The Duchess’s Plans
The Duchess’s Plans
Edgar stared at the letter in his hands, his mother’s familiar script bringing both affection and dread in equal measure. The afternoon light streaming through the study windows of their Tunbridge Wells cottage seemed to mock the darkness of his thoughts as he read the duchess’ latest scheme.
Across from him, Elisha sat with her own unopened correspondence from Thornton, her green eyes fixed on his face with growing concern. How beautiful she looked in the golden light, and how completely unaware she was of the deception that was about to entangle them both further.
“It seems my mother has taken matters into her own hands,” he said, forcing lightness into his voice while his stomach churned with guilt. “She’s planning a house party to celebrate the completion of your novel and Mr. Steele’s.”
The irony was suffocating. His mother wanted to invite Mr. Steele—him—to celebrate a competition with Miss Lovelace. The web of lies he’d woven was becoming a noose, and he could feel it tightening around his throat.
Elisha’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “A house party? But I’ve hardly finished the first drafts.”
Edgar managed a chuckle, though it felt hollow.
“That has never deterred my mother from seizing an opportunity for social orchestration.” His voice grew more strained as he continued to the truly problematic part.
“There’s more. She’s asked me to extend an invitation to Mr. Steele directly, as apparently no one seems to know how to contact him. ”
The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Of course no one could contact Steele—he existed only in Edgar’s imagination and carefully crafted letters.
How was he supposed to navigate this latest complication?
He couldn’t have Steele decline the invitation without disappointing his mother, but accepting would create an impossible situation.
“And what does your mother hope to accomplish through this gathering?” Elisha asked, her fingers fidgeting with her shawl in that way that told him she was nervous.
Edgar consulted the letter again, though he’d already memorized every damning word.
“She’s quite explicit about her intentions.
” He read aloud, hearing his mother’s imperious tone in every syllable: “‘This is not to be misconstrued as my blessing, Edgar. Rather, it’s an opportunity to assess the girl’s potential while she engages with the ton.
Moreover, it will allow us to gauge Society’s response to her presence.
The main purpose of the gathering, however, is to celebrate the two most talked about authors in London. ’”
Watching Elisha’s face pale at the clinical assessment made his chest tight with protective fury. Yet beneath his indignation lurked the uncomfortable knowledge that his own deception was far worse than his mother’s calculated schemes.
“I shall feel like a prized mare at auction,” Elisha said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself.
Edgar was beside her in an instant, taking her cold hands in his. “Elisha, this represents another step forward for us. This will bring us closer to a formal courtship announcement.”
If only it were that simple. If only he could tell her the truth without destroying everything they’d built together.
“Do you think Mr. Steele will accept the invitation?” she asked, and Edgar felt his heart stop.
The question he’d been dreading. How could he answer honestly when the truth would shatter everything between them?
He rubbed his chin, buying time while his mind raced through possibilities.
“I don’t know him,” he said carefully, hating himself for the continued deception, “but given his public rivalry with Miss Lovelace, he may find it rather trying to be surrounded by her acquaintances and admirers.”
The words felt like glass in his throat. How had what started as an impulsive defense of his ego evolved into this labyrinth of lies?
Elisha was quiet for a moment, and Edgar watched emotions play across her face—resignation, determination, something that might have been relief.
“I suppose it is inevitable that we shall cross paths in Society eventually. Perhaps it is best to face that reality with you at my side. Might I extend invitations to Amelia and Steven as well?”
The mention of Thornton’s name sent jealousy surging through Edgar’s veins like poison.
Steven. When had she begun using his given name?
“Steven, is it?” he said, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
“I had presumed you held little regard for the gentleman, yet it seems you consider him a friend.”
Elisha’s expression shifted, taking on that patient look she got when she thought he was being unreasonable. “We are neither friends nor foes, Edgar. He is my superior at the Metropolitan, but also my best friend’s brother. He has been kind to me, whatever his other motivations might be.”
Kind to her. The words rankled more than they should. “He attempted to separate us,” Edgar said, his voice carrying more heat than he intended. “And not out of concern for your wellbeing.”
“Perhaps,” she said, then lifted her chin with growing confidence that somehow made his jealousy worse. “But it’s equally possible that he was attempting to protect me from what he perceived as a notorious rake—namely, you. Your reputation does leave rather a lot to be desired, after all.”
The accusation stung because it was true. Before Elisha, he had been exactly what she described. But the next words hit like a well-timed jab to the face.
“His only true transgression in your eyes is that he has actually proposed to me—which is more than I can say for yourself.”
Edgar felt the blood drain from his face. The words hung in the air between them, a challenge and an accusation wrapped in simple truth. Thornton had done what Edgar hadn’t—made an honest offer, laid his cards on the table, treated Elisha with the respect of a straightforward proposal.
While Edgar continued to deceive her.
The guilt was overwhelming. She deserved better—deserved honesty, deserved a man who could offer marriage without the shadow of the ton’s ostracization hanging over their relationship.
“You are right,” he said quietly, the admission feeling like acid on his tongue. “You may invite him, though I shan’t pretend enthusiasm at the prospect of watching you navigate waters filled with Mr. Thornton and other gentlemen who might seek your attention.”
