Page 39 of The Phoenix Bride
“Master Mendes found me.” Cecilia detaches herself from Lady Eden. “He treated my wounds, and he insisted on returning me here immediately.”
This is far from the truth. But I understand why she has lied when Lady Eden turns to look at me; for the first time, her expression is entirely free of contempt. She clasps her hands together and says, “I am so grateful, sir,” with disarming earnestness.
I bow so my face is obscured, hoping to hide my shame at the deception. “Of course, my lady.”
When I straighten again, I notice a small, fuzzy shape emerging at the top of the steps, and it barrels down them with great speed. It is only when a wet nose presses against my calf that I realize I am being accosted by a small, doe-eyed spaniel. It scrabbles at my leg with great vigor, yapping plaintively.
“Duchess!” someone calls as a person comes in chase of the dog, he himself almost falling down the steps in his eagerness. “Duchess, down! Oh, pardon, sir!”
The newcomer is vaguely familiar: I realize, with some surprise, that he is the handsome green-eyed man I bumped into the first time I went to Saint James’s Park.
He recognizes me at the same moment I do him. “What luck!” he says, delighted, as he scoops the dog up into his arms. “It must be Providence, sir, that we meet again.”
“Yes,” I say, confused. “Good evening.”
“Good evening.” He sweeps me an extravagant bow. His clothing is as ridiculous as it had been when last I saw him, ribbons traded for a great waterfall of lavender lace, shoes extravagantly high heeled. His luxuriant brown wig is so long it hits his elbows, which is entirely unaccountable to me. It must become stuck in closing doors very often. “I am Sir Samuel Grey,” he says, “of the Kent Greys.”
“David Mendes.”
“A pleasure, Master Mendes.” Grey turns the full force of his formidable smile on Cecilia; she smiles back reflexively, although there is also some shock in her expression. “And you must be Mistress Thorowgood. I am glad to meet you at last.”
Pale faced—clearly she had envisioned this meeting going very differently—Lady Eden says, “Sir Grey, I thought you had already left.”
“Ah, yes, pardon. I went to bid Uncle Robert farewell, but on my way out, I stumbled upon your library and found myself waylaid. And then the pantry. And the music room, also. Duchess loves the sound of the harpsichord.” He kisses the dog’s nose. “She has the ear of a virtuoso, if not the fingers of one.”
“Uncle Robert,” Cecilia says, her eyes narrowing.
Sir Grey blinks at her, surprised. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Lady Eden clears her throat and addresses me. “My thanks again, Master Mendes,” she says, “for returning my sister safely.”
A clear dismissal. I bow to her, and then glance at Cecilia; she is still staring at Sir Grey, confounded.
“And a pleasure as always, Sir Grey,” Lady Eden continues, giving him a meaningful look.
“Ah—right,” Grey replies. “I shall return tomorrow?”
“Please do,” Lady Eden replies.
There is, of course, no such invitation extended to me.
Grey and I repeat our farewell to Cecilia. Her expression is wary and hopeful as she curtsies to me, and I feel a pang of guilt. I wish I could offer her something more to help—there must be some words of comfort, or some reassurance, that would be superior to what I have already said—but I have no choice except to turn and leave.
As we walk out of the front gate, Grey deems it somehow appropriate to initiate conversation. He stops and turns to me. “Forgive me, sir,” he says. “But I must ask—how do you know Mistress Thorowgood?”
“I was her doctor.”
“But no longer?”
“No longer,” I echo.
“Providence, then, for you to have found her. I fear I must have somehow made a bad impression upon her, if she would rather leap out the window than meet me!”
“Perhaps,” I reply in as mild a tone as I can manage.
Sir Grey begins tapping his foot against the ground in an odd, syncopated rhythm. His right arm swings back and forth in a careless, meaningless gesture, and his spaniel—tucked beneath his armpit like a roll of linens—squirms in consternation, yapping loudly. He makes a distressed noise. “Pardon, Duchess. I forgot you were there!”
