Page 29 of A Literary Liaison
“I suppose not,” Edgar acquiesced, his tone tinged with resignation.
“Does this signify that Your Grace is at last prepared to contemplate the prospect of matrimony?”
Edgar’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with alarm. “Good God, Hawkins! Let us not be hasty. I merely agreed to widen my social circle, not throw myself headlong into the parson’s mousetrap.”
Hawkins’ lips twitched in a suppressed smile. “As you say, Your Grace. However, might I remind you that your position and the expectations of Society do necessitate certain… considerations for the future?”
Edgar sighed, sinking into a nearby chair. “I am well aware of my duties, Hawkins. But surely there must be a middle ground between my current… indiscretions and shackling myself to a vapid debutante for the sake of producing an heir?”
“Indeed, Your Grace. Which is precisely why I suggest broadeningyour acquaintance among theton. You may yet find a lady who stimulates both your intellect and your heart, while also satisfying the demands of your station.”
As Edgar pondered this, he found himself comparing every lady of his acquaintance to the vivacious Miss Linde. Would any of them possess her quick wit, her passion for knowledge, her dedication to improving the lives of others? He shook his head, attempting to dispel these thoughts.
“Very well, Hawkins. You may begin the odious task of accepting invitations to the upcoming social events. But I warn you, if I am forced to endure one more insipid conversation about the weather or the latest fashions from Paris, I shall hold you personally responsible.”
Hawkins bowed, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Duly noted, Your Grace. I shall recruit Mr. Anderson to select gatherings where the discourse might prove more… stimulating.”
As Hawkins took his leave, Edgar found himself staring out the window, his thoughts a tumultuous combination of duty, desire, and the lingering image of a certain lady with a penchant for biting her lower lip when deep in thought.
The next morning, Edgar sat at his escritoire, composing what he hoped would be his most provocative letter yet to Miss Lovelace. If she wanted to play games with terms and conditions, he would show her exactly what kind of adversary she was dealing with.
*
Elisha smoothed hergray wool dress, wishing she’d chosen something less severe as she waited in theMetropolitan’sproprietor’s office. The unexpected summons from Mr. Thornton had set her nerves jangling, though she couldn’t say why.
The morning sun slanted through the office window, illuminating yet another missive from Steele in Elisha’s hands. Her fingers tracedthe simple wax pattern before breaking it with more force than necessary, a small act of defiance against the man who seemed determined to upend her carefully ordered world. As she unfolded the expensive vellum, a faint scent of sandalwood wafted up. Of course the insufferable man would perfume his correspondence.
Metropolitan Review, 19 April 1840
My most esteemed Miss Lovelace,
I find myself practically levitating with joy at your acceptance of our amended terms. I confess I’m uncertain which prospect thrills me more—you bringing my morning tea or the sound of my prose falling from your lips in Hyde Park. Indeed, it seems dreadfully unfair that one man should contain such boundless delight in his breast.
As my future secretary, you shall need to be acquainted with certain peculiarities of my domestic arrangements. I take my tea with milk and precisely two nips of sugar—though I suspect you’ll master that particular detail swiftly enough. My study windows must remain exactly halfway open at all times, regardless of London’s capricious weather. I find it aids the circulation of both air and ideas.
But perhaps most crucial is the matter of my morning exercise. My current assistant, Mr. Anderson, has the unenviable task of engaging me in physical combat to reinvigorate my mental faculties. As my secretary, this duty shall naturally fall to you. I strongly advise beginning your training posthaste, lest I render you unconscious within the first few seconds of our inaugural bout.
I remain, with barely contained anticipation,
Your most devoted servant,
Aengus Steele
“The absolute audacity!” Elisha muttered, crumpling the letter before immediately smoothing it out again. Physical combat? The man was clearly mad. And yet… there was something almost playful about his tone that made her lips twitch despite her indignation.
“Miss Linde.” Thornton’s deep voice preceded him into the room. Elisha folded the letter and slid it between the pages of a notebook she carried. The proprietor appeared in a perfectly tailored navy suit, looking as authoritative as his voice. “I find myself in need of your expertise. Sotheby’s is auctioning several rare volumes today, and I confess my knowledge of literary value is limited.”
“Surely Amelia would be better suited—”
“My sister’s leg is troubling her,” he said quietly. “And I trust your judgment equally.”
She hesitated, wanting to avoid any misconception about their relationship on his part. “Mr. Thornton—”
“It would be a purely professional engagement,” he said, as if reading her mind.
Which was how she found herself that same afternoon on Steven Thornton’s arm, entering Sotheby’s elegant auction room. They had barely crossed the threshold when a familiar laugh made her stomach clench.
“Oh!” A silk-clad figure collided with her as they rounded a display. “How clumsy of me.”
