A Lily Among Thorns(109)

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?”