A Lily Among Thorns(111)

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.”