A Lily Among Thorns(110)
“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.