“The waters shall not only teem with potential suitors,” Elisha said with a small smile, “but with eligible ladies as well.”
Edgar frowned, genuinely confused despite his internal turmoil. “Surely that cannot be Mother’s objective when she knows perfectly well where my heart lies.”
He watched Elisha lean back against the settee cushions. “Your mother is a shrewd woman, Edgar. If I were in her position with a son of my own, I might employ the very same strategy. She may wish to ensure you are certain about your choice by tempting you with more eligible ladies.”
“Indeed…” he said, recognizing his mother’s strategic mind but also impressed by her cold logic. “That does sound possibly like something she would orchestrate.” He studied Elisha’s face, dreading how this might be hurting her feelings. “Does this prospect trouble you?”
“Not exactly,” she said, and Edgar felt warm affection flow through him. “After all, you are not the one issuing these invitations. Had you been the one to surround yourself with beautiful debutantes, I might feel quite differently about the matter.”
“That is remarkably rational of you, my darling,” he said, leaning closer.
Laying a gentle kiss on her throat, he said in a low voice, “Now, perhaps you should read your correspondence from Thornton.”
Edgar sat up as Elisha reached for the letter. Her expression changed as she read, concern replacing curiosity. “What is amiss?” Edgar asked with alarm.
“‘My dearest Miss Linde,’” she read aloud, “‘I trust this missive finds you in good health and spirits. I cannot help but observe the conspicuous absence of correspondence between yourself and Mr. Steele. As the proprietor of Metropolitan Review, I feel duty-bound to intervene in this matter.’”
Edgar stiffened. “Intervene?” he managed to say. “What the devil does he mean by that?”
But even as he spoke, Edgar’s mind was racing ahead to the implications. If Thornton was monitoring Steele’s communications, if he was planning to take action…
“‘I have taken it upon myself to arrange a public revelation of the victor, to transpire on the eve of the New Year,’” Elisha continued reading.
“‘Despite my earnest efforts, I have been unable to locate Mr. Steele or his representative, but I have dispatched a communiqué to his publisher to this effect.’”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. A public revelation. On New Year’s Eve. Edgar felt panic rise in his throat. How was he supposed to appear as both Steele and himself? How could he maintain the deception when Thornton was forcing a public confrontation?
“While I can understand his eagerness for a dramatic conclusion,” Edgar said, fighting to keep his voice steady, “the timing is most inconvenient.”
Inconvenient. The understatement of the century.
This was a disaster of epic proportions, and Edgar had no idea how to navigate it without destroying everything.
Not only would he be ridiculed for penning a romance novel, but Elisha would be humiliated.
If not publicly, then at least personally.
No, Steele could not appear in person. He’d send a representative on his behalf.
“Indeed,” Elisha agreed, setting the letter aside. “I shall be obliged to reveal myself as Miss Lovelace, lest he intends to declare a winner without my presence.”
“You will likely be compelled to reveal your identity regardless, should my mother proceed with her plans,” he said gently. “She’s far too cunning not to see the advantage in your notoriety.”
“Do you mean to imply that your mother would deliberately exploit my fame to gain my approval by the ton?”
“Without question. If maintaining your anonymity is of paramount importance to you, I could speak with her about it.”
Elisha sat in contemplative silence, her expression changing from one of indecision to one of determination.
“Please, do not trouble yourself,” she said finally. “My primary motivation for maintaining anonymity was to avoid unwanted attention from authors and publishers. If revealing my identity will facilitate our courtship and future together, then I am prepared to do so.”
Edgar pulled her into his arms. When he kissed her, it was with desperate tenderness, trying to pour all his love and regret and fear into the connection of their lips. She was so precious, so brave, so completely deserving of a happy future.
“My brave, brilliant love,” he murmured against her lips when they finally broke apart. “I am in awe of your courage.”
They spent the remaining afternoon discussing the house party, the guest list, the strategies they might employ. But beneath Edgar’s careful responses and practical observations, his mind was spinning with increasingly desperate scenarios.
How could he handle Thornton’s forced revelation on New Year’s Eve?
How could he explain Steele’s absence from the house party and the revelation?
Should he confess to her now? Every day he delayed telling her the truth made the eventual revelation more devastating.
But, no. His friends’ pleas rang in his ear.
Could not a loving deception be forgiven when the alternative meant destroying the single opportunity granted to one who had suffered so much?
This was Elisha’s moment to shine. He was certain of it.
As evening shadows lengthened across the study, Edgar held Elisha close, caressing her hand.
“Are you frightened?” he asked softly.
“Terrified,” she admitted honestly. “But also… excited. For the first time, I feel ready to claim my place in your world. Not as an imposter or interloper, but as your equal.”
The words were like daggers to his heart: that this extraordinary woman should feel inferior in his world. “You have always been my equal, Elisha,” he said, and meant it with every fiber of his being. “Soon, the rest of the world will know it too.”
As darkness fell beyond the windows and candles flickered to life around them, Edgar sat with Elisha in his arms and strengthened his resolve. He would do everything in his power to protect her from anyone who would see her as less than the future Duchess of Lancaster.