order to be profitable, but we aren’t a wholesaler, you know.”
Solomon looked hurt, but he stood his ground. “I was meaning to talk to you about that, Uncle. I hate to see a profitable market go to waste. Have you considered going into partnership with Mrs. Cook?”
A deep flush suffused the tailor’s cheeks. Apparently Solomon had got that trait from his father’s side of the family. “Mrs. Cook? Why should you ask? Simply because she comes to dinner occasionally and—and has been so good as to take Clara on as her assistant—”
Serena glanced at Solomon. He was trying to hide a smile. “Of course, Uncle. But surely you’ve noticed that she orders her material through Hyams. Mrs. Cook has a good eye for color and design, but she will never rise to the top of her profession so long as her draper uses such inferior dyes. I worry that Clara’s formative years should be spent in anything less than a truly modish establishment.”
Mr. Hathaway cleared his throat nervously. “Well, when you put it like that—and Mrs. Cook is a woman with a good head on her shoulders.”
“Mrs. Cook is a fine woman,” Solomon agreed gently. “And Arthur and Clara and Jack are very fond of her.” He met his uncle’s sharp eyes guilelessly. “It was just an idea.”
“Mm, well, I’ll think on it.”
“Thank you, Uncle. But my real reason for coming by was to bring you this.” Solomon dipped a hand in his pocket and came up with two hanks of brilliantly colored embroidery thread and a set of pale cream handkerchiefs. Each item had a scrap of like-colored cloth tied round it.
For the first time, Mr. Hathaway broke into a smile. “You matched them perfectly! Clever lad.”
Solomon smiled proudly back. “We match any color. I’ll send the new batches of pearl gray and bottle green round to the warehouse tomorrow. Have you any commissions for me?”
“Actually, we’ll need a large quantity of your black. It looks like Lady M.’s going to stick her spoon in the wall any day now.”
Solomon nodded. “Will do. Is that all?”
Mr. Hathaway’s eyes flickered to Serena. “I’m not sure. Would you mind fetching my orders records from behind the counter?” Solomon hesitated, glancing at Serena. “Solomon?”
“Lady Serena, why don’t you come with me?” Solomon suggested. “I can show you—”
She was tempted to escape, and that decided her. “I’m fine here, thank you.”
Solomon’s lips tightened, and he left the room. Mr. Hathaway regarded Serena over the top of his half-moon glasses. So this was the effect Solomon was going for with his own spectacles. He didn’t come close to his uncle’s mild, shrewd scrutiny. Perhaps in twenty years he’d have managed it. She realized with a pang that she would never know. They were unlikely to still know each other.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Mr. Hathaway said.
She really didn’t need this. “All true.”
“I’ve also heard that you and my nephew were seen in a compromising position Saturday night.”
So they had been seen kissing in the hallway; it was all over London. She had known she shouldn’t, she had known it was stupid—but that was precisely the trouble. She had known, and she hadn’t been able to stop herself. For a brief moment, she hadn’t cared. Well, she would have to carry it off now. She would have to pretend that she was in control of this thing, that she had meant to do it.
Mr. Hathaway’s desk was a mess, covered in paper and books and even a pair of scissors and a few spools of thread. That’s no way to run a business, Serena thought. It didn’t make sense—the shop was obviously doing splendidly—but that slight feeling of superiority gave her courage anyway. “Also true,” she said calmly.
He harrumphed, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “What precisely is your interest in the boy?”
Serena raised her eyebrows back. “Your nephew is very charming.”
“I won’t stand by and see him made a May game of.”
“As much as I admire your plain speaking, Mr. Hathaway, it’s really none of your affair.”
“That boy’s welfare is very much my affair. Sol’s a dear lad, but he needs looking after. I doubt he understands that the likes of you don’t condescend to care for the likes of him. I’m sure you have your uses for him, and perhaps you even find him amusing. But when you’re tired of him you’ll toss him out on his ear and he won’t be able to bear it. I don’t know how far you are