Chapter 33 The Garden #2
A sly smile curved her lips as she recognized her advantage. “Ah, but what price are you willing to pay for my continued discretion, dear brother?”
Edgar sighed, recognizing the shrewd negotiator his sister had become. It behooved him to dictate terms rather than allow Eva time to formulate increasingly expensive demands.
“I shall host a grand soirée for you and your particular circle of friends,” he offered.
“In a townhouse of my very own in London?” Eva’s eyes shone with barely contained glee.
He narrowed his eyes. “Your own entertainments in the London house—a weekly salon with full household support and guest privileges.”
“How about a small cottage instead?” she countered with a glint in her eyes.
Edgar regarded her sternly. “How about your own wing of the London house with separate entertaining privileges?”
Eva crossed her arms with a pout. “With my choice of chaperone rather than Mother’s.”
Edgar held up both hands. “Now, you know I cannot go against Mother.”
Eva spun on her heels. “Very well. I shall speak to Miss Linde—”
“All right, you sly fox,” Edgar exclaimed. Once Eva turned around slowly to face him, he extended his hand with resignation. “Should you breathe so much as a syllable to anyone about my… extracurricular activities, you shall forfeit both the entertainment and chaperone privileges posthaste.”
Eva grasped his hand with enthusiasm, sealing their accord with a vigorous shake before emitting a most unladylike squeal of delight. “Oh, Edgar! You have made me the happiest of sisters!”
“When did you become such an accomplished negotiator?” he asked with grudging admiration.
“I learned from watching Mother, naturally,” Eva replied with an impish grin. “Now go, claim your happiness before dawn breaks and propriety reasserts itself.”
*
The soft glow of candlelight illuminated Elisha’s chamber as she pored over the latest literary offering she was tasked to review.
Her quill scratched softly against parchment as she made notations, her brow furrowed in concentration.
The evening’s events played through her mind—the duchess’ startling proposal, the dinner performance, Edgar’s probing questions about her supposed heritage.
Although the deception sat uneasily with her, she understood that love sometimes required compromises, even ones that challenged her principles.
Suddenly, a gentle thud against her windowpane startled her from her thoughts. Elisha paused, quill suspended mid-air, listening intently. Another soft impact followed, then another. Curiosity piqued, she rose from her seat and approached the window, her cotton wrapper rustling softly as she moved.
Peering into the moonlit garden below, Elisha’s eyes widened as she beheld Edgar standing beneath an ancient oak, a handful of pebbles poised to launch at her window once more. Their eyes met across the distance, and Edgar gestured urgently for her to join him in the garden.
She shook her head and waved her refusal, mindful of propriety and the risk of discovery. But when Edgar dropped to one knee on the dewy grass, his hands clasped at his heart in a gesture of supplication, her resolve crumbled.
With her heart hammering against her ribs, Elisha hurried from her chamber and down the servants’ stairs, her bare feet silent on the cold stone.
Stepping into the cool night air, she spotted Edgar’s tall figure beckoning from the shadows behind the rose hedges.
She approached cautiously, acutely aware of her scandalous attire—nothing but her thin cotton nightgown and wrapper.
As she drew near, he stood waiting by a marble-topped garden table, his expression carrying such earnest intensity that she forgot to breathe.
“Why are we meeting here?” she whispered, glancing nervously toward the house. “What if someone sees us?”
Edgar reached for her hand, drawing her deeper into the alcove where climbing roses provided a natural curtain of privacy. “The walls in your chamber are notoriously thin—thin enough for whispers to carry to neighboring rooms.”
“Truly?” she asked, startled by this revelation.
“Indeed. Eva made quite certain of it when arranging your accommodations.” At her shocked expression, he chuckled softly. “We are well hidden here, love. This particular corner is concealed from all the windows save a broom closet.”
In the dim moonlight, Elisha glared at him with indignation, which only seemed to make his quiet laughter deepen.
“You did not expect me to be entirely without experience in such matters, did you?” he asked, still chuckling at her expression.
“No, but I did not expect you to possess intimate knowledge of every prospect from the hundred windows on this side of the house alone.”
“Perhaps it stems from childhood games of hide and seek,” he suggested with feigned innocence, “though I confess I prefer your more scandalous interpretation.”
