The Provocation #2
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I am. If it’s to transpire regardless of my opinion, I might as well partake in the enjoyment.”
Still glaring, Edgar extended his hand. “Did you bring the fee?”
“I did.” Adams retrieved his wallet. “How fares the profit?”
“I cleared three hundred pounds last week.”
Adams whistled. “Not inconsiderable.” He shook his head in mild exasperation. “How do you contrive to find the time, given your propensity for brothel visitations, bouts of inebriation, and general tomfoolery?”
Edgar’s lips curved in a roguish grin. “I’ve been telling you. One needs to be born with the skills to live the life of a wastrel. Now, lend your assistance in mailing these stories. I must remain anonymous.”
“And I mustn’t? People recognize this handsome face, you know.”
“You have two dozen men at your command. None of them would dare peek inside the envelope, whereas my servants will have the seal melted before I have turned my back.”
“Very well. If I’m incriminating myself by helping you, I want to be a partner in your venture.”
“What happened to doing more with your life, Adams?”
“A profitable business is a respectable endeavor for a gentleman as far as I’m concerned.”
Edgar dipped his quill in ink, a wicked smile playing at his lips as he contemplated his next literary salvo.
Miss Lovelace thought herself so superior, so untouchable in her ivory tower of criticism.
Well, he would see about that. If she wanted to question his understanding of genuine emotion, he would give her something to truly consider.
*
Gas lamps cast a warm glow over the Metropolitan Review’s small classroom, where a dozen students hunched over dog-eared primers and worn slates. Elisha moved among them, pausing to praise a young chimney sweep’s lettering while Amelia quietly distributed tea and modest suppers of tripe and bread.
“Now,” Elisha said softly, drawing their attention, “who would like to begin our passage from Oliver Twist?”
A factory girl raised her hand, swallowing her last bite of bread. As the girl’s halting voice filled the room, others followed along, their tired eyes fighting to stay open after long days of labor.
A gentle knock interrupted their lesson. Elisha looked over as Amelia opened the door to reveal Mrs. Cobbs holding out a sealed envelope, her knowing smile visible through the doorway before she departed.
The sender’s identity was obvious from Amelia’s grin.
Elisha rolled her eyes and continued teaching, wondering what literary challenge Mr. Steele had devised now.
Though strangely, she was minding these exchanges less and less—perhaps because their literary feud had increased subscriptions by thirty percent.
Each new subscriber meant another student could join their literacy program.
An hour later, when the last student had gone and the classroom was tidied, Amelia and Elisha settled into the editorial office downstairs. The letter lay between them, Mr. Steele’s bold handwriting stark against the cream envelope.
“What do you suppose he has written now?” Amelia mused, pouring them each a fresh cup of tea. “Perhaps he’s conceded defeat in your literary duel?”
Elisha snorted delicately. “Unlikely. The man’s ego is as robust as his plots are flimsy.” She sliced open the envelope and unfolded the letter within.
Metropolitan Review, 25 January 1840
My Most Esteemed Miss Lovelace,
While I may not have plumbed the depths of theological discourse or fully comprehended the intricacies of fatherly devotion, I remain entirely capable of unwavering faith and boundless love for a child, should such a blessed occasion arise.
For you see, I possess the innate capacity to love with fervent passion. I have, in truth, loved most ardently, Miss Lovelace. I find myself wondering, with all due respect, whether you can claim the same?
I await your missive with bated breath,
A. Steele
“Blast and damnation! The gall of this pompous popinjay! Who does this A. Steele think he is, spouting such arrant nonsense? By Jove, I’ve never read such twaddle in all my days!” Elisha turned to Amelia, her face flushed with indignation.
Amelia stared wide-eyed at her friend after that outburst. Elisha paced the room, her skirts swishing furiously as she continued her tirade.
“Blast it, Amelia! This addlebrained nincompoop dares to question my capacity for love? The nerve of the man! He’s nothing but a blithering idiot with the wits of a turnip!”
Pausing to catch her breath, Elisha fanned herself vigorously with Steele’s letter before resuming.
“Confound it all! This letter is pure codswallop! I swear, if I ever lay eyes on this A. Steele, I’ll give him a piece of my mind that’ll make his ears ring! The insufferable pillock!”
Amelia’s hands flew to her mouth upon Elisha’s reference to the male member. In that moment, the office door swung open, drawing Elisha’s attention and revealing a striking gentleman. The sudden intrusion caused both women to start, their eyes widening in surprise.
“I beg your pardon, ladies. I couldn’t help but overhear the tirade. I thought I better rescue the poor man receiving this verbal assault.” The man’s lips curved into a pleasant smile.
