Chapter 34 Trouble #2
Edgar observed Mr. Hargrove’s expression growing increasingly cold, though Thornton, deep in his cups and lost in his bitterness, failed to notice the change.
“Within a decade, he’d lost everything,” Thornton said, his voice thick with resentment.
“His estates, his place in Society, his title. All because he couldn’t see that some barriers exist for a reason.
The common classes need to understand their place—they’re not capable of the responsibilities that come with true power. ”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Edgar watched Elisha maintain her act, reaching out to pat Thornton’s hand with apparent sympathy.
“How dreadfully unfair,” she murmured. “No wonder you’re so passionate about preserving the proper order of things.”
“Precisely,” Thornton nodded, seemingly grateful for her understanding.
“These so-called reformers, these pamphlet writers stirring up discontent—they don’t understand the chaos they’re unleashing.
Common people getting ideas above their station, thinking they deserve the same considerations as their betters…
” He gestured dismissively. “It’s unnatural. Dangerous.”
Edgar felt his own tension mount, but Elisha pressed on flawlessly. “And I suppose that’s why you’re so invested in securing the Royal Mail contract? To prevent such dangerous ideas from spreading?”
“Among other things,” Thornton said with a satisfied smile. “Control the flow of information, control the masses. Keep them content in their proper places.”
Edgar watched Mr. Hargrove’s face darken further at these words. The man who had built his transportation empire from nothing was clearly appalled.
Rising from his chair with deliberate slowness, Hargrove fixed Thornton with a steely gaze that Edgar had rarely seen from the usually genial businessman. “Mr. Thornton, I believe I’ve heard quite enough for one evening.”
Thornton looked up, confusion clouding his wine-flushed features. “I beg your pardon?”
“You speak of the common classes as though they’re beneath consideration,” Hargrove said, his voice trembling with rage. “As though hard work and merit mean nothing compared to the accident of birth.”
Edgar watched realization begin to dawn on Thornton’s face, but it was clearly too late.
“I am a common man, Mr. Thornton,” Hargrove continued, his voice growing colder. “I built my business with these hands, earned every penny through determination and honest labor. And you sit at my table, speaking of people like me as though we’re cattle to be managed.”
Edgar felt triumph surge through him as he watched Thornton’s panic mount.
“Mr. Hargrove,” Thornton began, desperation creeping into his voice as sobriety returned with alarming speed, “I assure you, I meant no offense—”
“No offense?” Hargrove’s voice was dangerous now. “You’ve just told me that people of my class are incapable of responsibility, that we need to be kept in our proper place. That the very ideas of advancement and merit that built this country are ‘dangerous.’”
Edgar held his breath as Hargrove turned to him, the man’s decision clearly made. “Your Grace, I’ve made my choice regarding the Royal Mail contract. A man who holds such contempt for the working people who would use our services has no business controlling them.”
Edgar kept his expression carefully neutral despite the elation coursing through him. “I’m honored by your confidence, Mr. Hargrove.”
“The contract is yours, Your Grace. We’ll sign the papers tomorrow morning.”
Edgar watched Thornton’s face go ashen. “Mr. Hargrove, surely we can discuss—”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Hargrove said firmly. “I’ve seen your true character tonight, sir, and I want no part of it.”
As the evening broke up in awkward silence, Edgar caught Elisha’s eye. The pleased gleam in her gaze confirmed what he’d suspected. His brilliant, clever future wife had just secured them a crucial victory through nothing more than wine and well-placed sympathy.
*
The crisp morning air carried the scent of triumph as Edgar stood in his study, the signed Royal Mail contract spread before him on his mahogany desk.
Mr. Hargrove had arrived at dawn, as promised, his determination to distance himself from Thornton’s group evident in every brisk movement.
The papers had been signed within the hour, sealing not just a business arrangement but a crucial victory for the reform movement.
Edgar allowed himself a moment of satisfaction as he reviewed the terms. Elisha’s brilliant performance the night before had made it all possible.
The sound of heavy, unsteady footsteps in the corridor alerted him to an approaching presence.
The door to his study burst open without ceremony, revealing Steven Thornton in a state Edgar had never witnessed before.
The man’s usual immaculate appearance was disheveled and his eyes were bloodshot.
But it was the expression on his face that gave Edgar pause: raw desperation mixed with fury, making his features appear haggard and almost haunted.
“You bastard,” Thornton said, his voice hoarse but lacking its usual control. “You’ve ruined everything.”
Edgar remained seated behind his desk, projecting calm authority despite the volatile energy radiating from his uninvited guest. “Mr. Thornton. You seem somewhat… worse for wear.”
Thornton’s face crumpled slightly at the subtle mockery before hardening again. “Don’t play games with me, Lancaster. I know what you did last night. You and Elisha—she played me perfectly.”
Edgar noted the man’s impudence in addressing him, the way Thornton’s voice softened when he spoke her name even in anger.
“She was magnificent, wasn’t she?” Thornton continued, beginning to pace the room with jerky, agitated movements. “Hanging on my every word, making me believe she was finally seeing sense. Making me hope…” His voice broke slightly on the last word.
Edgar said nothing, watching the man’s composure fracture before his eyes.
“Do you know what it’s like,” Thornton said suddenly, stopping his pacing to face Edgar, “to have someone look at you the way she looked at me last night? Of course you do. Even if it was an act, for a few hours I felt like… like I mattered to her.”
The raw pain in his voice was unmistakable, and Edgar felt an unexpected stab of pity despite everything.