“Oh…” Heat crept up her neck as understanding dawned.
“Always assuming the worst about me, Miss von Linde,” he teased gently.
She bristled and quickly changed the subject. “What matter is so pressing that it could not wait until morning?”
Edgar drew a deep breath, his gaze fixed on Elisha with an intensity that seemed to pierce the very depths of her soul. The moonlight caught the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the sincerity in his expression.
“Elisha,” he began, his voice impossibly tender. “Mother has given her consent. I would be honored beyond all measure if you would grant me leave to court you properly.”
Her hand flew to her breast, as if to steady the tumultuous beating of her heart. “What… what does that mean?” she asked softly, her voice catching in her throat.
His eyes met hers, brimming with such joy and love that it left her quite breathless.
“It means that as soon as the Royal Mail negotiation concludes, I shall declare to all who will listen that I am courting you, Miss Elisha von Linde—granddaughter of a most conveniently distant Prussian baron,” he said with a knowing smile.
Edgar stepped closer, bringing them deeper into the rose-scented alcove.
His hand found the small of her back, the heat of his palm burning through the thin fabric of her wrapper.
“It means I shall call upon you openly, be seen with you at every social gathering, and declare to the world that you belong to me.”
His other hand settled possessively on her waist, and Elisha felt her knees weaken at the claiming touch.
Elisha’s heart thundered against her ribs. “Edgar,” she breathed, her voice trembling with emotion, “I can’t believe it…”
“Neither can I,” he said softly. “I wish we didn’t have to wait, but alas, we must for a cause greater than ourselves.”
Her body swayed toward his as if drawn by an irresistible force.
“I have something for you,” Edgar murmured, his voice rough with emotion.
From his waistcoat pocket, he withdrew a ring that caught the moonlight and scattered it in brilliant facets.
“This belonged to my mother, and her mother before her. It has graced the hand of every Duchess of Lancaster for three generations.”
Elisha’s breath caught as she stared at the exquisite emerald surrounded by diamonds. “Edgar, it’s beautiful, but I cannot—”
“You can,” he interrupted gently, taking her left hand in his. “Because I am asking you to be my wife, Elisha. To be my duchess, my partner, my beloved companion for all the days of my life.”
Tears sprang to her eyes as the magnitude of his words settled over her. “Are you… are you certain?”
“I am,” he said simply, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm. “I am asking you to marry me, to face whatever challenges Society may present together, to build a life founded on love and shared purpose.”
“Yes,” she whispered, the word emerging before conscious thought could intervene. “Yes, Edgar, with all my heart.”
The smile that transformed his features was radiant as starlight. With infinite care, he slipped the ring onto her finger, where it settled as if it had always belonged there. “My love,” he murmured, raising her hand to press fervent kisses to her knuckles. “My future duchess.”
Unable to contain her joy any longer, Elisha stood on her toes and pulled his mouth down for a kiss that spoke of promises and passion, of a future that belonged to them both.
Edgar pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her waist. Elisha melted into his embrace, her arms winding around his neck as longing and uncertainty dissolved in the heat of their connection.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing unsteadily. Edgar’s gaze peered into hers, his pupils dark with desire.
“We should return,” Elisha murmured, though her body betrayed her words by pressing closer to his warmth.
“Should we?” Edgar’s voice was rough. His hands roamed her back, then squeezed her bottom, eliciting a gasp from her lips. “God, Elisha… I’ve thought of nothing but you since the moment we parted in Tunbridge Wells. I’ve dreamed of you…”
The low rumble of his words sent liquid heat pooling in her belly. “Edgar…”
“Say my name again,” he commanded softly, his lips finding the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “I love the way it sounds on your lips.”
“Edgar,” she gasped as his teeth grazed her throat. Her fingers threaded through his thick hair, holding him closer even as rational thought urged her to pull away.
“My love,” he murmured against her throat. “Do you know what you do to me? How you’ve changed everything I thought I knew about desire, about love?”
His confession undid her completely. With a soft cry, she pulled his mouth back to hers, kissing him with all the passion and love she’d been forced to hide. Edgar responded with equal fervor, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to taste and claim.
The marble table pressed against her back as Edgar’s body crowded closer, his arousal evident through the layers of their clothing. The hard proof of his desire sent answering heat spiraling through her core.