Page 27 of A Literary Liaison
As Amelia read, Elisha began to pace the confines of her small office, her skirts swishing against the worn carpet. The man’s arrogance was breathtaking. To suggest she become his secretary—her, a woman who had worked her way up from cleaning hallways to become one of London’s most respected literary critics! And the public reading in Hyde Park… her mind conjured the mortifying scene of being forced to recite his florid prose before a crowd of sneering onlookers.
“He has doubled the charitable donation,” Amelia noted carefully. “One thousand pounds sterling is no small sum, Elisha. Think of what we could do for the literacy program with such funds.”
Elisha paused in her pacing, her fingers worrying at the cameo brooch at her throat. “You cannot possibly suggest I accept these terms? To be paraded about like some… some trained monkey for his amusement?”
“Perhaps,” Amelia said slowly, smoothing the crumpled letter on the desk, “we might consider what lies beneath his apparent provocations. Mr. Steele has doubled his own stakes, after all. And his suggestion of public readings…” She trailed off meaningfully.
Before Elisha could formulate a response, another knock at the door interrupted their conversation. The office boy’s nervous voice carried through the wooden panel: “Miss Linde, Miss Thornton, the Duke of Lancaster requests your presence.”
Elisha and Amelia exchanged startled glances, their earlier discussion forgotten. The Duke of Lancaster? Here, in their modest offices above Fleet Street?
The duke’s entrance transformed their small office, making it seem suddenly cramped and shabby by comparison. He filled the doorframe with his impressive height, his dark blue coat tailored to perfection across broad shoulders. Yet it was his eyes that captured Elisha’s attention—keen and observant, with an intensity that seemed to peer straight through her carefully maintained facade.
“Your Grace,” they said as they curtsied in unison, though with mortification, Elisha noticed a spot of ink on her sleeve as she did so.
“Ladies.” His voice was deep and cultured. “I must beg your pardon for this unannounced intrusion. I had hoped to make the acquaintance of Miss Lovelace, but I’m told she conducts her affairs from a remote location.”
Elisha forced her features to remain neutral as she replied, “Indeed,Your Grace. Miss Lovelace values her privacy most highly.”
“So I’ve gathered. Though I find myself equally intrigued by her representatives. I understand you handle her correspondence with Mr. Steele?”
Amelia chose that moment to make her excuse about refreshments, abandoning Elisha to face the duke’s penetrating gaze alone.
“Please, be seated, Your Grace,” Elisha managed, gesturing to the chair recently vacated by Amelia. As he settled his impressive frame into the modest furniture, she couldn’t help but notice how his presence seemed to fill not just the space, but her awareness.
“I trust you’ll forgive my curiosity, Miss Linde,” he said. “I’ve found great entertainment in following this literary debate between Miss Lovelace and Mr. Steele. In fact, I’ve just come from his club where he was composing his latest novel with particular enthusiasm.”
Elisha’s hand strayed to Steele’s letter, still lying crumpled on her desk. “I fear Mr. Steele’s enthusiasm has led him to make some rather presumptuous demands.”
“May I?” He held out his hand for the letter, and Elisha found herself surrendering it before she could think better of the action. She watched as he smoothed the paper with long, elegant fingers, his expression thoughtful as he read.
“You find these terms offensive?” he asked finally, looking up to meet her gaze.
“I find them…” Elisha paused, choosing her words carefully. “I believe Mr. Steele intends to humble Miss Lovelace through public spectacle.”
The duke leaned forward slightly, his expression intent. “An interesting interpretation. Might I offer another?”
Something in his tone made Elisha’s breath catch. “Please do, Your Grace.”
“Consider that Mr. Steele, having engaged in this battle of wits from a distance, now seeks closer acquaintance through the onlymeans available to him. The position of secretary, while perhaps lacking in delicacy, would provide daily interaction. And the public readings…” He paused, his blue eyes holding hers. “What better way to gauge an audience’s true reaction to one’s work?”
Elisha felt her cheeks warm under his steady gaze. “You suggest his motivation is professional rather than punitive?”
“I suggest, Miss Linde, that sometimes we see what we expect to see, rather than what truly lies before us.” He gestured to their surroundings. “For instance, I came here expecting to find mere employees of an absent authoress. Instead, I’ve discovered something far more… intriguing.”
The weight of his words hung in the air between them. Before she could formulate a response, he changed tack with expert precision.
“Tell me about your literacy program, Miss Linde. I understand it’s the intended beneficiary of Miss Lovelace’s potential winnings?”
Grateful for the safer topic, Elisha found herself describing their evening classes, the challenges of teaching adults who’d never held a pen, the joy of watching them write their names for the first time. As she spoke, she noticed the duke’s attention never wavered—he asked intelligent questions about their methods, their costs, their dreams for expansion.
“And what inspired such a noble endeavor?” he asked, his tone genuine.
Elisha hesitated, then decided to offer him the same honesty he’d shown her. “I learned to read by watching through schoolroom windows while cleaning halls, Your Grace. Every child peering through those same windows today deserves better.”
Something shifted in his expression—not pity, but a deeper understanding. “Indeed they do, Miss Linde.”
As he prepared to leave, he paused at the door, turning back to meet Elisha’s gaze. For a moment, she thought he might say something more, something that would shatter the careful balance they’dmaintained throughout his visit. Instead, he merely tipped his hat and departed, leaving Elisha to wonder if she’d imagined the look of admiration—and something more—in his eyes.
