coming from outside. Elijah got up and shut the window, but Serena still heard, at intervals, “most notorious courtesan in England,” “your hoydenish behavior,” “bringing his mistress home,” “Lord Byron is a profligate rake and a scoundrel,” “dashed insipid verse,” and “can damn well marry him then!”
“He’s a little prig, isn’t he?” said Elijah. Solomon nodded resignedly.
It had already begun, just as she had known it would, as she had warned Solomon that it would. Her presence, like the apple of discord, was blighting Susannah’s future and tainting Solomon’s happy home. Why had he insisted she come?
Abruptly, Solomon stood and went to the small harpsichord by the hearth. He began banging out some old folk tune, unnecessarily loudly, and singing the words in a light baritone.
The shouts from the garden became indistinct and almost inaudible. Serena glanced at Elijah, who had picked up a book and was studiously reading. She went to the piano to turn Solomon’s pages.
His stained fingers—fading violet and green, today—rattled expertly over the keys. He looked up at her again as she turned his page, his eyes bright, and she couldn’t help but smile and lean toward him. This was why she had come.
“Come on, sing,” he urged her.
“I don’t know the words,” she lied. But he raised his eyebrows at her and she was almost considering coming in on the chorus when Susannah and Jonas reappeared, both flushed and with glittering eyes. Serena looked from one to the other, trying to determine if all was over.
“Lady Serena,” Susannah said awkwardly, “I owe you an apology.”
Serena stared.
“I never considered that my questions might make you uncomfortable,” the girl forged on. “I let my curiosity get the better of me. I ought to have thought before I spoke.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Serena said uncomfortably. “I didn’t really mind.”
Susannah shot a rather triumphant look at Jonas, but said only, “I hope you won’t think too ill of me. We all want you to be happy here, so that you’ll come back.”
Serena, speechless, glanced at Solomon. He was smiling at his sister, and Susannah, seeing it, smiled back.
“I hope we may become very good friends, almost like—like sisters,” the girl said daringly, and Serena felt herself flush. She didn’t dare look at Jonas. Susannah, though, turned expectant eyes on her betrothed.
“May I have a word with you, Lady Serena?” Jonas asked stiffly. “I would be delighted to show you the garden.”
“C—certainly,” Serena said, surprised.
Solomon frowned. “Susannah, I don’t know what you’re planning—” he began warningly.
Serena did not think she could bear another quarrel. “I’m going.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Mr. Hathaway, please.”
He looked at her and sighed. “All right, but if he says anything offensive, don’t hesitate to darken his daylights.”
It was lovely in the vicarage garden, moonlit and sweetsmelling and warm. Nevertheless, Serena wished she had a shawl. It would give her something to do with her hands. When had she last been at such a loss?
“I owe you an apology as well, Lady Serena.”
She blinked.
“I have failed in my love toward my neighbor—have been, in a word, uncharitable. Whatever your past may be, that does not excuse my behavior.”
She had at least four acerbic remarks on the tip of her tongue, but she found she had no desire to say any of them. He was so young and stilted and determined. And he was Solomon’s sister’s betrothed. And he was apologizing to her. “It’s quite all right,” she said awkwardly. “You mustn’t blame Susannah—anyone can see how innocent she is—”
Jonas laughed incredulously. “Innocent? You clearly haven’t known her long. That girl is the most hoydenish, knowing, impossible—”
Serena’s heart sank. “I told Solomon he ought not to bring me here. I told him he couldn’t bring a woman with my reputation into a house with his sister. He wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Hathaways never do when they’ve got a notion in their heads,” Jonas said ruefully. He paused. “I—I hope you couldn’t hear our argument.”
She coughed. “Very little of it.”
“I owe you a double apology then. The Hathaways might be unconventional, but even Solomon wouldn’t really bring his mistress home to meet his family. I should be aiding you in putting your past behind you, not judging you on the strength of it.”
Serena gulped. What would he do if he knew it was true? “Don’t be angry with Susannah. If you’d rather I left, I—”
He looked at her incredulously. “If I’d rather? I assure you, Susannah would never forgive me.”
“Of course she would. I meant to say—she’s your betrothed—there might be gossip—”
Jonas drew himself up. “A true Christian does not act in deference to vulgar tongues.”
“Then there are very few true Christians in England.”
“Alas, that is true,” Jonas said, with almost a smile. “But fortunately, you are among them now.”
“The last thing I ever wanted was to cause trouble between you and Susannah.”
Jonas snorted. “We don’t need you to do that. Tonight was nothing. At any rate, I have no desire for a wife who would allow me to persist in folly without making me aware of it. Woman is man’s helpmeet, not his slave,” he concluded a trifle pompously.
Tonight was—nothing? She hadn’t ruined Susannah’s marriage? “A very enlightened view.”
His face softened. “Honestly, I couldn’t live without her, even if she can be absolutely daft. So I owe you not only an apology, but my eternal gratitude for finding those cursed earrings, because without them I would have been a bachelor until Kingdom come.”
“It was nothing,” Serena said, embarrassed.
“I wish she would agree to become a Methodist, though.”
Serena blinked.
“You wouldn’t be interested in Methodism, would you?” he asked eagerly. “We have among our number sisters from your former profession. You could serve our Lord like Mary Magdalene.”
“Er, no, thank you. I don’t think I have much in common with Mary Magdalene, my former profession notwithstanding.”
He sighed. “I suppose not. Thank you. You’ve been very gracious about my atrocious behavior. Surely everything they say about you cannot be true.”
“Well,” Serena conceded for very likely the first time in her life, “perhaps not.”
Mrs. Hathaway poked her head into the parlor almost the moment they were back inside. “Supper! I hope you like roast beef. I’m afraid I couldn’t get a fatted calf on such short notice.”
Dessert was almond-pear tartlets. “These are lovely, Mrs. Hathaway,” Serena told her. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so. The Prince Regent ate six when Solomon made them.”
Mrs. Hathaway waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, the Prince Regent.”
“He said he’d been trying to buy the recipe from Mrs. Jones for years,” Serena said. Happening to glance at Solomon, she surprised an expression of sudden enlightenment on his face. What had she said?
