Page 34 of A Literary Liaison
“Adams,” Edgar nodded, fighting the urge to loosen his cravat. “Might we speak privately?”
Once sequestered in a small office, Adams’ professional demeanor softened. The room was sparse but orderly, much like the carefully structured life Edgar had led before Elisha had upset everything.
“I must say, Lancaster, I’m curious why you sought me out here instead of at my home. This must be urgent.”
Edgar ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that would have horrified his late father. “I confess, I find myself in a state of… unease regarding a certain matter.”
Adams’ eyebrow arched elegantly. “Unease? How extraordinary. This is most unlike you, Lancaster.”
“Indeed…” Edgar moved to the window, watching as two orderlies escorted a patient across the courtyard. “My disquiet pertains to… a lady.”
“A lady?” Adams echoed, and Edgar could hear the smile in his voice. “While you’ve had no shortage of dalliances with the fairer sex, I don’t recall you ever expressing concern over a lady of quality.”
Edgar’s hand moved to massage the nape of his neck. “Miss Elisha Linde. I find myself curious about one Steven Thornton, the proprietor of theMetropolitan Review. He has recently taken a more active role in its operations.”
“Ah, the lady who bested you so delightfully.” A knowing smirk played at Adams’ lips. “I see she’s captured more than just your literary interest.”
The heat that crept up Edgar’s neck was mortifying. “I merely wish to ensure her safety and well-being,” Edgar managed, though thewords sounded hollow even to his own ears.
“Is that so?” Adams’ smirk deepened as he settled into his chair. “Are you quite certain you’re not simply gauging your competition? For I must say, Lancaster, I’ve never before witnessed you in such a state of… shall we say, heightened color?”
“I am not blushing!” The words escaped with such force that a passing orderly paused briefly outside the door. Edgar lowered his voice. “I simply wish to know more about the man’s character. There are… rumors about his business practices that concern me.”
“Nor have I ever seen you so quick to deny an accusation,” Adams said, his amusement evident. “Or so invested in the business practices of London’s publishing houses.”
“Will you assist me in this matter or not?” Edgar barked, his patience wearing thin.
Adams chuckled softly. “Of course I shall aid my lovelorn friend in his hour of need.”
Edgar opened his mouth to refute the assertion, then thought better of it. Looking out at the rain-slicked courtyard, he muttered, “I pray it is not so. I cannot possibly repeat history. Thetonwould never accept such a match. My own family would…”
Yet even as he spoke the words, he couldn’t quite quell the traitorous flutter in his chest at the memory of their hungry kiss.
He turned to face his friend, his gaze sharpening with sudden intensity. “I implore you, tell me this is not the manifestation of love—this all-consuming preoccupation, these incessant thoughts of her. For if it is, I find myself in a most precarious predicament. The Lancaster name, my position in Society, everything I was raised to protect… not to mention Lucia’s sacrifice…”
Adams’ countenance softened, his usual teasing manner giving way to genuine sympathy. “I believe, my friend, that this has the potential to blossom into love. It is undoubtedly an infatuation, but is that not how all passionate love affairs commence? The question youmust ask yourself is whether your name and position are worth the price of denying your heart.”
Three days later, Edgar sat in his study, the morning paper spread before him but his attention entirely captured by Miss Lovelace’s latest missive. His hands trembled slightly as he reread her words.
Metropolitan Review, 29 April 1840
Dear Mr. Steele,
Your tea preferences are duly noted. I suggest you savor them while you can, for come January of next year, you may find yourself brewing your own. Your peculiar window requirements are understandable as it readily provides means of escape from debtors.
As for the matter of “sparring,” I believe this was used as a euphemism for you certainly seem lonely, almost to the point of being desperate. Your lack of popularity with the ladies may be due to grand but meaningless gestures. I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but I assure you, I am fit enough to leave any man exhausted.
I suggest you focus your energies on squirreling away for the winter months as you shall depart with 1000 pounds sterling. Which brings me to the question, can you afford it? Or did you mean 1000 pounds of your pride? I certainly hope not.
Your amused rival,
E. Lovelace
Miss Lovelace’s words burned in his mind like brandy—sharp, intoxicating, and dangerous. A knock at his door preceded Hereford’s arrival.
“Ready for our ride?”
Minutes later, they cantered through Hyde Park’s misty paths, the spring air heavy with the scent of wet earth and new grass. Edgar’s attention kept drifting to the letter that seemed to burn against his breast pocket.
