Page 48 of The Phoenix Bride
“It isn’tthatlate yet. Earlier than we stayed out last time.”
“Even so,” he replies. “It will be dark in the park. Perhaps we should find a lantern.”
“Oh, hush. The moon is enough.”
I regret this claim, however, when we reach the park itself. Itis almost pitch black inside. The view of the path is obscured by the looming shadows of the trees, and the gate is closed.
“See,” David says. “Locked.”
“We could still go inside,” I say. He looks positively queasy at the suggestion, and I can’t help but laugh at him. “You would make a terrible criminal, you know.”
“I shall take that as a compliment,” he replies.
“It wasn’t one. Did you never sneak out as a child?”
“No. I took a cake once from my mother’s pantry, after she told me not to. I ate some of it, then cried for shame and put it back.”
“What, half eaten?”
“Yes.”
I snort. “That is worse than if you finished it.”
Then I hike up my skirts and prepare myself to vault the fence. Alarmed, David reaches for me, but I slip out of his grasp. “Cecilia, listen—if we were to go in there, it is likely we would be mugged, or else—oh, wait—don’t—”
I tumble down the other side of the fence, onto the grass, falling flat on my back. “Cecilia?” David says. There is a rustle of fabric, a curse, and then he is standing beside me. It is so dark I can’t see his face, only a vague silhouette. “Are you injured?”
“No.”
He offers me his hand, pulling me up. “I suppose we’re committed now. If we follow the path, we will reach the canal. It should be brighter there.”
He begins to walk, and I follow, gripping his sleeve so I don’t lose him. It takes barely a minute before we break through the cover of the trees and reach the center of the park.
Saint James’s is different at night. The darkness obscures reality: the grass looks like a puddle of ink, the fountain in the distance a sweeping skeleton of stone. The moon makes the sky acurtain, a half sphere of light parting the darkness and peering through the gap. I almost gasp to see it, pausing at a tree to stare.
Beside me, David comments, “It is cold tonight. Did you bring a jacket? I believe you still have one of mine, somewhere, which I left with you.”
I turn to look at him. He is barely visible in the moonlight, but unlike the park itself, the darkness hasn’t changed him. He is as much David Mendes as he has ever been, earnest and concerned and kind. When I don’t reply, he says my name in question, and his voice feels as familiar as one of my harpsichord pieces. He is luminous. The moon cannot compare.
I whip around so he can’t see my expression. “I’m fine,” I say, and march toward the canal. He sighs and follows me.
It is certainly as beautiful as I had imagined: The stars are reflected so faithfully in the water that the sky seems endless, wrapping around us like a shroud. I point at the canal. “See?” I say. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“You could have looked at the sky fromanywherein the city and seen the same thing.”
“Perhaps you ought to see a fellow physician, David. You are so dull I fear you will soon bore yourself to death.”
David throws his head back and laughs. He has an ugly laugh, unreserved and overloud. It is quite wonderful. “Perhaps so,” he agrees.
We continue a meandering path along the canal. I walk along the edge of the water, at the raised area of the pavement, lifting my arms to balance myself. After I stumble and nearly fall, I use one hand to hold on to David’s shoulder. He doesn’t protest.
We reach the end of the canal. Instead of rounding the corner, I step down and turn to him, expression grim.
“Is something the matter?” he asks.
“What if Idomarry Sir Grey?” I say.
His expression shutters. “I don’t know,” he replies. “What if you do?”
