Page 116 of A Literary Liaison
The sound ofwater splashing and muffled conversation drifted from the washroom as Elisha stood frozen in the center of her office, her hands slowly coming to rest on her hips. For the first time in months, Edgar was here—not as a memory or a longing, but flesh and blood mere steps away. The careful composure she had maintained since his arrival began to crack like ice under spring sun.
A whirlwind of emotions swept through her with startling intensity. Relief flooded her first—he was alive, he was safe, he had returned to her. But close behind came a surge of anger so fierce it took her breath away. Three months. Three months of wondering, worrying, crafting careful letters that revealed nothing of her growing desperation. Three months of his family’s pitying glances and carefully neutral responses to her inquiries about his welfare.
He looked well, perhaps a bit thinner, but now cleanly shaven and neatly attired compared to New Year’s Eve. She pressed her palms more firmly against her sides, trying to contain the trembling that threatened to betray her inner chaos. How dare he appear so casually, as if nothing had happened?
But beneath the anger lurked something far more dangerous—the treacherous hope that his presence rekindled. The way he had looked at her when she entered the room, the familiar warmth in his voice when he spoke her name, the gentle way he guided young Jonathan—all of it reminded her of why she had fallen in love with him in the first place.
And then there were the secrets. Mr. Steele. Her literary rival, her intellectual equal, the man whose letters had become the highlight of her days, was Edgar. The revelation should have felt like betrayal, and part of it did. But another part—a part she was afraid to examine too closely—felt like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. All those moments when Mr. Steele seemed to understand her thoughts, when his letters seemed to mirror her dilemma with Edgar. Of course it had been him. How had she not seen it?
The knowledge left her feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way that made her want to flee. Every confession about Edgar himself, every moment of emotional intimacy—he had witnessed all of it while wearing a mask.
Elisha wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. The careful emotional walls she had built during his absence—the ones that had allowed her to function, to work, to carry on as if her heart hadn’t been carved out of her chest—were crumbling with alarming speed. She had told herself she was fine, that she could manage without him, that perhaps his absence was for the best.
How wrong she had been.
The sound of Edgar’s laughter from the washroom sent a sharp pang through her chest. She closed her eyes, fighting against the tears that threatened. This was neither the time nor the place for such vulnerability. They were not alone, and she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply his absence had affected her. Not yet. Not until she understood what game they were playing now.
But as she stood there, listening to the mundane sounds of Edgar helping Jonathan prepare for the day ahead, Elisha realized that all her careful emotional distance had been an illusion. One look from those familiar blue eyes, one sound of his voice speaking her name, and she was as lost as ever.
*
Once the boywas dressed in new clothes and smelled like soap, he and Edgar stood in front of Elisha’s desk, waiting for further instructions. Elisha looked up from a book she had been pretending to read. “I’d like both of you to inventory our writing supplies. We’ll need to ensure we have sufficient stock for the upcoming edition.”
“As you wish, Miss von Linde,” Edgar said, and Elisha felt her cheeks warm at the sound of his voice. She shook her head, trying todispel the confusing assortment of emotions his presence evoked.
As the day progressed, Elisha found herself constantly aware of Edgar’s presence. She assigned him various tasks—sorting correspondence, organizing files, even fetching tea—all the while stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. The gentle way he guided Jonathan, the diligence with which he approached his assigned tasks, the occasional warm glance he cast in her direction—all served to deepen her conflicted feelings.
When she learned that Jonathan was literate, she gave the task of transcribing some handwritten notes, noticing with approval how the boy threw himself into the work with earnest dedication.
As evening approached, Elisha felt emotionally drained. The day had been a constant battle between her professional demeanor and her tumultuous inner thoughts. She had opened her heart to ‘Mr. Steele,’ and now Edgar stood before her, embodying both the man she had considered a confidant and the duke who had swept into her life so unexpectedly.
“I believe that concludes our tasks for today,” she announced, her voice betraying a hint of fatigue. “Thank you both for your diligent work. Your Grace, you need not return. I shall consider your debt paid. Jonathan, do you have a place to stay?”
The young man dropped his head. “Yes, Miss.”
“Poverty is not a crime nor is it shameful. I would have been on the streets if it wasn’t for finding a spot in the workhouse,” Elisha said to the boy whose eyes were widening.
“I’ll ask again. Do you have a safe and clean place to stay?”
Jonathan shook his head.
Elisha’s heart went out to the boy, and without hesitation, she said, “You may stay here, then. There is no bed, but we shall make do with what we have until I can purchase something tomorrow. What do you say?”
Edgar stepped forward gently, his expression kind but firm. “Missvon Linde, your generous heart does you credit, but I must respectfully suggest an alternative.” He turned to Jonathan with a warm smile. “Young man, I have a household with many empty rooms going to waste. You would have proper quarters, regular meals, and access to an extensive library. Moreover, I could arrange for tutoring to supplement your obvious intelligence.”
Jonathan’s eyes darted between Edgar and Elisha, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden abundance of options.
“I understand your desire to help,” Edgar continued, addressing Elisha, “but a young man needs structure and guidance that I am better positioned to provide. I can ensure he arrives here each morning for work, should he choose to continue with theMetropolitan, or we might explore other opportunities that suit his talents.”
Elisha dared not meet Edgar’s gaze, fearing the current of emotions it could provoke. Instead, she studied the boy’s face for a moment before she nodded slowly. “The choice is yours, young man. You’re welcome here, but His Grace offers advantages I cannot match.”
Jonathan looked between them both, then spoke with quiet dignity. “Begging your pardon, Miss, but His Grace speaks sense. I’d be grateful for the opportunity, if it means I can still help you here every week.”
“Of course,” she assured him. “We shall discuss arrangements that provide you with the most comprehensive education.”
With a bow in Elisha’s direction, Edgar and Jonathan departed, leaving her laden with unspoken emotions and unanswered questions.
Elisha remained in her office long after the building had grown quiet, reviewing manuscripts by lamplight and trying to quiet the tumult in her mind. The revelation of Edgar’s dual identity still felt surreal, like stepping into one of the novels she helped publish.
