A Lily Among Thorns(7)

Solomon stopped short in the doorway to the dining room. Surely that wasn’t—but yes, it was. Of course it was. Lord Smollett. The bane of his Cambridge career.

“Welcome to the Ravenshaw Arms, my lord,” Lady Serena said graciously. “Your usual table is waiting for you.”

“Thank you, m’dear,” said the all-too-familiar drawl. “You are an excellent hostess. Although I much preferred your other career.” Smollett guffawed. Solomon, gritting his teeth, considered going back to his room and locking the door.

Lady Serena smiled blandly, but a tenseness in her jaw suggested her teeth were gritted, too. “As flattering as that is, I can’t say the same for myself.”

“Now that’s not very flattering to me!” said Smollett. What did he mean by that? What had Lady Serena’s other career been? She didn’t so much as lift an eyebrow, but Solomon could almost hear her say, Exactly. He tried surreptitiously to attract her attention.

But Smollett spotted him before she did. “Well, if it isn’t the Hatherdasher!” He strode purposefully toward his new prey. “Matching the upholstery, are you?”

Solomon sighed. Some things never changed. “Why yes, I am, as a matter of fact. May I congratulate you on the cut of your coat, my lord? Weston’s, isn’t it? We have a new piqué jonquil waistcoat in the window that would go perfectly.”

“Dash it all, Hathaway, you talk like a damn tradesman!” He paused to consider this. “Course, you are one. I might have known you wouldn’t be anyplace so dashing on your own account. A fellow like you hardly has hopes of slipping into the Siren’s bed.” He laughed again.

Solomon leaned hopelessly against the door frame and gazed over the top of Smollett’s head. Hadn’t he had enough of this at school? Now he couldn’t even write to Elijah about it later and laugh.

Luckily, Lady Serena apparently had had enough. “Oh, Solomon!” she called carelessly. “What the devil were you about, keeping me waiting all this time? I’d nearly given up on you. I saved that little table in the corner for us. Oh, pardon me, my lord.” She brushed past Lord Smollett and, taking Solomon’s arm in a proprietary grip, tugged him in the direction she’d indicated.

Solomon tried not to smile smugly at the expression on Smollett’s face. “Thank you,” he said when they were out of range. “Lord Smollett has a somewhat paralyzing effect on me.”

“I believe he has that effect generally,” Lady Serena said, surprising him. She let go of his arm, rather to his regret, and sat down in the chair that faced the room without waiting for him to pull it out for her.

“Yes, well, he gave me my Cambridge nickname. The—” He stopped.

Her eyes crinkled. “The Hatherdasher, yes, I heard.”

“You and everyone else in the room.”

“Smollett came up with that? He must be cleverer than I gave him credit for.”

“I mean, it’s a bit rich, coming from someone whose name originally meant ‘small head’!”

Something very like a snort escaped Lady Serena. She’d seemed so intimidating at their first meeting, but maybe he’d just been nervous. Maybe she was an ordinary woman after all. “It did?” she asked.

“Yes, I came across it once in an etymological text. I told him, but he and his friends just looked at each other and laughed. It was an utter rout.”

“You can’t fight the Smolletts of this world on their own terms. But I find utter indifference works wonders.”

“‘Forsake the foolish, and live.’ Yes, I know.” He ducked his head at her quizzical expression. “Proverbs Nine: Six. Sorry, I—the Proverbs were written by Solomon, you know, so I liked them when I was a boy.”

“And you were the sort of boy who memorized things.”

There was a smile in her dry voice, so he laughed instead of taking offense. “How did you guess? But forsaking the foolish—it’s easier said than done. You seemed rather nettled yourself when I came in.”

She stiffened. “It takes a deal more than Lord Smollett to nettle me.”

Solomon was skeptical, but he turned the subject. “Where did you get the nickname of Siren?”

“It sounds like my name,” she said shortly, and so coldly that he flushed. She signaled to a waiter, and in a very few minutes of awkward silence, their places were laid with gleaming silver and spotless china. Wine and water were poured, a basket of fresh hot rolls was placed with a flourish in the center of the table, and two attractive bowls of cucumber soup were set before them. Solomon’s mouth watered. He’d been living on bread and cheese and mince pies from the corner shop for a long time.