The Contest Reveal #2
“Your dedication is truly commendable, young man,” Thornton said, and his emotion seemed genuine.
With sudden decisiveness, he offered the two handsomely bound volumes in his hands to the boy.
“In addition to your well-earned prize money, I should like you to have these—the very novels you studied so diligently. May they be the first of many in what I hope will be a lifelong love of literature.”
As Jonathan’s eyes filled with gratitude, scattered applause began.
It swelled quickly, filling the hall with thunderous approval.
Elisha found herself clapping enthusiastically, moved by both the boy’s determination and Thornton’s unexpected kindness.
Thornton then said something to Jonathan Rochford, and the boy bowed repeatedly to him before he left the stage.
When the applause finally died down, Thornton cleared his throat and withdrew a ledger from his coat pocket. “And now, esteemed guests, we come to the moment you have all been waiting for. The revelation of the winner of this unprecedented literary wager.”
Elisha’s mouth went dry. In mere moments, she would learn whether Miss Lovelace or Mr. Steele had emerged victorious. She looked around the audience, wondering if Mr. Steele was among them, but was quickly distracted by Thornton’s voice.
“I shall now reveal the monthly sales figures for both works,” Thornton announced, adjusting his spectacles with theatrical precision. “Commencing from their publication in October.”
The room fell silent save for the rustle of silk and the distant sounds of New Year’s revelry from the streets beyond.
“For the month of October: My Heart’s True North by Mr. Steele sold 2,332 copies, while The Duke’s Folly by Miss Lovelace sold 2,592 copies.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Elisha felt a flutter of hope despite her anxiety. She was ahead, if only slightly.
“In November,” Thornton continued with deliberate pacing, “Mr. Steele achieved 3,405 copies sold, while Miss Lovelace reached 3,234.”
Gasps and whispers filled the air as the lead changed hands. The numbers were remarkably close—closer than anyone could have predicted.
“And finally, in December—Mr. Steele sold 4,234 copies while Miss Lovelace sold 4,312.”
The tension in the room was almost unbearable. Elisha watched as several audience members began calculating frantically, their lips moving silently as they worked out the totals. Her own mind raced through the arithmetic, scarcely daring to hope.
“The final totals, ladies and gentlemen,” Thornton announced, his voice ringing with authority, “are as follows: Mr. Steele’s My Heart’s True North has sold a total of 9,971 copies while Miss Lovelace’s The Duke’s Folly has sold… 10,138 copies.”
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then the room erupted in a cacophony of gasps, exclamations, and applause. Elisha felt the world tilt around her as the reality sank in—she had won. Miss Lovelace had defeated Mr. Steele by the narrowest of margins.
“Therefore,” Thornton’s voice rose above the growing tumult, “by a margin of merely one hundred and sixty-seven copies—the victor of this unprecedented literary duel is Miss Lovelace!”
The applause was thunderous, but Elisha barely heard it over the roaring in her ears.
She had won—but Edgar wasn’t here to see it.
Neither was Mr. Steele as far as she was aware.
After months of anticipation, after all their literary sparring and passionate exchanges of letters, he was absent for the moment of truth.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Thornton called out, gesturing toward where she sat frozen in disbelief, “may I present our victor, the incomparable Miss Lovelace!”
The moment had come. Three months of maintaining her secret identity, three months of social climbing and careful performance, had led to this instant. As the crowd’s attention focused on her with laser intensity, Elisha rose from her seat on trembling legs.
Then chaos erupted. Gasps of astonishment mingled with exclamations of “Miss von Linde!” and “Can it be?” Some faces showed delighted surprise, others shock, and a few—those who had been privy to the duchess’ careful campaign—wore knowing smiles of satisfaction.
Elisha ascended the stage with as much dignity as she could muster, her cheeks burning under the scrutiny of London’s literary establishment. This was her moment of triumph, the vindication of everything she had worked for.
As she reached Thornton’s side on the stage, he leaned slightly toward her, his voice pitched for her ears alone.
“My heartiest congratulations,” he murmured, maintaining proper distance. “I had always been certain of your triumph.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thornton,” she replied, acutely aware of the hundreds of eyes upon them. “I’m grateful for your support.”
As they turned to face the assembled crowd, Elisha felt the weight of hundreds of eyes upon her. The thunderous applause seemed to fade into the background as her gaze swept the room, still desperately hoping against hope that Edgar might have arrived at the last moment to witness her triumph.
And then, in the far corner of the chamber, she saw a familiar figure.
Edgar stood half-hidden in shadow, his tall frame unmistakable despite his altered appearance.
His dark hair was longer than she remembered, and he was dressed in the simple clothes of a working man rather than his usual aristocratic finery.
Their eyes met across the crowded room, and she saw him offer her a warm, proud smile.
He was here. He had come to see her moment of victory.
Relief flooded through her so powerfully that she felt her knees weaken. Whatever urgent business had kept him away for three months, he had managed to return for this moment. The hollow ache in her chest began to ease for the first time in months.
But something in Thornton’s sudden stillness beside her made her glance at him. His face had gone pale, his eyes fixed on Edgar’s location with what looked like shock and something approaching panic. His composed demeanor cracked for just an instant before he recovered himself.
“Mr. Thornton?” she whispered. “Are you quite well?”
“Perfectly,” he replied, though his voice sounded strained. “Simply… surprised by an unexpected guest.”
Why would Edgar’s presence surprise Thornton so much? And why did the man look almost… frightened?
The questions sent a chill down her spine, but before she could analyze them further, the crowd’s continued applause demanded her attention. Whatever was happening between Edgar and Thornton, she sensed it was far more significant than a simple social awkwardness.