“I suppose you think you’ve won,” Thornton continued, his voice growing steadier as he fought for control. “The contract is yours, but you’ve made a fatal error, Your Grace.”
“Have I indeed?”
Thornton moved closer to the desk, his usual predatory confidence replaced by something more desperate. “You see, while you and Elisha were congratulating yourselves on your clever victory, I’ve been gathering information of my own. Information that could destroy both of you.”
Edgar felt ice flood his veins but kept his expression neutral. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Oh, I think you do,” Thornton said, his voice taking on a pleading quality that Edgar found more unsettling than threats.
“I know about your involvement with the Pioneers. I know about the printing press, the distribution networks, the funding you’ve been funneling to revolutionary causes. And I know you’re Mr. Steele.”
Edgar’s blood turned to ice, but he forced himself to remain still.
“Yes, I know about that too,” Thornton continued, and Edgar was surprised to see tears gathering in the man’s bloodshot eyes.
“The great literary rivalry—how romantic that lovers should compete with words. But here’s what I don’t understand, Lancaster.
” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You have everything. Title, wealth, position, respect. You could have any woman in England. Why her?”
The question seemed torn from somewhere deep inside him, and Edgar found himself genuinely considering it.
“She’s brilliant, yes,” Thornton continued, his words tumbling out faster now. “Beautiful, passionate, brave. But I could give her things too. I’ve built something real. My media empire, my connections—I’ve dragged myself up from nothing, and I could take her with me to the very top.”
Edgar opened his mouth, but the man held up a shaking hand.
“Let me finish. Please.” His words came out cracked and desperate. “I know she loves you. I see it in her eyes when she looks at you, the way she never looks at me. But I could love her more. I could love her in a way that transforms both our lives.”
Edgar stared at the broken man before him, seeing clearly now that this wasn’t just about business or social climbing—this was about a man who had convinced himself that love alone could redeem a lifetime of rejection and struggle.
“You don’t understand what it’s like,” Thornton continued, his voice becoming increasingly frantic.
“To have nothing, to be nothing. My father discarded my mother like she was rubbish, left us to starve while he played at being a philanthropist. I’ve spent my entire life fighting for scraps while men like you have everything handed to them.
Elisha—she could change everything for me.
She could make me legitimate in ways money never could. ”
“Steven,” Edgar said gently, using his first name deliberately, “she’s not a prize to be won. She’s a person with her own desires, her own choices.”
“But I could make her happy!” Thornton exploded. “I know her mind, her work, her passions. I’ve supported her career, believed in her talent. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Perhaps it’s not enough.”
Thornton’s face crumpled, and for a moment he looked like the abandoned child he had once been. But then something hardened in his expression, desperation crystallizing into dangerous resolve.
“Then I’ll make you a deal,” he said, wiping his face roughly with his sleeve.
“Work with me instead of against me. I’ll give you a full partnership in my media empire—controlling interest, if you want it.
Together we could shape public opinion, control the narrative.
You’d have more influence than any reform pamphlet could ever achieve. ”
Edgar raised an eyebrow. “And in return?”
“Step aside. Let me court her properly. Maybe if I had a real chance, without your shadow over everything…” He trailed off, the futility of his request evident even to him.
“And if I refuse?”
Thornton’s expression shifted, desperation giving way to something darker. “Then I’ll expose everything. Your identity as Steele, your funding of seditious activities. The King will brand you a traitor.”
The threat made Edgar’s vision darken with rage, but Thornton pressed on, his voice breaking again.
“I don’t want to harm you. Lord knows I’m not this person. But if I can’t have her, if I lose the only thing that could give my life meaning…” He met Edgar’s eyes, and the anguish there was unmistakable. “What else do I have left?”
Edgar studied the man before him—broken, desperate, clinging to a love that was slowly destroying him. “You’re asking me to abandon the woman I love so you can pursue someone who will never return your feelings.”
“She might,” Thornton whispered. “Given time, given a real chance…”
“No,” Edgar said firmly but not unkindly. “She won’t. Not especially after you send me to hang. And deep down, you know that.”
Thornton stood frozen for a moment. Then his face contorted with renewed fury and desperation.
“Then you’ve made your choice,” he said, his voice hollow. “I’ll give you until tomorrow evening to reconsider. End your relationship with Elisha. Do not communicate with her in any form from this point onward. Do this, and I’ll keep your secrets.”
Thornton moved toward the door, then paused and looked back, his expression a mixture of hatred and desperation. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Lancaster. We could both have what we want.”
“We cannot both have the same woman,” Edgar said quietly. “And what of what Elisha wants?”
Thornton’s face crumpled one final time before he straightened his shoulders and walked to the door. “Choose wisely, Your Grace. Everything you love hangs in the balance.”
Edgar remained at the window long after Thornton’s footsteps faded down the corridor, his mind racing through the implications. The man’s threats were not idle. The fact that he knew about the printing press proved it.
The choices before him were stark: submit to Thornton’s demands and lose Elisha forever, or face exposure that would see him branded a traitor. Neither was acceptable.
But perhaps there was a third option. If he could disappear for a time—remove himself from London while finding a way to neutralize Thornton’s evidence—he might yet protect both himself and the cause.
It would mean leaving her without explanation, letting her believe he had abandoned her.
The thought twisted in his chest like a blade.
Yet what choice did he have? Better she think him a faithless coward temporarily than him facing the gallows and leaving her—and potentially their child—for good.