Page 99 of A Literary Liaison
“Certainly not. I would not relinquish such a delectable secret without due compensation. I intend to leverage it to my considerable advantage in due course.”
“Eva, I implore you,” Edgar said urgently, “breathe not a word of this to any living soul, regardless of whatever temptation might be offered.”
“But surely the Mayfair Mavericks are privy to this information,” she said with a pout. “It seems most unjust that your own flesh and blood should be kept in ignorance while your gambling companions know all.”
“I beseech you, Eva. Not a whisper to anyone—especially not to Miss Linde herself,” he pleaded, understanding the precarious nature of his position.
A sly smile curved her lips as she recognized her advantage. “Ah, but what price are you willing to pay for my continued discretion, dear brother?”
Edgar sighed, recognizing the shrewd negotiator his sister had become. It behooved him to dictate terms rather than allow Eva time to formulate increasingly expensive demands.
“I shall host a grand soirée for you and your particular circle of friends,” he offered.
“In a townhouse of my very own in London?” Eva’s eyes shone with barely contained glee.
He narrowed his eyes. “Your own entertainments in the London house—a weekly salon with full household support and guest privileges.”
“How about a small cottage instead?” she countered with a glint in her eyes.
Edgar regarded her sternly. “How about your own wing of the London house with separate entertaining privileges?”
Eva crossed her arms with a pout. “With my choice of chaperone rather than Mother’s.”
Edgar held up both hands. “Now, you know I cannot go against Mother.”
Eva spun on her heels. “Very well. I shall speak to Miss Linde—”
“All right, you sly fox,” Edgar exclaimed. Once Eva turned around slowly to face him, he extended his hand with resignation. “Should you breathe so much as a syllable to anyone about my… extracurricular activities, you shall forfeit both the entertainment and chaperone privileges posthaste.”
Eva grasped his hand with enthusiasm, sealing their accord with a vigorous shake before emitting a most unladylike squeal of delight. “Oh, Edgar! You have made me the happiest of sisters!”
“When did you become such an accomplished negotiator?” he asked with grudging admiration.
“I learned from watching Mother, naturally,” Eva replied with an impish grin. “Now go, claim your happiness before dawn breaks and propriety reasserts itself.”
*
The soft glowof candlelight illuminated Elisha’s chamber as she pored over the latest literary offering she was tasked to review. Herquill scratched softly against parchment as she made notations, her brow furrowed in concentration. The evening’s events played through her mind—the duchess’ startling proposal, the dinner performance, Edgar’s probing questions about her supposed heritage.
Although the deception sat uneasily with her, she understood that love sometimes required compromises, even ones that challenged her principles.
Suddenly, a gentle thud against her windowpane startled her from her thoughts. Elisha paused, quill suspended mid-air, listening intently. Another soft impact followed, then another. Curiosity piqued, she rose from her seat and approached the window, her cotton wrapper rustling softly as she moved.
Peering into the moonlit garden below, Elisha’s eyes widened as she beheld Edgar standing beneath an ancient oak, a handful of pebbles poised to launch at her window once more. Their eyes met across the distance, and Edgar gestured urgently for her to join him in the garden.
She shook her head and waved her refusal, mindful of propriety and the risk of discovery. But when Edgar dropped to one knee on the dewy grass, his hands clasped at his heart in a gesture of supplication, her resolve crumbled.
With her heart hammering against her ribs, Elisha hurried from her chamber and down the servants’ stairs, her bare feet silent on the cold stone. Stepping into the cool night air, she spotted Edgar’s tall figure beckoning from the shadows behind the rose hedges. She approached cautiously, acutely aware of her scandalous attire—nothing but her thin cotton nightgown and wrapper.
As she drew near, he stood waiting by a marble-topped garden table, his expression carrying such earnest intensity that she forgot to breathe.
“Why are we meeting here?” she whispered, glancing nervously toward the house. “What if someone sees us?”
Edgar reached for her hand, drawing her deeper into the alcove where climbing roses provided a natural curtain of privacy. “The walls in your chamber are notoriously thin—thin enough for whispers to carry to neighboring rooms.”
“Truly?” she asked, startled by this revelation.
“Indeed. Eva made quite certain of it when arranging your accommodations.” At her shocked expression, he chuckled softly. “We are well hidden here, love. This particular corner is concealed from all the windows save a broom closet.”
