Page 40 of A Literary Liaison
“Quite the creative interpretation of events,” Hereford drawled from his chair. “Though I must say, helping two intoxicated companions into their carriage lacks the scandal they’re implying.”
“She’ll believe it,” Edgar said quietly. “She’ll see it as confirmation of everything she suspects about me.”
“Then tell her the truth.”
“To what end?” Edgar turned from the window. “She made her position clear. My title, my wealth, my way of life—they’re all anathema to her principles. Perhaps it’s better this way. Let her think the worst of me. It will make it easier for her to move on.”
“And you? Will it make it easier for you?”
Edgar’s laugh held no humor. “Nothing about this is easy, old friend.” He moved to his desk, where a half-written manuscript lay waiting. “But I have my responsibilities, my duties. She was right about one thing. I’ve been living without purpose.”
“And now?”
Edgar picked up his pen, studying the words he’d written as both Steele and himself. Words about love and pain, about the price of passion and the cost of denial.
“Now I write. I pour everything I cannot say to her into these pages. And perhaps, in time, that will be enough.”
But as he bent to his work, the image of Elisha’s face haunted him—not her beauty or her passion, but the fierce intelligence in her eyes when she spoke of making the world better. He had never wanted someone’s good opinion so desperately nor felt its loss so keenly.
“There’s something else you should know,” his friend said carefully. “Thornton has been making inquiries about Miss Linde’s background. Very… thorough inquiries.”
Edgar’s grip tightened on the pen. “What kind of inquiries?”
“The kind a man makes when he’s considering a proposal.” Hereford watched him closely. “He’s been visiting her former places of employment, speaking with people who knew her in the workhouse.”
The pen snapped in Edgar’s hand, ink staining his fingers. “He means to offer for her.”
“So it would seem.” Hereford leaned forward. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“Do?” Edgar laughed bitterly, wiping ink from his hands. “What can I do? She’s made her opinion of me quite clear. And Thornton…” He stood, pacing to the window and back. “Thornton can offer her everything she wants—the printing house, the literacy program, the chance to make a real difference.”
“Can he?” Hereford’s voice was quiet. “Or can he only offer her the means to continue what she’s already doing? You have the power to do so much more, if you choose to use it.”
Edgar stopped pacing. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a duke, man. You have influence in Parliament, connections throughout society. If you truly wanted to support her causes…” Hereford shrugged. “Well, I’d say that would be using your position for something worthwhile, wouldn’t it?”
The words had Edgar sinking into his chair, mind racing. “She accused me of living without purpose, of failing to use my advantages for the betterment of society.”
“And was she wrong?”
“No,” Edgar admitted softly. “But to change now, to throw my support behind social reform… everyone would know why. They’d say I was trying to curry favor with a commoner.”
“Let them talk.” Hereford stood. “The question is, which matters more—their good opinion or hers?”
Edgar looked down at his ink-stained hands, then at the half-written letter to Miss Lovelace. Everything he’d been too cowardly to say to Elisha in person, he’d poured onto these pages under a false name.
“I need time,” he said finally. “Time to prove I can be the kind of man she could respect before Thornton…”
“Then I suggest you start immediately.” Hereford moved toward the door. “Because from the looks of it, Thornton isn’t planning towait much longer.”
After his friend left, Edgar pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. This time, he didn’t write as Steele, but as himself—drafting letters to his solicitor, to his contacts in Parliament, to the various charitable organizations he’d ignored for so long.
If he was going to win Elisha’s respect, he would have to earn it. Not with grand gestures or passionate declarations, but with genuine commitment to the causes she held dear.
And perhaps, in becoming the kind of man worthy of her love, he might find that purpose she accused him of lacking.
He only hoped he wasn’t too late.
