in his confidence, Lady Serena, but his brother was killed in Spain a year and a half ago.”
She was having trouble breathing again. How dare he? As if that were something she should be tactfully informed of by relatives.
“There were times . . .” Mr. Hathaway faltered, and though his face closed completely after a moment, Serena knew what she had seen. She felt infinitesimally more charitable toward him. “It broke my heart to see him.”
Serena would have laid odds that that wasn’t what he had been about to say.
“Now he’s finally back on his feet, and I’ve no desire to see all that undone by—I beg your pardon, my lady—a careless flirt. For the boy’s sake, end it now.”
She was silent for a moment. “So you are telling me you think your nephew is a milksop, Mr. Hathaway?”
Hathaway frowned. “Of course not, but he’s a sensitive lad, and—”
“He’s not a lad, Mr. Hathaway. He’s a man grown.” She paused. “I noticed your shop promises to match any color?”
He nodded stiffly.
“We both know it is Solomon who matches every color. Half the ladies in London are dying to have a gown colored by him, and you scolded him for it like a naughty schoolboy. I doubt you pay him a fraction of what he’s worth. Furthermore, both you and your son have had the gall to be puzzled as to what I could possibly see in him.”
Her nerves were buzzing as if she had just drunk eight cups of coffee, but it was a welcome change from the dead, dull feeling of a few minutes ago. “Solomon has decided he is willing to work for you under these conditions. Very well, it is none of my affair. But Solomon will also decide whether or not he is interested in a liaison with the Siren, and when I toss him out on his ear, I trust he will be man enough not to go into a decline.” She couldn’t resist a final scathing witticism. “Should he do so, however, I will be sure to have my chef send you an excellent recipe for a restorative broth. You can spoon-feed it to him while you read him the sermons of Hannah More.”
Mr. Hathaway made a noise in the back of his throat that might almost have been amusement. “That’s very generous of you.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I also heard you haven’t taken a single lover since—well. In years.”
The buzzing in her nerves died out, leaving her feeling worn and tender. Christ, not this. “Or perhaps I haven’t taken any stupid enough to gossip about it.”
“You haven’t precisely been discreet about Solomon.” Mr. Hathaway looked at her speculatively. Serena knew her face was blank, but—her actions spoke for themselves, didn’t they? She’d been kissing Solomon in the hallway like an infatuated girl. Mr. Hathaway had to know how nearly impossible it would be for her to toss Solomon out on his ear. She had already tried, and failed.
This was exactly why she hadn’t taken any lovers since she’d come to the Arms. She’d known it would make her weak. She’d known it would make people see her as a helpless girl again.
Sure enough, Mr. Hathaway smiled. “Well, perhaps I won’t send to my brother for his copy of Hannah More just yet.”
Serena felt suffocated.
“What’s that about Hannah More?” Solomon walked back into the room with a wide, flat book under his arm.
“Lady Serena was merely offering me her opinion as to whether Clara would find her essays edifying.”
Solomon blinked. “But when Father sent her a copy of Practical Piety for her birthday, you said you’d thank him to refrain from trying to turn Clara into a canting milk-and-water killjoy, and then you burned it!”
Mr. Hathaway laughed. “Mm, yes, well, hand me that book.” He made a pretense of examining it. “No, it doesn’t look as though I need anything specific at the moment. Lady Pursleigh is giving a masquerade next Sunday, though, and I’m bound to get some last-minute orders, so any simple costume designs you think of would be welcome.”
Solomon smiled. “I’ll keep it in mind. We’ll be off, then.”
Mr. Hathaway cleared his throat. “I heard—that is, I heard Lady Serena’s gown was lovely. I should have liked to see it.”
Solomon looked absurdly pleased. “Thank you.”
Mr. Hathaway frowned. “Well, off you go.”
Off they went, Serena feeling decidedly morose. No sooner had the door clanged shut behind them than Solomon asked, “What did my uncle say to you?”
“What makes you think