A Lily Among Thorns(61)
Serena met Solomon’s eyes and sighed. “I can’t win, can I?”
“No, so why try? You would look magnificent in scarlet.”
Serena hastily turned her attention to the ballroom. Everyone in the room was watching them. The low murmur of conversation rose to an excited hum. At least Mrs. Elbourn looked pleasantly scandalized instead of horrified. This would make her party the talk of London. Perhaps that would be enough to keep them from being tossed out on their ears.
Solomon’s shoulders slumped. “Shall we try the buffet table? Maybe there are lobster patties.”
Serena felt warm. Was it because of all the eyes on her, or because Solomon had noticed she loved lobster patties when Antoine made them last week for supper? Before she could answer, a young matron in a towering purple-and-gold turban appeared and grabbed Serena’s arm. With a small shock, she recognized Jenny Warrington, who had been so vivacious and pretty at school and had always made Serena feel like a colorless stick of a girl.
Serena hadn’t thought about her in years and was vaguely surprised to find she still existed.
“Serena! It’s been an age! How lovely to see you!”
“Good evening, Jenny,” Serena said bemusedly.
Jenny, as vivacious and pretty as ever, was unabashed. “I daresay I should have come visit you at that inn, and I would have, for I was dreadfully curious, but well, you know, my dear Pursleigh wouldn’t have liked it.”
“Pursleigh?” Serena said, caught off guard. So Jenny was married to one of René’s spies. And Serena hadn’t known because Lord Pursleigh might be a turncoat, but he still didn’t want his precious wife anywhere near the scandalous Lady Serena Ravenshaw.
“Oh yes, I’m Lady Pursleigh now. My husband won’t like that I’m talking to you now either of course, and really I was planning to increase my consequence by cutting you dead, but that was before I saw what you were wearing! You never used to be so well-dressed. The way it changes color in the light—tell me who made it and I shall fire my modiste on the spot!” The clusters of blond curls at her temples bobbed with enthusiasm.
Serena gestured to a quietly beaming Solomon to take himself off while she advertised his wares. As Jenny monologued about Pursleigh and her sister Dora and her dear little nephew, Serena turned her bracelet round and round and thought.
It was true what she had said. Jewelry was a bad investment. But she hadn’t said the rest, hadn’t said how wearing jewelry was surrendering, how a necklace settled down around your throat like the yoke of servitude, so cunningly wrought that you were expected to be grateful for it. Already, just looking at that parcel, her throat had felt constricted.
She couldn’t have told him that—she would have choked on the words. Wasn’t she supposed to be indifferent to them all? Wasn’t she supposed to have shed her pride along with her reputation? Let them think what they wanted, so long as it swelled her bank account, wasn’t that her motto? And besides, if she’d said it, Solomon would have put the box away and tried to hide his disappointment and she couldn’t, even though she’d been crawlingly aware that men at the ball would see her wearing it and think smugly, So, the Siren’s finally found a fisherman who can tame her!
Then she’d seen the bracelet. It had cost ten shillings at the most. Not a mark of ownership at all—just a cheap trinket that had made Solomon think of her. And she liked it. Even when she’d heard the clasp click into place, like a tiny manacle, she had felt only—secure.
“Serena?” said Jenny impatiently. “Serena, are you listening to a word I’m saying?”
“No, Jenny, I’m not.”
For a moment, Jenny’s blue eyes narrowed in irritation.. Then she shrugged and smiled. “Well, you always were peculiar! I was just saying that I can’t thank you enough for bringing Mr. Hathaway to liven up our evening. He’s terribly handsome, and Dewington’s bound to be mortified. Is it true the other one’s been resurrected? And Mrs. Elbourn looks about to burst, though that’s probably because of you. I shall certainly ask Pursleigh to stop by his shop next time he’s in Savile Row. I don’t care what he says, I will have a gown like that.” It was like watching a partridge bob along, singing to itself, and knowing it was about to be shot. It felt so strange, to have the upper hand of Jenny. Serena wasn’t entirely sure she liked it.
When Jenny finally abandoned her to spread whatever information she thought she had gleaned to the entire ballroom, Solomon was still at the buffet table with a plate of lobster patties in his hand, staring moodily at the dance floor.