A Lily Among Thorns(112)

“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—”