Page 88 of A Literary Liaison
“Please, do not trouble yourself,” she said finally. “My primary motivation for maintaining anonymity was to avoid unwanted attention from authors and publishers. If revealing my identity will facilitate our courtship and future together, then I am prepared to do so.”
Edgar pulled her into his arms. When he kissed her, it was with desperate tenderness, trying to pour all his love and regret and fear into the connection of their lips. She was so precious, so brave, so completely deserving of a happy future.
“My brave, brilliant love,” he murmured against her lips when they finally broke apart. “I am in awe of your courage.”
They spent the remaining afternoon discussing the house party, the guest list, the strategies they might employ. But beneath Edgar’s careful responses and practical observations, his mind was spinning with increasingly desperate scenarios.
How could he handle Thornton’s forced revelation on New Year’s Eve? How could he explain Steele’s absence from the house party and the revelation? Should he confess to her now? Every day he delayed telling her the truth made the eventual revelation more devastating. But, no. His friends’ pleas rang in his ear. Could not a loving deception be forgiven when the alternative meant destroying the single opportunity granted to one who had suffered so much? This was Elisha’s moment to shine. He was certain of it.
As evening shadows lengthened across the study, Edgar held Elisha close, caressing her hand.
“Are you frightened?” he asked softly.
“Terrified,” she admitted honestly. “But also… excited. For the first time, I feel ready to claim my place in your world. Not as an imposter or interloper, but as your equal.”
The words were like daggers to his heart: that this extraordinary woman should feel inferior in his world. “You have always been my equal, Elisha,” he said, and meant it with every fiber of his being. “Soon, the rest of the world will know it too.”
As darkness fell beyond the windows and candles flickered to life around them, Edgar sat with Elisha in his arms and strengthened his resolve. He would do everything in his power to protect her from anyone who would see her as less than the future Duchess of Lancaster.
The Ball
Elisha had beenback in London for two weeks, and the glorious time she spent with Edgar at Lancaster Hall seemed almost like a dream. Their parting had been tender, full of whispered promises and stolen kisses, yet his subsequent letters were frustratingly formal—brief reports about estate business and family matters, lacking the warmth she craved. When she’d questioned him about it, he’d explained apologetically that his sisters had taken to holding his correspondence up to windows before his secretary could dispatch them, searching for romantic declarations to tease him about.
She smiled at the memory as she sorted through the morning papers in her office at theMetropolitan Reviewwhen a headline in theFinancial Timescaught her eye:
LANCASTER HOLDINGS EXPANDS: SIGNIFICANT INVESTMENT IN TRANSPORTATION SECTOR
Her heart began to race as she read the details: “His Grace, the Duke of Lancaster, has emerged as a significant investor in Hargrove & Sons Transportation Company, with an estimated investment of thirty thousand pounds over the past month. This strategic acquisition has fueled speculation about a potential merger between Lancaster Holdings and the Hargrove empire. Sources close to both families suggest this business alliance may herald a more permanent connection…”
“Fascinating reading, isn’t it?”
Elisha started at Steven Thornton’s voice, her hands trembling as she set down the paper. She hadn’t heard him enter her office.
“The financial section isn’t usually your preferred morning literature,” he observed, settling himself in the chair opposite her desk with the satisfied air of a cat who’d cornered a mouse.
“I was merely checking our competition’s coverage,” she managed, though her voice sounded strained even to her own ears.
“Indeed?” Thornton reached over and smoothly retrieved the paper, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “Though I suppose this particular piece holds a more personal interest.”
“I don’t see how,” she said stiffly, though her stomach was churning with dread.
“No?” He raised an eyebrow, his expression one of practiced sympathy that somehow felt more threatening than comforting. “My dear Elisha, surely you understand how these arrangements typically unfold among the nobility. Business alliances paving the way for marriage alliances—it’s practically a sacred tradition.”
“I fail to see how you’re privy to His Grace’s private business matters,” Elisha said, trying desperately to maintain her composure while her world tilted on its axis.
Thornton’s smile held a hint of superiority that made her temper flare. “When one moves in financial circles, such information flows as freely as wine at a gentleman’s club. Just yesterday at my club, Mr. Hargrove’s banker was discussing another substantial investment from Lancaster Holdings. Five thousand pounds, I believe was the sum mentioned.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “These are not mere business transactions, Miss Linde. The pattern is quite clear to those of us who understand how these arrangements work.”
“And you understand them well, do you?” There was ice in her voice now.
“Better than most, I’m afraid.” His tone softened with what seemed like genuine sympathy, though something in his eyes remained calculating. “One must secure the business interests before securing the personal ones. And why shouldn’t he?” Thornton continued, spreading his hands as if the logic were inescapable. “One can hardly blame His Grace when he has ambitions for expanding into railways. Miss Hargrove is acknowledged to be one of the Season’s beauties, and the merger of their families’ business interests would increase their combined wealth exponentially.”
Elisha sat very still, her mind reeling. She thought of their last intimate encounter in the garden, how genuine his declarations of love had seemed, how tenderly he’d held her afterward. She had believed his protestations that he wasn’t wealthy enough to offer her what Steven had. Yet here was evidence, if Thornton’s words could be believed, that while Edgar was professing his devotion to her, apologizing for his limitations, he was quietly orchestrating a very different future.
“I imagine we’ll be seeing less of him at the gazette now,” Thornton mused, his voice carrying just the right note of regret. “Though his brief association with us has certainly elevated our standing in certain circles.” He stood, adjusting his cuffs with meticulous care. “Miss Linde, should you ever need a friend who understands the bitter taste of aristocratic duplicity, my door is always open.”
She was still staring at the newspaper when Steven reached the door, the words blurring before her eyes. Before he could exit, Amelia burst in, waving an envelope with barely contained excitement.
“Elisha! Oh, Steven, you’ll never guess what’s just arrived,” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed.
