helpmeet, not his slave,” he concluded a trifle pompously.
Tonight was—nothing? She hadn’t ruined Susannah’s marriage? “A very enlightened view.”
His face softened. “Honestly, I couldn’t live without her, even if she can be absolutely daft. So I owe you not only an apology, but my eternal gratitude for finding those cursed earrings, because without them I would have been a bachelor until Kingdom come.”
“It was nothing,” Serena said, embarrassed.
“I wish she would agree to become a Methodist, though.”
Serena blinked.
“You wouldn’t be interested in Methodism, would you?” he asked eagerly. “We have among our number sisters from your former profession. You could serve our Lord like Mary Magdalene.”
“Er, no, thank you. I don’t think I have much in common with Mary Magdalene, my former profession notwithstanding.”
He sighed. “I suppose not. Thank you. You’ve been very gracious about my atrocious behavior. Surely everything they say about you cannot be true.”
“Well,” Serena conceded for very likely the first time in her life, “perhaps not.”
Mrs. Hathaway poked her head into the parlor almost the moment they were back inside. “Supper! I hope you like roast beef. I’m afraid I couldn’t get a fatted calf on such short notice.”
Dessert was almond-pear tartlets. “These are lovely, Mrs. Hathaway,” Serena told her. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so. The Prince Regent ate six when Solomon made them.”
Mrs. Hathaway waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, the Prince Regent.”
“He said he’d been trying to buy the recipe from Mrs. Jones for years,” Serena said. Happening to glance at Solomon, she surprised an expression of sudden enlightenment on his face. What had she said?
“Well, I hope you didn’t sell it to him,” Mrs. Hathaway said with a sniff.
“I did not.” When she looked back, the expression was gone from Solomon’s face, and she was left wondering if she had imagined it.
“You know who else liked your tartlets, Mama?” Solomon asked.
“Who, dear?”
“Sir Percy Blakeney.”
The effect was electric. Susannah groaned, Elijah laughed, Mr. Hathaway threw his napkin on the table in disgust, and Mrs. Hathaway sat straighter in her seat and said, “Really? You aren’t bamming me, are you, Sol?”
“Would I lie about something like that?”
“The Scarlet Pimpernel,” Susannah explained to Jonas. “You know, he saved all those French aristocrats. Mama used to have the most enormous tendre for him.”
“Oh, I did not. I was a married woman with more important things to think about, like keeping track of a naughty set of twins.”
“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