The Secretary

by Brooke, Meg

  It was Clarissa.

  She began pulling the remaining pins from her hair. “I was going to tell you after the Middlebury’s ball,” she said. He stared at her. He could see the outline of her body where her wet clothes pressed against her skin.

  “I think you’ll tell me now,” he said.

  “Yes, I suppose I will. But do you think I might dry off a little, first?”

  He sighed. “There’s a robe over there. Get out of those wet things and put it on. Wait for me here. I’ll go upstairs and deal with my mother and be back in ten minutes.”

  “All...all right,” she stammered. Her teeth were beginning to chatter. He got out of the pool and slipped the towel around his waist, trying to ignore the fact that he was naked. She had seen him that way before, after all.

  “I mean it about the robe,” he said as she waded to the side of the pool. “I can’t have you catching your death before you tell me what’s going on here.” Then he strode out of the room and upstairs. “Phelps!” he yelled.

  Almost immediately his butler appeared. “I am sorry, My Lord,” he said as he trailed Anders up the stairs. “I stepped into the kitchen to speak with Mrs. Butterford a moment and I did not hear the knock.”

  “No matter, Phelps. Find my dressing-gown, please.”

  “You don’t wish to dress before going down to Mrs. Coleridge?” Anders could hear the horror in his butler’s voice.

  “I wish to do a great many things, Phelps, but I have time for none of them now. My dressing-gown, if you please.”

  Phelps brought him the garment, mercifully not asking any more questions. Anders slipped it on and went right back down the stairs. When he burst into the parlor his mother stood. “What on earth is going on, Anders? What are you doing in your dressing-gown? Why are you all wet? Are you quite well?”

  “Quite, mother. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? I thought you would not be in town until after your birthday.”

  She looked him up and down but said nothing more about his appearance. “I came up early. I heard such a strange piece of news from Lady Russell that I thought I had better see you at once. Are you intending to propose to a young lady named Miss Martin?”

  “Don’t start planning the wedding yet, mother,” Anders said. “A...complication has arisen, and I must go see to it now. You’ll forgive me for abandoning you, won’t you? I’ll call later, I promise.”

  “Come for supper tonight,” she said. “Your stepfather is still in Kent and you know how I hate dining alone.”

  “Very well,” he said. He kissed her and swept out of the room and back down the stairs to the cellar.

  Clarissa had taken the rest of the pins from her hair and was patting it dry with a towel when he strode into the pool room. She had taken off her suit, shirt, cravat, shoes, and stocking and hung them over the rack meant for the towels. There were also a pair of ladies’ drawers and a long, thin piece of white fabric. Her wig lay on the bench beside her.

  When she saw him, she stood. “My Lord, I can explain.”

  “You had better,” he growled. He picked up a wicker chair and plopped into it. She lowered herself back onto the bench.

  “First, please let me apologize for deceiving you. I know it was wrong, and I will understand if you choose not to forgive me. It was the only way I could think of to survive. You were right when you guessed that my father left me penniless. He did not mean to,” she added when he frowned. “But his death was so...so sudden.” He thought her lower lip trembled a little, but she bit it. It was such a fetching motion that for a moment he forgot to listen to her, thinking instead of what she must look like under that robe. “I had enough to live on for a little while, and I thought I might find work as a governess or something, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the skills suited to the positions that were available for young women like me. But I had been my father’s secretary for more than six years—for my whole life, really. I knew I could do that. So I became Clarence Ford. I thought I would find a member of the Commons looking for a secretary, but then I happened to hear a man complaining that you had fired him, and it seemed like...fate.”

  “I see. And when I came to call on you, Clarissa? What then?”

  “I am so ashamed,” she said. “I know I lied. I know you probably will never forgive me. But my father worked so hard for abolition. I wanted to continue working for you, for the cause.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So you deceived me.”

  She looked away. “I deceived everyone, even myself. I thought I could keep up the pretense, but I couldn’t. I longed to tell you, I truly did. You said you cared for me. I...I care for you, too. A great deal. I couldn’t lie to you anymore. But I understand if you never want to see me again.”

  He was silent for a moment while he tried to muddle through all the things that had happened in the last twenty minutes. Coming to a decision, he said, “We have a problem there, Clarissa.”

  “Do we?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You see, I am still owed,” he counted in his head, “eighteen days by Clarence Ford. And I need those eighteen days. I don’t have time to search for another secretary, and, quite frankly, I don’t want another.”

  “Sixteen,” she said. “Sixteen days.”

  “I’m not counting Sundays.”

  “I see.”

  “So, eighteen days from Clarence Ford. But I am also owed a dance by Miss Clarissa Martin.”

  “Oh.” She looked rather bemused.

  “So here is what I propose. You continue coming to work for me as Clarence Ford during the day. But in the evenings, you allow me to court you as Clarissa Martin. Does that seem agreeable to you?”

  She blinked at him a few times. “I...I suppose it does,” she said, but there was a note of suspicion in her voice.

  “No one may know of our arrangement, Clarissa,” he said seriously. “I certainly will not tell anyone. If, at the end of our thirty days, you still wish me to propose to you, I will, and I cannot have your reputation ruined beforehand. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, My Lord, it is.”

  “I thought we agreed that you would call me Anders.”

  “But it is daytime, My Lord,” she insisted.

  “So it is. Now, how are we to get you home?”

  In the end, her clothes were dry enough that she could put them back on within the hour. She pinned up her hair and slipped the wig on. But somewhere in the shuffle had lost her moustache.

