Read Online A Lily Among Thorns by Rose Lerner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rose Lerner
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younger boy jostled Serena as he passed. “Have a care with our best china!” she chided the unfortunate young man, who stammered apologetically and hurried to rejoin the train.
“Are they brothers?” Solomon asked, and then wished he hadn’t when Serena gave him a sorry, awkward look.
She nodded. “The young one’s new. Their mother took in laundry, and he used to help her, but she died this spring, so Jem needed new work.”
Solomon felt doubly ashamed of his moment of envy. “And were those really the Ravenshaw arms?” he said to turn the subject.
She smirked. “It wouldn’t be any fun if they weren’t. I only wish I could justify the expense of putting them on
all
our china.”
“It’s a pretty morbid coat of arms.”
“I always liked it.”
She would. He smiled. “I suppose morbidity can be glamorous, in its way.”
Serena raised an eyebrow. “Never tell me you were one of those young men who lurks about in graveyards, drooping languidly and wearing black.”
Solomon grinned. “No, I wasn’t. But Elijah was for about two months. Being the parson’s sons, we had unlimited access to the churchyard. He even penned a few verses on the brevity of life.” He had been marvelously good at drooping languidly, but his verses, which he had read to Solomon with great enthusiasm, had been uniformly bad.
Serena moved a step closer in silent acknowledgment. Hefound it unexpectedly comforting. “Did it drive the young ladies wild?” she asked.
“Naturally. Who doesn’t wish to be kissed behind a tombstone?”
“Who indeed?” She sighed. “I’d better go see if the flowers have arrived. Let me know if you need anything.” She disappeared out the door. He watched her go, trying not to remember the way she’d curved under his hands when he’d pinned her dress.
“She takes such a childlike pleasure in spiting her fazzer,” Antoine said. “And never once has he come here to appreciate it, until zis week.”
Solomon stared. “
Never
?” He had known he was undesirable, but so undesirable that Lord Blackthorne had broken a five-year pattern to get rid of him? His social standing had reached a new low, and Blackthorne was an even viler snob than he’d thought.
“Not once. It is a subject of much conversation among ze staff.” He turned calculating eyes on Solomon. “You were zere. What did he want?”
“Er. I don’t think I ought to tell you.”
“No, you oughtn’t. But Sophy was worried, and she told me to ask. Are you sure you will not reveal your secrets?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“All right zen,” Antoine said with a Gallic shrug that was the image of Sacreval’s. “Let me show you what we have bought you. Ze finest pears in London, zat is what!”
The dining room was scrubbed, the good china laid out, and all the waiters and waitresses dressed in their finest livery. Serena resisted the urge to go and look at herself in the mirror again. The gown would look as perfect this time as it had the previous twenty-seven, and she would look just as pale and cold. It was how she wanted to look, and yet thinking of Solomon—with his grins and flushes and expressive hazel eyes, and the way theset of his shoulders could tell you exactly how he was feeling at all times—she couldn’t help wondering if she repelled him. She tried not to regret her tongue-tied schoolgirl self. That self could never have survived the past six years.
That self couldn’t have curtsied politely to the Prince Regent and ten of his closest friends. She couldn’t have smoothly ignored the men’s ogling, knowing she’d slept with at least half of them, or brushed off their wives’ avid stares, as if she were some outlandish creature in a menagerie.
That self
certainly
couldn’t have hidden her boundless contempt for Sir Percy Blakeney and his inane little wife. She didn’t care how many French aristocrats the former Scarlet Pimpernel had saved from the Terror, he was insufferable. It was only five
“Are they brothers?” Solomon asked, and then wished he hadn’t when Serena gave him a sorry, awkward look.
She nodded. “The young one’s new. Their mother took in laundry, and he used to help her, but she died this spring, so Jem needed new work.”
Solomon felt doubly ashamed of his moment of envy. “And were those really the Ravenshaw arms?” he said to turn the subject.
She smirked. “It wouldn’t be any fun if they weren’t. I only wish I could justify the expense of putting them on
all
our china.”
“It’s a pretty morbid coat of arms.”
“I always liked it.”
She would. He smiled. “I suppose morbidity can be glamorous, in its way.”
Serena raised an eyebrow. “Never tell me you were one of those young men who lurks about in graveyards, drooping languidly and wearing black.”
Solomon grinned. “No, I wasn’t. But Elijah was for about two months. Being the parson’s sons, we had unlimited access to the churchyard. He even penned a few verses on the brevity of life.” He had been marvelously good at drooping languidly, but his verses, which he had read to Solomon with great enthusiasm, had been uniformly bad.
Serena moved a step closer in silent acknowledgment. Hefound it unexpectedly comforting. “Did it drive the young ladies wild?” she asked.
“Naturally. Who doesn’t wish to be kissed behind a tombstone?”
“Who indeed?” She sighed. “I’d better go see if the flowers have arrived. Let me know if you need anything.” She disappeared out the door. He watched her go, trying not to remember the way she’d curved under his hands when he’d pinned her dress.
“She takes such a childlike pleasure in spiting her fazzer,” Antoine said. “And never once has he come here to appreciate it, until zis week.”
Solomon stared. “
Never
?” He had known he was undesirable, but so undesirable that Lord Blackthorne had broken a five-year pattern to get rid of him? His social standing had reached a new low, and Blackthorne was an even viler snob than he’d thought.
“Not once. It is a subject of much conversation among ze staff.” He turned calculating eyes on Solomon. “You were zere. What did he want?”
“Er. I don’t think I ought to tell you.”
“No, you oughtn’t. But Sophy was worried, and she told me to ask. Are you sure you will not reveal your secrets?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“All right zen,” Antoine said with a Gallic shrug that was the image of Sacreval’s. “Let me show you what we have bought you. Ze finest pears in London, zat is what!”
The dining room was scrubbed, the good china laid out, and all the waiters and waitresses dressed in their finest livery. Serena resisted the urge to go and look at herself in the mirror again. The gown would look as perfect this time as it had the previous twenty-seven, and she would look just as pale and cold. It was how she wanted to look, and yet thinking of Solomon—with his grins and flushes and expressive hazel eyes, and the way theset of his shoulders could tell you exactly how he was feeling at all times—she couldn’t help wondering if she repelled him. She tried not to regret her tongue-tied schoolgirl self. That self could never have survived the past six years.
That self couldn’t have curtsied politely to the Prince Regent and ten of his closest friends. She couldn’t have smoothly ignored the men’s ogling, knowing she’d slept with at least half of them, or brushed off their wives’ avid stares, as if she were some outlandish creature in a menagerie.
That self
certainly
couldn’t have hidden her boundless contempt for Sir Percy Blakeney and his inane little wife. She didn’t care how many French aristocrats the former Scarlet Pimpernel had saved from the Terror, he was insufferable. It was only five
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