Page 104 of A Literary Liaison
Thornton looked up, confusion clouding his wine-flushed features. “I beg your pardon?”
“You speak of the common classes as though they’re beneath consideration,” Hargrove said, his voice trembling with rage. “As though hard work and merit mean nothing compared to the accident of birth.”
Edgar watched realization begin to dawn on Thornton’s face, but it was clearly too late.
“I am a common man, Mr. Thornton,” Hargrove continued, his voice growing colder. “I built my business with these hands, earnedevery penny through determination and honest labor. And you sit at my table, speaking of people like me as though we’re cattle to be managed.”
Edgar felt triumph surge through him as he watched Thornton’s panic mount.
“Mr. Hargrove,” Thornton began, desperation creeping into his voice as sobriety returned with alarming speed, “I assure you, I meant no offense—”
“No offense?” Hargrove’s voice was dangerous now. “You’ve just told me that people of my class are incapable of responsibility, that we need to be kept in our proper place. That the very ideas of advancement and merit that built this country are ‘dangerous.’”
Edgar held his breath as Hargrove turned to him, the man’s decision clearly made. “Your Grace, I’ve made my choice regarding the Royal Mail contract. A man who holds such contempt for the working people who would use our services has no business controlling them.”
Edgar kept his expression carefully neutral despite the elation coursing through him. “I’m honored by your confidence, Mr. Hargrove.”
“The contract is yours, Your Grace. We’ll sign the papers tomorrow morning.”
Edgar watched Thornton’s face go ashen. “Mr. Hargrove, surely we can discuss—”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Hargrove said firmly. “I’ve seen your true character tonight, sir, and I want no part of it.”
As the evening broke up in awkward silence, Edgar caught Elisha’s eye. The pleased gleam in her gaze confirmed what he’d suspected. His brilliant, clever future wife had just secured them a crucial victory through nothing more than wine and well-placed sympathy.
*
The crisp morningair carried the scent of triumph as Edgar stood in his study, the signed Royal Mail contract spread before him on his mahogany desk. Mr. Hargrove had arrived at dawn, as promised, his determination to distance himself from Thornton’s group evident in every brisk movement. The papers had been signed within the hour, sealing not just a business arrangement but a crucial victory for the reform movement.
Edgar allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as he reviewed the terms. Elisha’s brilliant performance the night before had made it all possible.
The sound of heavy, unsteady footsteps in the corridor alerted him to an approaching presence. The door to his study burst open without ceremony, revealing Steven Thornton in a state Edgar had never witnessed before. The man’s usual immaculate appearance was disheveled and his eyes were bloodshot. But it was the expression on his face that gave Edgar pause: raw desperation mixed with fury, making his features appear haggard and almost haunted.
“You bastard,” Thornton said, his voice hoarse but lacking its usual control. “You’ve ruined everything.”
Edgar remained seated behind his desk, projecting calm authority despite the volatile energy radiating from his uninvited guest. “Mr. Thornton. You seem somewhat… worse for wear.”
Thornton’s face crumpled slightly at the subtle mockery before hardening again. “Don’t play games with me, Lancaster. I know what you did last night. You and Elisha—she played me perfectly.”
Edgar noted the man’s impudence in addressing him, the way Thornton’s voice softened when he spoke her name even in anger.
“She was magnificent, wasn’t she?” Thornton continued, beginning to pace the room with jerky, agitated movements. “Hanging on my every word, making me believe she was finally seeing sense. Making me hope…” His voice broke slightly on the last word.
Edgar said nothing, watching the man’s composure fracture beforehis eyes.
“Do you know what it’s like,” Thornton said suddenly, stopping his pacing to face Edgar, “to have someone look at you the way she looked at me last night? Of course you do. Even if it was an act, for a few hours I felt like… like I mattered to her.”
The raw pain in his voice was unmistakable, and Edgar felt an unexpected stab of pity despite everything.
“I suppose you think you’ve won,” Thornton continued, his voice growing steadier as he fought for control. “The contract is yours, but you’ve made a fatal error, Your Grace.”
“Have I indeed?”
Thornton moved closer to the desk, his usual predatory confidence replaced by something more desperate. “You see, while you and Elisha were congratulating yourselves on your clever victory, I’ve been gathering information of my own. Information that could destroy both of you.”
Edgar felt ice flood his veins but kept his expression neutral. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Oh, I think you do,” Thornton said, his voice taking on a pleading quality that Edgar found more unsettling than threats. “I know about your involvement with the Pioneers. I know about the printing press, the distribution networks, the funding you’ve been funneling to revolutionary causes. And I know you’re Mr. Steele.”
