Page 84 of The Phoenix Bride
Grey leans forward to look through the telescope. He makes a choked noise, and says, “Oh goodness,” before going entirely quiet.
For a few minutes, I stand in silence as he stargazes. Then I hear him sniffling.
“Are you crying?” I ask.
He moves back from the telescope. “Pardon,” he says, rubbinghis face with his sleeve. “It’s very beautiful. I am grateful to you for showing it to me.”
“It was no trouble.” I look at his face; his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. “May I ask you something, Sir Grey?”
“Of course.”
“Do you love her? Cecilia, I mean.”
Grey says, “I am very fond of her—she has become a dear friend.”
“But you do not love her.”
He sighs. “The marriage…Until Lady Eden has a child, I am also my uncle’s heir, you see. And ifIdon’t have an heir, all of it—the Eden and Grey estates both—go to my sister, who has married into another family. It leaves the line extinct, which is something I don’t care much about, but Robert cares about it a good deal. Dynasty, and all that.”
I consider this and feel a revelation dawning, unwelcome but insistent. “You still need to marry her,” I say slowly. “Just as much as she needs to marry you.”
Grey stares at me, and I stare back at him. His wide eyes have an extraordinary naïveté about them; they lend his face an unsettling earnestness. Although we are likely near the same age, he seems very young.
“You love her,” he says. “And I don’t.”
I don’t respond.
He continues, “It just—it all feels so terribly unfair.”
Again, I remain in silence. Does he expect me to agree with him? Of course it is unfair. Only someone desperately accustomed to privilege would be surprised at that. For a moment, I imagine myself as Grey—I imagine what it would be like to be born as he was—to whisk Cecilia away from this place andshower her in comforts, to spend each night with her as this one was spent, to live without fear or shame. But the fantasy is futile at best, and self-destructive at worst. It is like picking at a scab or scratching a new scar. It is so tempting to imagine loving her, and having no questions to ask, nor to be answered, except whether she feels the same. But the return to reality is more painful than I can bear.
I don’t want to feel anger toward Samuel Grey. He is a good man, and in marrying her, he would be doing a good thing. My thoughts on the matter should end there; if only they did.
“We could elope,” Grey says. “Then Cecilia could leave immediately. There would be no need for the ceremony. And she would be my wife only in name; that was always my intention. It would be nothing more than the signing of a contract.”
“Why would you enter such a marriage?” I ask him. “Refuse the chance to take a wife you love?”
He clears his throat. “I’ve never had much desire for a wife, regardless,” he says with a familiar sort of shame in his eyes, and my heart clenches in sympathy. He turns back to the telescope, fiddling with the stand. “In truth, Master Mendes, I often feel rather useless. Each morning, I wake up and look at the ceiling, thinking to myself: Well, Samuel, what have you accomplished thus far? And the answer has always been—nothing.” He sweeps his arm, gesturing to the room. “Such is the sum of my existence. Vases and telescopes and marble busts. In that sense, nothing I have ever done has been truly selfless. Coming to London, befriending Cecilia, even going to Aldgate today—it has all been an attempt to feel as if I am a man of value, a man who can be of worth to other people. I am so grateful to you, and to her, for entering my life. Helping you will be the only good thing I have ever done.”
“Sir Grey,” I tell him. “Samuel. You are more than a man of value. I believe you are one of the most exceptional men I have ever met.”
He sniffs. Clearly he is near tears again. “Don’t say such a thing. Not before I warn you of the rest.”
“The rest?”
“I am required to return to Kent for the winter, to manage the estate. Considering what has happened in the city, I will likely leave very soon.”
“You would take Cecilia with you.”
“If she is willing,” he says.
“It would be good for her, I think. To get away from her sister.”
He replies, “I think so, too. But listen, there are ways—you might visit, perhaps.”
I shake my head. “I appreciate the offer,” I say. “But if you truly want what is best for Cecilia, you will encourage her not to see me again.”
Grey looks aghast. “Why is that?”
