Page 51 of A Literary Liaison
I confess to a propensity for falling in love with great ease and abandon, for I find myself irresistibly drawn to those rare inner qualities possessed by but a select few of the fairer sex. When I perceive these qualities in a lady, I find myself powerless to restrain the yearnings of my heart. Indeed, I freely admit to waging such a battle even as I pen these words, for I feel we have become confidants of a sort, and you have been most generous in sharing your own secrets.
Regarding your fleeting encounter, I assure you that even a single interaction possesses the power to move hearts and alter the fabric of one’s soul, Miss Lovelace. There exists no warrior stalwart enough to reverse such a profound change. The fortunate gentleman who has succeeded in stirring your emotions may well be grappling with sentiments of his own, for you are, without doubt, a lady of singularquality. You embody all that an honorable man could desire in a companion.
With the utmost regard and deepest sympathy,
Aengus Steele
Elisha’s hands trembled as she set the letter aside. The man’s pain was palpable, his vulnerability so raw it made her own heart ache in sympathy. Who was this Aengus Steele who could write with such eloquence about love and loss? And why did his words resonate so deeply with her own confused feelings?
She found herself staring out her small window at the bustling streets below, wondering if somewhere in this vast city, a man was pouring his heart onto paper just as she did each night when sleep eluded her. The thought was both comforting and unsettling.
*
Edgar sat athis desk, reading Elisha’s latest letter for the hundredth time. To his valet’s continued exasperation, his usually immaculate appearance had given way to a disheveled state—a thick beard obscured his jaw and his hair stood in complete disarray. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about such trivial matters when he had wounded her so deeply.
Two encounters. Edgar’s chest constricted. She must be referring to their kiss in the garden, their passionate moment in the carriage. She was affected by him, even as she corresponded with him unknowingly as Steele. The memories were almost too painful to bear.
He could still feel Elisha trembling beneath his touch, hear the soft catches in her breath, see the trust and desire in her eyes before reality had crashed back in. She’d offered him her forever, and he’d had to refuse it. The pain on her face had cut deeper than any blade.
“Cannot promise matrimony,” he muttered, fury rising in his throat. The decanter of brandy beckoned from his desk, but he ignoredit. He didn’t deserve the numbing embrace of spirits. This pain was his penance.
A proper man would leave her alone, give her the chance to find happiness with someone who could offer her everything she deserved. Thornton was a good match, as much as Edgar loathed to admit it. She would have a comfortable life, respect in Society, children who would never know the shame of scandal.
But when Edgar closed his eyes, all he could see was the way she’d bloomed under his touch, how perfectly she fit in his arms. The thought of another man holding her, touching her, loving her… his fist clenched until his knuckles whitened.
“Damn it all to hell.”
This wasn’t mere lust—if it were, he could master it. No, what he felt for Elisha had taken root in his soul. Her quiet strength, the way her eyes danced when she challenged him intellectually… he loved every part of her.
A sharp knock at the door startled Edgar from his thoughts. Without waiting for a response, the Marquess of Hereford sauntered in, followed by the Earl of Carlisle and his wife, Charlotte, with Patrick Adams bringing up the rear.
“Good God, Lancaster!” Hereford exclaimed, handing him a letter while taking in Edgar’s appearance with obvious shock. “Have you taken up residence in a bear’s den?”
Edgar rose to his feet, a genuine smile breaking through his melancholy for the first time in weeks. “Carlisle, Charlotte! What a delightful surprise!” He moved to greet them, kissing Charlotte’s hand and clapping Carlisle on the shoulder. “Welcome back to England. I trust your journey across the Atlantic was tolerable?”
Carlisle chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement at Edgar’s unruly state. “More tolerable than whatever storm seems to have ravaged you, old friend. Or has your valet gone blind?”
Charlotte smiled warmly, though Edgar could see concern in hereyes. “It’s wonderful to see you, Your Grace, though I expected you to be in somewhat better spirits.”
“Ah, well,” Edgar replied, attempting to smooth his rumpled attire, “life can dampen even the most exuberant of souls. But tell me, what brings you to our shores?”
Carlisle’s expression turned slightly more serious. “Business, I’m afraid. I’ve some matters to attend to in London that will keep us here for the summer. I hope you don’t mind us pilfering through your liquor cabinet for such an extended period?”
“You’re always welcome here. A whole summer, you say? Splendid!” Edgar exclaimed, genuinely pleased to have his friends near during this difficult time.
Adams laid a hand on his shoulder, concern etched on his face. “It’s good to see your spirit lifted, Lancaster. What’s been troubling you so deeply?”
Edgar sighed, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “It’s… complicated.”
“Let me guess,” Hereford smirked with knowing familiarity. “It involves a certain Miss Linde? I believe another missive was delivered to you. Read it.”
At the mention of Elisha’s name, Edgar’s carefully maintained composure cracked. He glanced at Carlisle and Charlotte, then back to his other friends. Her words were too precious, too private to share even with his dearest friends. He retreated to a corner by the window to read.
9 June 1840
Dear Mr. Steele,
Your letter has deeply moved me. Your understanding of love lost resonates profoundly, offering both comfort and disquiet. This pain, as you note, reminds me I’m alive and capable of deep feeling.
