Chapter 31 The Ball
The Ball
Elisha had been back in London for two weeks, and the glorious time she spent with Edgar at Lancaster Hall seemed almost like a dream.
Their parting had been tender, full of whispered promises and stolen kisses, yet his subsequent letters were frustratingly formal—brief reports about estate business and family matters, lacking the warmth she craved.
When she’d questioned him about it, he’d explained apologetically that his sisters had taken to holding his correspondence up to windows before his secretary could dispatch them, searching for romantic declarations to tease him about.
She smiled at the memory as she sorted through the morning papers in her office at the Metropolitan Review when a headline in the Financial Times caught her eye:
LANCASTER HOLDINGS EXPANDS: SIGNIFICANT INVESTMENT IN TRANSPORTATION SECTOR
Her heart began to race as she read the details: “His Grace, the Duke of Lancaster, has emerged as a significant investor in Hargrove & Sons Transportation Company, with an estimated investment of thirty thousand pounds over the past month. This strategic acquisition has fueled speculation about a potential merger between Lancaster Holdings and the Hargrove empire. Sources close to both families suggest this business alliance may herald a more permanent connection…”
“Fascinating reading, isn’t it?”
Elisha started at Steven Thornton’s voice, her hands trembling as she set down the paper. She hadn’t heard him enter her office.
“The financial section isn’t usually your preferred morning literature,” he observed, settling himself in the chair opposite her desk with the satisfied air of a cat who’d cornered a mouse.
“I was merely checking our competition’s coverage,” she managed, though her voice sounded strained even to her own ears.
“Indeed?” Thornton reached over and smoothly retrieved the paper, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “Though I suppose this particular piece holds a more personal interest.”
“I don’t see how,” she said stiffly, though her stomach was churning with dread.
“No?” He raised an eyebrow, his expression one of practiced sympathy that somehow felt more threatening than comforting.
“My dear Elisha, surely you understand how these arrangements typically unfold among the nobility. Business alliances paving the way for marriage alliances—it’s practically a sacred tradition. ”
“I fail to see how you’re privy to His Grace’s private business matters,” Elisha said, trying desperately to maintain her composure while her world tilted on its axis.
Thornton’s smile held a hint of superiority that made her temper flare.
“When one moves in financial circles, such information flows as freely as wine at a gentleman’s club.
Just yesterday at my club, Mr. Hargrove’s banker was discussing another substantial investment from Lancaster Holdings.
Five thousand pounds, I believe was the sum mentioned.
” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“These are not mere business transactions, Miss Linde. The pattern is quite clear to those of us who understand how these arrangements work.”
“And you understand them well, do you?” There was ice in her voice now.
“Better than most, I’m afraid.” His tone softened with what seemed like genuine sympathy, though something in his eyes remained calculating.
“One must secure the business interests before securing the personal ones. And why shouldn’t he?
” Thornton continued, spreading his hands as if the logic were inescapable.
“One can hardly blame His Grace when he has ambitions for expanding into railways. Miss Hargrove is acknowledged to be one of the Season’s beauties, and the merger of their families’ business interests would increase their combined wealth exponentially. ”
Elisha sat very still, her mind reeling.
She thought of their last intimate encounter in the garden, how genuine his declarations of love had seemed, how tenderly he’d held her afterward.
She had believed his protestations that he wasn’t wealthy enough to offer her what Steven had.
Yet here was evidence, if Thornton’s words could be believed, that while Edgar was professing his devotion to her, apologizing for his limitations, he was quietly orchestrating a very different future.
“I imagine we’ll be seeing less of him at the gazette now,” Thornton mused, his voice carrying just the right note of regret.
“Though his brief association with us has certainly elevated our standing in certain circles.” He stood, adjusting his cuffs with meticulous care.
“Miss Linde, should you ever need a friend who understands the bitter taste of aristocratic duplicity, my door is always open.”
She was still staring at the newspaper when Steven reached the door, the words blurring before her eyes. Before he could exit, Amelia burst in, waving an envelope with barely contained excitement.