Elisha was momentarily speechless as she studied the newcomer.
He cut an imposing figure in his meticulously tailored suit, the cut of the garment emphasizing his lean frame.
His tanned face was striking rather than classically handsome—black hair neatly cropped, straight brows arching over dark, intense eyes that seemed to pierce whatever they gazed upon.
Though his eyes were small, giving him a perpetually scrutinizing look, there was something magnetic about his sharp features that drew and held one’s attention.
He appeared to be perhaps three or four years their senior, old enough to lend him an air of worldly confidence but not so much as to place him in an entirely different sphere from Elisha and Amelia.
The maturity sat well on his features, adding gravitas to his already commanding presence.
Amelia, quick to recover her composure, stepped forward. “Steven! What an unexpected pleasure. Please, allow me to introduce my dear friend, Miss Elisha Linde.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Also known as Miss Lovelace.”
The man nodded approvingly. Amelia turned to Elisha, who was still flushed from her outburst. “Elisha, this is Mr. Steven Thornton, my half-brother and our esteemed proprietor.”
Elisha curtsied hastily, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Mr. Thornton, I do beg your pardon for my unseemly behavior.”
Mr. Thornton waved off her apology with a good-natured smile.
“Not at all, Miss Linde. I daresay it’s refreshing to hear such spirited discourse in these halls.
” Holding her gaze and grinning with amusement, he continued, “I must apologize for my late arrival. I’ve just come from meeting with the solicitor for the company and thought I’d pop in to introduce myself. ”
Amelia nodded, her countenance apprehensive but smiling nonetheless. “You are very welcome. Would you like a tour?”
“Thank you, but no,” he said. “I’ll be attending to my duties as proprietor starting tomorrow. Perhaps you could do me the favor then.”
“Yes, of course,” Amelia said.
Mr. Thornton looked around the office, his eyes pausing on the stacks of boxes lining every wall. “I was wondering if there might be a room available for my use?”
Amelia’s face lit up. “As a matter of fact, we’ve just cleared out the old storage room. It’s quite spacious and has lovely windows overlooking the street.”
Thornton looked pleased. “Excellent! That sounds perfect. But I must ask, what became of all the items that were stored there?”
With a slightly sheepish smile, Amelia gestured to the numerous boxes in their office. “We’ve temporarily relocated them here.”
“Ah, I am sorry to have caused this clutter,” he said.
“We don’t mind. Do we, Elisha?”
“It isn’t ideal, but you are the proprietor…”
Thornton chuckled, looking directly at her with his piercing eyes. “I admire your candor, Miss Linde. And your resourcefulness, Amelia.” He bowed politely. “Well, ladies, I look forward to working with you both. Until tomorrow, then.”
As Mr. Thornton took his leave, Elisha and Amelia exchanged glances, trepidation in their eyes.
“Well,” Amelia ventured, her tone carefully neutral, “my brother seems quite taken with you.”
Elisha snorted delicately as she gathered the used teacups. “Your brother seems quite taken with the notion of turning his gazette into a profitable venture, which is perfectly sensible.”
“Oh, come now, Elisha. He gazed at you with such admiration—”
“He admires the promise of increased subscriptions,” Elisha corrected, though her cheeks colored slightly.
“A man like your brother, who has worked so diligently to elevate his station, would hardly seek a match with someone of my background. No, he would wish for a wife with connections to the ton, someone who can open doors that would otherwise remain firmly closed to him.”
Amelia’s brow furrowed. “You do him an injustice. Steven values intelligence and capability far more than social standing.”
“Perhaps,” Elisha conceded, shuffling papers on her desk to avoid her friend’s knowing look. “But I have observed enough ambitious men to recognize one when I see him. Your brother is determined to claim his place among London’s elite. A wife from the workhouse would hardly advance that aim.”
“And yet here you are, dining with lords and ladies, critiquing the novels of the most renowned authors…”
“That’s different. My connection to their world extends only as far as the printed page.”
Amelia opened her mouth to protest, but Elisha held up a hand. “Now, shall we return to these submissions? They won’t review themselves, you know.”
But even as she spoke, Elisha’s gaze drifted to Steele’s letter still lying crumpled on her desk.
The man’s audacity in questioning her capacity for love had struck deeper than she cared to admit.
What did he know of love? What did any of them know of the careful walls she’d built around her heart, or the reasons she’d chosen the safety of literary criticism over the dangerous vulnerability of genuine emotion?
She picked up her quill, already composing her response in her mind. Mr. Steele wanted to know about love? Very well. She would give him a lesson in the subject he wouldn’t soon forget.