sun chariot, showed the time and the phases of the moon. Midsized rubies twinkled at him from half a dozen places in the carving, though one or two had fallen out over the years—or maybe been prised out by enterprising tenants.
On the wall to his right, a sturdy oak door was set in an ornate door frame. “Is that a dressing room?”
“No, sir, that leads to Lady Serena’s room,” she answered without expression.
He glanced at her in surprise.
She shrugged. “This used to be monseigneur’s own room. It locks from her side, so don’t try to take advantage.” Solomon tried to look innocent. Since he’d instantly begun to speculate as to whether monseigneur had taken advantage, he probably wasn’t succeeding.
All in all, the room was far grander than anything he’d ever not wanted to touch in case he got fingerprints on it. Charles’s headless body must be turning over in its grave at the idea of a Hathaway sleeping in its bed, and all because Lady Serena thought it was funny that he wasn’t a Jacobite.
But he didn’t appear to have a choice, so after muttering, “At least no one will be able to tell if I spill claret on anything,” he resigned himself to the inevitable. If he got started right away, he could borrow Uncle Dewington’s coach and driver and have his laboratory transported here before dinner, maybe start work on a new dye. A gray, quicksilver sort of dye.
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