“Elisha! Oh, Steven, you’ll never guess what’s just arrived,” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed.
Elisha looked up, blinking away the tears that had begun to gather. “What is it?”
Amelia thrust the elegant envelope toward her. “An invitation! To the Duke of Lancaster’s estate in Kent. And it’s for all of us!”
Elisha took the invitation, remembering the duchess’ letter to Edgar as she read. “This is for a house party, Amelia. For an entire week.”
“Is it? That’s even better!” Amelia practically bounced on her toes. “A week-long house party at a duke’s estate! We simply must attend!”
“I don’t know,” Elisha said weakly, the paper feeling heavy as lead in her hands. “It will be costly. There’s work to be done, and I have nothing appropriate to wear to such an event.”
“Does it matter? We shall wear our best frocks and hold our heads high. Come now, Elisha, when will we ever get another chance like this? Think of the connections we could make for the gazette!”
Before Elisha could formulate a response, Thornton clapped his hands together decisively.
“Excellent! I shall be delighted to escort you both,” he announced, his tone brooking no argument.
“Now, you’ll need proper attire for such an occasion.
I suggest you visit Madame Delacoure’s establishment on Bond Street.
Ballgowns, shoes, accessories—spare no expense. I shall cover all costs.”
“Oh, that’s not neces—” Elisha began, but he held up a hand.
“Consider it an investment in the gazette’s future,” he said smoothly. “After all, we can’t have our most talented writers looking anything less than spectacular at such an important social event.”
With that declaration, he strode from the office, leaving both women staring after him in stunned silence.
Amelia turned to Elisha, her eyes sparkling with excitement, but Elisha felt only a growing sense of dread.
The duchess’ scrutiny, the performance she’d have to give before Society, Edgar’s potential betrayal, and now Thornton’s suspicious generosity—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve but knew would form a picture she wouldn’t like.
*
That afternoon, despite her inner turmoil, Elisha found herself drawn to Edgar’s London townhouse.
She hadn’t planned the visit, but the newspaper article and Thornton’s insinuations gnawed at her thoughts until she could bear the uncertainty no longer.
She needed to see Edgar, to hear him deny these rumors himself, to look into his eyes and find the truth.
As she approached the impressive Georgian residence, however, the front door opened.
Elisha quickly stepped back into the shadow of a neighboring building, her heart stopping as Miss Hargrove emerged.
The young woman’s usually impeccable appearance was notably disheveled—her fashionable bonnet sat askew, her golden curls had escaped their pins, and her cheeks were flushed a becoming pink.
Most tellingly, she was adjusting her gloves with hurried, almost furtive, movements as she descended the steps.
Behind her came Edgar’s butler, Simmons, his usually impassive demeanor betraying clear discomfort as he escorted her to the waiting carriage. His shoulders were rigid with disapproval, and he avoided looking directly at his charge.
“Please extend my deepest gratitude to His Grace,” Miss Hargrove’s clear voice carried in the quiet street, accompanied by a laugh that sounded both breathless and satisfied. “The afternoon has been most… illuminating.”
“Of course, my lady,” Simmons replied with wooden politeness.
She paused at the carriage door, and Elisha caught a glimpse of a secret smile playing about her perfect lips—the expression of a woman well-pleased with herself. “I do so look forward to our next… business discussion.”
Elisha pressed herself harder against the cold stone wall, willing herself to disappear as Miss Hargrove’s carriage rolled past mere feet away.
Her mind raced with painful possibilities, each more devastating than the last. Miss Hargrove had clearly spent an intimate afternoon in Edgar’s home, emerging in such a state of disarray…
The implications were unmistakable, weren’t they?
And yet, somehow, her heart refused to accept what her eyes had witnessed.
This was Edgar—the man who had held her so tenderly, who had whispered words of love against her skin, who had promised her a future together.
Surely there had to be another explanation.
But what other explanation could there be?