Page 14 of A Literary Liaison
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The hackney depositedthem before Mr. Thornton’s Georgian house in one of London’s fashionable districts. The imposing facade bore an air of austere neglect that seemed at odds with its prestigious location—like a man who’d forgotten that houses, like hearts, required tending.
A dour-faced butler admitted them into an entrance hall conspicuously bereft of warmth. No ornate mirrors, no plush carpets, no family portraits—just bare walls and the steady tick of a plain clock that emphasized the emptiness.
“Good Lord,” Elisha murmured, taking in the spartan drawing room. “It’s like a monastery.”
“Steven has always prioritized function over comfort,” Amelia sighed. “Every bare wall proclaims his need for a wife.”
When Mr. Thornton appeared, his lean figure clad entirely in black, Elisha noted how different he seemed from the passionate voice in Mr. Steele’s letter. Where Mr. Steele wrote of surrendering his very being for love, Mr. Thornton’s sharp features and calculating gaze suggested a man who measured everything, including affection.
“Miss Linde,” he said, his voice crisp as his appearance. “A pleasure to see you again.”
The dining room offered simple fare—more suited to a middle-class household than one of Mr. Thornton’s standing, but welcome enough to women accustomed to modest repasts.
“I’ve been following theMetropolitan’sprogress with great interest,” Mr. Thornton began, his gaze fixed on Amelia. “You’ve established it as a reputable publication in a remarkably short time.”
“I couldn’t have managed without Elisha’s invaluable assistance,” Amelia replied, then turned to her friend with obvious pride. “She has such a gift for recognizing literary merit—and the rarest talent for expressing her opinions with both wit and precision.”
Elisha nearly choked on her soup. “Please—”
“Oh, but it’s true! Why, just last week she identified three promising manuscripts that other publications had overlooked entirely.”
Mr. Thornton’s attention shifted to Elisha with genuine interest. “Indeed? I intend to establish a publishing house, capitalizing on your popularity, Miss Linde. I may have need of your expertise in selecting promising authors.”
Amelia beamed. “She is perfect for it.”
The conversation flowed through literary matters and Mr. Thornton’s business aspirations. He spoke with the precision of a man accustomed to analyzing markets and opportunities, his questions about promising authors both informed and practical.
“Elisha also has the most remarkable memory for poetry,” Amelia interjected during a lull. “She can recite entire verses after reading them only once.”
“Amelia…” Elisha warned.
“What? It’s an extraordinary gift. Show him that sonnet you memorized from last month’s submission.”
“I will do no such thing,” Elisha muttered, taking a rather large gulp of wine.
Mr. Thornton watched this exchange with amused interest. “And what of your literary feud, Miss Linde? One might almost think it orchestrated, so perfectly does it captivate our readers.”
“I assure you, the debate with Mr. Steele is entirely genuine.” Elisha met his gaze steadily, grateful for the change of subject.
“Indeed, it has been beneficial for our circulation numbers.” Mr. Thornton leaned forward slightly. “I look forward to seeing how you respond to his latest challenge.”
Elisha nodded, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m still considering my approach.”
“And she approaches everything with such thoughtfulness,” Amelia added helpfully. “She never acts in haste. Very sensible in a lady, don’t you think?”
Under the table, Elisha kicked Amelia’s foot, making her flinch mildly.
“Quite sensible,” Mr. Thornton agreed. “And what of your personal goals, Miss Linde? Surely a lady of your accomplishments must have plans beyond literary criticism?”
“Oh, Elisha is wonderfully independent,” Amelia rushed to answer. “Though not so independent as to be unmarriageable, naturally. She simply hasn’t found the right gentleman yet.”
Elisha wished the floor would swallow her whole.
“I see.” Mr. Thornton’s lips curved in what might have been a smile. “And what qualities might the right gentleman possess?”
Another kick under the table, more pointed this time.
