Page 52 of The Phoenix Bride
I have no recourse but honesty. “I did,” I reply.
“What were your intentions?”
I give a small, bitter laugh. “To go for a walk.”
Her hands flex at her sides. Her focus is now entirely upon me; Cecilia is forgotten, and I have the sudden, absurd urge to tell her to run away. But there is nowhere for her to go. There is nowhere for either of us to go.
Lady Eden takes a step toward me, and her posture threatens violence.
“Well?” she says. “Tell me, sir. What excuse can you give for your actions?”
“My Lady Eden, you can’t treat Cecilia as a prisoner. I know you care for her, but it is wrong to keep her locked away.”
“Oh, I see. You think yourself her rescuer.”
I shake my head. “I only—”
“You are her doctor.Wereher doctor. That is all. Nothing more.”
“I—I know.”
“Do you?” she asks. “Perhaps she has convinced you otherwise. But tell me, Master Mendes: If William Thorowgood were still alive, do you think that she would even glance in your direction? Do you think she would allow you to take the liberties that you have?”
I flinch at that, betrayed by how much the comment hurts, how true it rings.
Cecilia interjects, horrified. “Please, stop this. It isn’t his fault.”
She turns to me, her gaze apologetic and pleading; it is as if she expects me to protest, also, to reassert my honor, but I can’t. This is my fault, in part if not entirely, and I must accept that.
“I am ashamed of you, Cecilia,” Lady Eden tells her. “Thank theLordSir Grey and my husband don’t know about this. We are returning to the townhouse. Master Mendes will go back to wherever he came from, and, God willing, you will never see him again.”
Cecilia’s eyes flash with anger. When she speaks, her voice is sharp as a scalpel. “Maggie, be reasonable.”
“Reasonable!” she cries. “What right doyouhave to speak of reason? This is my fault, I suppose. I should have known. You lose all sense at a man’s attention, and it takes very little before you are sweet on him. It was the same with Will, was it not? One smile, and you decided he was yours. An engaged man, and now this. You ought to be ashamed.”
“Ashamed!” Cecilia snarls. She is so angry that her pulse isjumping at her throat, and her hands have tightened into fists at her sides. “When you are the one who has beenpoisoningme?”
“What?” Lady Eden and I both say simultaneously, and Cecilia bares her teeth in some parody of laughter.
“I overheard you, Margaret,” she says. “In the kitchens.”
“In the…” Realization dawns on Lady Eden’s face. Her expression twists, grief and embarrassment and fury, all at once: “Cecilia, that potion was for me. To…it’s for fertility.”
The blood drains from Cecilia’s face. Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak.
Lady Eden shakes her head. “You are not in your right mind,” she says. “These false accusations, this bizarre infatuation—Cecilia, he is aJew,for God’s sake, and a scavenger besides. He picks at you while you are weak, and you know no better. He knew you were to be married while he treated you, and he pursued you still.”
Cecilia’s eyes meet mine. All the anger in her expression has gone, replaced entirely by dread.
“You knew?” she asks me.
I swallow, throat tight. “Cecilia, I…”
But I cannot continue.
“You knew,” she repeats. It is not a question this time.
Margaret smiles, triumphant. “Master Mendes, you are dismissed,” she says to me. “If I ever see you near my sister again, I shall go to the constables.”
