Page 13 of A Literary Liaison
A. Steele
The letter trembled in Elisha’s gloved hands as morning mist swirled around her bench in Myddelton Square. She’d fled here after reading Mr. Steele’s response, needing air, space, something to counter the unexpected intimacy of his words.
Her hair that undid me.The phrase echoed in her mind. This wasn’t the pompous literary posturing she’d expected—this was raw, genuine emotion laid bare on the page.
A group of early strollers passed, tipping their hats politely, but Elisha barely noticed. Her world had narrowed to the elegant script before her, to images of sun-kissed hair and spring breezes that made her chest tight with unnamed longing.
She’d demanded proof of his grand passion, expecting flowery nonsense she could easily demolish. Instead, he’d given her something that felt like truth—the kind of devastating honesty that made her question everything she thought she knew about love.
To become the wind itself.The poetry of it struck her unexpectedly. This wasn’t the shallow sentiment of his novel; this was a man describing a love so complete he’d surrender his very existence for it.
Envy pierced her heart—sharp and immediate. What would it feel like to inspire such devotion? To be loved with such intensity that a man would wish to dissolve into air just to remain close?
The rational part of her mind urged caution. This was literary warfare, nothing more. Yet as she refolded the letter with trembling fingers, she couldn’t shake the image of sun-dappled fields and a love so profound it transcended flesh.
For the first time in years, Elisha wondered if perhaps there was more to romance than she’d allowed herself to believe.
*
The afternoon foundher still unsettled, pacing the Metropolitan’s cramped office while Amelia worked at her desk. The letter seemed to burn through her reticule, its presence a constant reminder of feelings she’d thought safely buried.
“You’re wearing a path in the floorboards,” Amelia observed without looking up. “What has you so agitated?”
“Mr. Steele’s latest response.” Elisha stopped pacing, her hands clasped tightly. “It’s… different.”
“Different how?”
“Genuine.” The word came out rougher than intended. “He wrote about his beloved with such… such raw honesty. I expected pompous drivel, but instead…”
“Instead?”
“Instead, he made me envious.” Elisha sank into her chair, the admission leaving her drained. “Of a woman I’ll never meet, loved by a man whose name I don’t even know.”
Amelia’s quill stilled. “Perhaps that’s precisely what he intended.”
“What do you mean?”
“You challenged him to prove his capacity for love. He’s done so in a way that shows you what you’re missing.” Amelia’s voice gentled. “Sometimes the heart recognizes truth even when the mind resists it.”
Before Elisha could respond, a sharp knock interrupted them. Mrs. Cobbs appeared in the doorway, holding an envelope with obvious excitement.
“Begging your pardon, ladies, but this just arrived by special messenger.” She bustled forward, practically vibrating with curiosity. “From Mr. Thornton himself.”
Amelia rose from her chair, her foot landing with a heavier thud than usual—her injury from the textile mill acting up after their long day of work. The sight of her friend’s slight wince transported Elisha momentarily to that terrible day when they’d both toiled as girls, when Amelia’s skirts had caught in the machinery and her leg had been compromised for her survival.
“Elisha, we’ve been invited to Steven’s residence for supper!” Amelia announced, her face brightening despite the obvious discomfort.
“Tonight?” Elisha’s stomach dropped. The last thing she needed was navigating Mr. Thornton’s increasingly obvious interest while Mr. Steele’s letter had left her emotions so raw.
“This very evening!” Amelia’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “And I still maintain he harbors tender feelings for you.”
“Don’t be absurd. He scarcely knows me.”
“Since when does a gentleman require intimate knowledge before developing affection? You’re comely, intelligent, accomplished—”
“Cease such talk.” Elisha busied herself gathering papers. “Perhaps it’s merely dinner to better acquaint himself with his sister’s dearest friend.”
Amelia’s knowing smile suggested otherwise.
