Page 109 of A Literary Liaison
She touched the emerald ring on her finger, Edgar’s promise made tangible, and tried to hold onto the memory of his voice declaring his love. Whatever was keeping him away, whatever dangers he might be facing, she would be ready. The duchess had armed her with more than just gowns and social invitations—she’d given her weapons for surviving the treacherous waters of high Society.
And if Edgar needed saving from whatever shadows had claimed him, Elisha von Linde—soon to be revealed as the infamous Miss Lovelace—would be prepared for that battle too.
The Season ahead promised to be a test of everything she’d learned about courage, deception, and the price of love. She only hoped that when the final curtain fell, Edgar would still be there to share whatever victory or defeat awaited them both.
The Contest Reveal
TheMetropolitan Reviewbuilding hummed with excitement on this most auspicious New Year’s Eve, its normally staid offices transformed into something resembling a literary salon crossed with a theatrical venue. In the front rows, aristocrats in silk and jewels sat beside working men in their Sunday best, shop clerks who had saved to attend this literary event, and servants who had been granted the evening off. TheMetropolitan Review’scelebration had drawn from all levels of society, and now they were all witnessing this unprecedented moment together.
Elisha stood near the makeshift stage, her hands trembling slightly as she smoothed the sapphire blue silk of her gown—one of the duchess’ many contributions to her wardrobe over the past three months.
Three months. The number echoed in her mind like a funeral bell. Three months since Edgar had vanished on his mysterious “urgent business,” leaving behind only scattered, formal letters that read more like reports from a distant acquaintance than correspondence from her beloved fiancé.
The cream of London’s literary Society had gathered for this momentous occasion, their anticipation crackling through the air like electricity before a storm. Elisha’s eyes swept the assembled crowd for what felt like the hundredth time, searching desperately for Edgar’s familiar tall frame among the sea of silk and satin. Her heart performedits now-familiar dance of hope and disappointment when she confirmed, once again, that he was nowhere to be seen.
“Miss von Linde,” a warm voice interrupted her melancholy survey. She turned to find Charlotte Brontë approaching, her eyes bright with interest. “How exciting this must be for you. I confess, I’m quite envious of the clever mind behind Miss Lovelace’s sharp wit.”
Elisha managed a smile, though it felt brittle on her lips. “You’re very kind, Miss Brontë. Though I fear tonight may prove that wit alone isn’t sufficient for victory.”
“Nonsense,” came another voice as Elizabeth Barrett Browning joined them, supported by her husband Robert. “I’ve read every piece Miss Lovelace has published. The woman has a gift for combining passion with precision that rivals any writer in London.”
If only they knew they were speaking to Miss Lovelace herself. The irony would have amused Elisha more if her stomach weren’t tied in knots of anxiety—not just about the contest results, but about Edgar’s continued absence and what it might mean.
Near the front of the assembly, the Duchess of Lancaster sat with regal grace, flanked by her children. Edgar’s siblings had become Elisha’s lifeline during these lonely months, their warm friendship a reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone in the world. Essie caught her eye and offered an encouraging smile while Eva made a subtle gesture that looked suspiciously like she was miming throttling someone—presumably Mr. Steele, should he prove victorious.
The sight of Edgar’s empty chair beside his family sent another pang through Elisha’s chest. Even for this momentous occasion, he couldn’t be bothered to appear. What urgent business could possibly be keeping him away from this?
Steven Thornton moved through the crowd with practiced ease, playing the perfect host while his eyes held an intensity that made Elisha’s skin crawl. He’d been different these past months—more pointed in his comments about Edgar, but his charm was more forcedand strangely distant. He behaved as if he was awaiting a judgment of sort, perhaps even the Grim Reaper.
“Miss von Linde,” Thornton appeared at her elbow as if summoned by her thoughts, his voice pitched low and intimate. “You look radiant this evening. Though I confess, I detect a touch of melancholy.”
“I’m perfectly well, Mr. Thornton,” Elisha replied, stepping back slightly to put distance between them. “Simply nervous about the evening’s proceedings.”
“Ah, yes, the great revelation,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I do hope Mr. Steele has the courtesy to appear for his moment of triumph or defeat,” Thornton said, not exactly meeting her gaze. “It would be rather disappointing if our mysterious author proved too… unreliable to face the consequences of his literary challenge.”
The subtle barb could have been directed at anyone, but something in his tone made Elisha bristle on behalf of the absent author. “I’m certain Mr. Steele will conduct himself with proper dignity, whatever the outcome.”
“Of course,” Thornton murmured.
Before he could say anything else, Amelia appeared with perfect timing. Her dearest friend had an uncanny ability to rescue her from her brother’s increasingly uncomfortable attentions.
“Elisha, there you are! The duchess specifically requested we sit with her during the announcement.”
Grateful for the rescue, Elisha allowed herself to be guided toward the front rows, though she couldn’t shake the feeling of Thornton’s eyes following her progress.
“Are you quite all right?” Amelia whispered as they took their seats. “You look rather pale.”
“Just nerves,” Elisha lied, though the truth was far more complicated. Tonight would bring at least some answers—even if theyweren’t the ones she most desperately wanted.
As the clock struck the quarter hour, a hush fell over the assembled crowd. Thornton ascended the stage with measured steps, his bearing composed and theatrical. He surveyed the expectant faces before him, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Distinguished guests,” he began, his voice carrying clearly, “we are gathered here on this auspicious evening to witness the culmination of a most extraordinary literary duel. The feud between Mr. Steele and Miss Lovelace has captivated our fair city for many months, their verbal sparring a source of great entertainment and intellectual stimulation.”
Elisha felt her heart hammering against her ribs as all eyes in the room seemed to turn toward her.
“As you are all aware,” Thornton continued, “both parties agreed to pen a romantic novel, published this past October. It is my great pleasure to announce the titles of these works. Mr. Steele’s offering is entitledMy Heart’s True Northwhile Miss Lovelace has presented us withThe Duke’s Folly.”
A murmur of interest rippled through the crowd. Elisha’s throat went dry as she waited for the summaries that would lay bare the contents of both novels.
