A Lily Among Thorns(40)

Sure enough, Mr. Hathaway smiled. “Well, perhaps I won’t send to my brother for his copy of Hannah More just yet.”

Serena felt suffocated.

“What’s that about Hannah More?” Solomon walked back into the room with a wide, flat book under his arm.

“Lady Serena was merely offering me her opinion as to whether Clara would find her essays edifying.”

Solomon blinked. “But when Father sent her a copy of Practical Piety for her birthday, you said you’d thank him to refrain from trying to turn Clara into a canting milk-and-water killjoy, and then you burned it!”

Mr. Hathaway laughed. “Mm, yes, well, hand me that book.” He made a pretense of examining it. “No, it doesn’t look as though I need anything specific at the moment. Lady Pursleigh is giving a masquerade next Sunday, though, and I’m bound to get some last-minute orders, so any simple costume designs you think of would be welcome.”

Solomon smiled. “I’ll keep it in mind. We’ll be off, then.”

Mr. Hathaway cleared his throat. “I heard—that is, I heard Lady Serena’s gown was lovely. I should have liked to see it.”

Solomon looked absurdly pleased. “Thank you.”

Mr. Hathaway frowned. “Well, off you go.”

Off they went, Serena feeling decidedly morose. No sooner had the door clanged shut behind them than Solomon asked, “What did my uncle say to you?”

“What makes you think I didn’t start it?” she asked nastily.

“Because I know my uncle and I know you. Why do you think I didn’t want to leave you alone with him?”

She blinked. “I naturally assumed you thought I’d say something cutting if you weren’t there to restrain me.”

Solomon smiled at her. “I wasn’t worried. You’re polite enough when you’re not unduly provoked.”

Her head started to ache. “What is wrong with all of you?”

Solomon chewed his lip. “Was it that bad? I was only gone a minute—”

“I am not polite,” she said despairingly.

His smile returned, wider this time. “Is that all? It’s not as if I said you were a sensible girl with a good head on her shoulders. You can be debonair, faintly sinister, and polite, you know.”

Damn him, he was laughing at her. “Why must you always be so damned patient and reasonable?”

“Well, I could be unreasonable and accusatory if you prefer, but I don’t think you’d find it entertaining after the first few minutes.” When her scowl didn’t lift, he said, “Cut line, Serena! You’d have been twice as annoyed if I’d assumed you’d started it, anyway.”

“Don’t act like you know me! You don’t. None of you know me.” She saw with dull satisfaction that he was beginning to lose his patience. Not surprising, of course. She could try the patience of a saint.

“I may not know you, Serena, but I’ve figured out by now that you never pass up the opportunity to enact a Cheltenham tragedy. If you don’t want to tell me what my uncle said, well and good, but don’t insult both our intelligences with this claptrap.”

“Damnation, I don’t enact Cheltenham tragedies!”

“Then what the hell is this? What are you so bloody upset about?”

“Your uncle thinks we—I don’t even know what he thinks. I think he likes me.”

“That’s what this is about?” He stared at her. “Are you so determined to be universally detested?”

Frustration welled up inside her. She couldn’t explain it; he would never understand.

He shrugged. “So you can enjoy dramatically disillusioning him when you toss me out on my ear.”

She was a bit put out that he could sound so cavalier about it. “Before that, he as near as told me I was a dissolute lady, born with a silver spoon in my mouth, trifling with your naive affections for the sake of my own high-born amusement.”

Solomon’s jaw dropped. “But that’s ridiculous. You work for a living, same as anyone! He might as well say I—” His face changed. He rubbed at his temple, looking defeated. “But he does think that, of course.”

“He does?” she asked, startled.

He shrugged. She’d noticed that he always did that when he was angry with someone on his own account, as if it wasn’t important. As if it didn’t matter how he felt. “Oh, yes. When I started working there after Cambridge, he was always at me to weigh my options, not to let him hold me back. He never lets me sit behind the counter or do fittings, because that would be too menial for me—but he never lets me touch the books either, because I think he thinks anyone who’s half a toff and went to university must have a wretched head for business. He thinks I’m just dabbling and when I get bored, I’ll take Uncle Dewington’s allowance and go. I’ve been working for him for four years now, and he just won’t—”