A Lily Among Thorns(114)

“I seem to remember you following his exploits pretty closely in the papers,” Elijah said teasingly.

“I never saw what all the fuss was about,” Mr. Hathaway grumbled. “A show of aristocratic solidarity, that’s all. Afraid for their own necks if the peasants in England showed a bit of sense.”

“But you must admit it was dreadfully romantic! Remember when he dressed as an old hag to smuggle out the ci-devant comtesse de Tourney and her children?”

“Yes,” the entire family chorused.

“That’s one of his favorites, too,” Serena said. “He tells it at least once every time I see him. And he doesn’t tip.”

“So my brother-in-law tells me,” Mrs. Hathaway said sadly, and Mr. Hathaway looked at Serena with something almost like approval.

Solomon and Elijah had barely spoken to each other since the night of Sacreval’s escape. Solomon couldn’t bear to go back to their room and face Elijah’s stony silence, and if he lingered in one of the downstairs rooms, his mother was bound to hear him and want to know why. The only logical alternative was knocking on Serena’s door.

It was good to have a logical reason to do what he wanted to do anyway, even if the reason was that his brother wasn’t speaking to him. He knocked softly.

She opened the door in her shift and wrap. It occurred to him that he’d seen her in those maybe more than he’d seen her clothed. The bruise on her jaw had mostly faded already, the skin just faintly yellowed. He reached out to run his finger along it, and she flinched back. “Solomon!” she hissed. “We’re in your parents’ house, for God’s sake!”

“Nothing will happen,” he said softly, although he wanted it to. He wondered if she would let him. He thought they could be quiet.

She saw it in his face, he could tell; her lips parted and her eyes darkened, and then she said, “Go away!” and started to shut the door.

“I’ll sit on the floor,” he said quickly. “Please.”

“No,” she said, and held the door open for him. He sat on the floor under the window, and she sat on the edge of the bed. The candlelight made her look rich and rounded, darkness between her breasts and caressing her legs where the fringe of her wrap shivered and shook when she moved.

She cleared her throat. “So, the prodigal son returns,” she said, in a husky voice that told him she was looking at him, too.

He half-laughed and tried to keep his eyes on her face. “You noticed Mother made a fatted calf joke before we’d been here half a day.” Of course, if Elijah was the prodigal son, then he was the dutiful, bitter one. There was a truth to that that disturbed him. “Do you mean that I envy him?”

She shook her head. Probably she hadn’t, but he found he wanted to talk to her about it anyway. Even here, in the bosom of his family, it was her he turned to. “I’m ashamed of it,” he said. “Nothing’s ever made me happier than knowing he’s back. But mixed with the joy—I’m right back to envying him for dressing better than me, for heaven’s sake. I want to have outgrown that.”

“Do you want to know a secret? I think the way he does his hair looks rather silly.”

He gave her a quick, pleased smile, then looked away. “Mother will be so upset when she finds he’s going back to France.”

“René can never come back to England now, can he?” She sounded sad.

Solomon couldn’t help feeling that Sacreval didn’t deserve all this devotion. “No, and Elijah won’t come back either. He’ll run off to France, and I’ll never see him again.” He was going to be alone all over again. And this time, he would know that it was because Elijah chose it.

Serena made a restless, abrupt gesture. “You can’t blame him for being angry with you.” She sounded angry, too. She thought he was whining, probably. And he was.

“I know he’s right,” he said steadily. “I am the dull, conventional one. But I’m trying to—I’m doing my best. I don’t know what more I can do.”

Serena wrapped the end of one of her braids around her finger, her mouth twisting. “Solomon, you aren’t the dull, conventional one.”

“Aren’t I?”

“No. I agree it might look that way—”

He snorted.

“—to people who aren’t very bright,” she finished. “You’ve got to stop thinking he’s just the calf-bound, gilt-edged edition of you. It isn’t fair to either of you. You’re two different people.”