  “I don’t care about the silly thing,” he said when she emerged into the foyer. “I never want to see it again, do you understand?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” she said. She slipped on her overcoat and darted out the door before he could say anything more.

  The walk back to Trevor Street allowed Clarissa time to think. She had not planned for Anders to find out like he had. She had thought to tell him in a dignified way, though how dignified one could be when revealing that one had been masquerading as a man she did not know. Still, she had not wanted to hurt him. And he had been hurt by her deception. She could see that.

  And yet...

  He had not raged at her. He had not yelled. He had sat very calmly and explained their next steps. He had not said he no longer wished to marry her—indeed, he had said quite the opposite.

  He was a rare man, indeed. And he had given her a rare gift: the ability to continue doing the work she loved, at least until the end of the month. But Clarissa did not know if she could go on with the deception that long. She saw the need for it, of course. She could not work as a female secretary to Lord Stowe and then marry him. The gossip would follow her as long as she lived.

  If she were wise, she thought as she climbed the stairs to her flat, she would abandon Clarence Ford and ask Anders to court her simply as Clarissa. But, no matter how much she might wish otherwise, Clarence Ford had become a part of her. She could not let go of the work now—it was too stimulating. She knew that she could never be satisfied with the
life of a simple wife, sewing and drinking tea and arranging flowers. She needed the intellectual excitement to keep her engaged. She thought that Anders was a man who could give her what she needed. And now another idea began to take shape in her mind.

  Why couldn’t she continue to work on the political side of things if they married? Other women did—oh, precious few, but there were some. Perhaps, if she showed Anders how indispensible Clarence Ford could be, he would allow him to remain in the guise of Clarissa Martin.

  TWELVE

  February 12, 1833

  Anders lingered for a long time over his breakfast the next morning. He had risen late, and it was almost ten by the time he rose and walked up the stairs towards his study. He had heard Clarissa—Clarence, he reminded himself—come in at eight, though he had still been in bed.

  It had been a restless night. He had gone to supper with his mother at her townhouse in Mayfair, but he had been distracted and listless. His mother had remarked on it.

  “I hope Miss Martin isn’t leading you a merry chase, Anders,” she said as they were leaving the table.

  “She is a bit, mother,” he admitted sheepishly.

  “Well, perhaps that’s for the best. You wouldn’t respect her if she didn’t I suppose.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I would.”

  “What is she like?”

  He followed her into the drawing room, where tea and brandy were already waiting. “She’s...well, she’s not like any other woman I’ve met. She’s brilliant, for one thing, and beautiful. She’s witty and warm and utterly charming and...and...”

  “My goodness,” his mother said, taking a sip of her tea. “You do love her, don’t you?”

  “I’m in a fair way, that’s for certain,” he said.

  “When do I get to meet this illustrious personage?”

  “As soon as I’m sure you won’t scare her off,” Anders said. He suspected his mother had been a bit of a Gorgon to Clarissa that afternoon, though of course she didn’t know it. He wanted to wait awhile before officially introducing them.

  “Will she be at the Middlebury’s ball?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Well, perhaps I might...bump into her there?”

  “Perhaps you might,” Anders said, seeing no way to avoid it unless either Miss Martin or his mother did not attend.

  For the morning, however, he had bigger things to worry about. They hadn’t managed to debate the Lunatic Regulations the afternoon before because they had gotten wrapped up in the Irish disturbances. He wasn’t sure they would get to it this afternoon, either.

  Clarissa was, indeed, waiting for him in the study. She looked every bit the upright, correct secretary, except that he knew what was under that suit now. She was not wearing the moustache. She stood as he came in. Her face was quite pale.

  “You couldn’t sleep either?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “There’s a new file on the Irish disturbances,” she added. “And I’ve made some more notes for you on the Lunatic Regulations. Do you know there are at least 400 people who have been declared insane living under the control of Chancery?”

  “It’s terrible,” he agreed, taking his seat. She dropped into her chair as well. “And it is Chancery that provides their medical care as well, I suppose.”

  “Yes,” she said, “though I can’t imagine the masters of the Chancery Court have any particular training in such care, only in the handling of the money these individuals possess.”

  “Well, let me see the notes.”

  She handed them across and turned her attention back to another pile of papers.

  “What are you working on?”

  “Reports from Ramsay,” she said. “The steward there has concerns about some of the tenants. I’ve been corresponding with him about it.”

  “Oh. Thank you,” he said. He had had no idea she had been dealing with those issues, which during the Parliamentary session usually got shoved aside. He had never had a secretary who had showed much interest in the affairs at his country home. “You would like it there, I think. Do you like to ride?”

  She looked up. “Are you asking me?”

  “I’m asking Clarissa.”

  “Don’t you think we’d better keep things the way they were, at least during the day?”

  “No, I damn well don’t,” he said, rather more sharply than he had meant to. “I can’t pretend that you’re Clarence Ford when I know you’re not. It’s enough that you’re dressed like that, but at least allow me to treat you as the person you truly are.”

  “Very well,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

  He went back to his work as well. They spent a silent and rather tense morning. When he went up to Westminster for the afternoon she stayed behind to work, and when he returned from the session she had gone. But they had agreed that he would escort her to Sidney House for supper that evening, and so he went upstairs to change.

  Clarissa had returned to Simms Variety Goods again that afternoon to purchase two more evening gowns. The one she had worn to the theatre would have to do for supper at Sidney House, but she needed another for the ball on Thursday, and there would probably be more engagements after. She had paid Mr. Parkhurst the rent she owed him, and with what she had spent on food and clothes, she was little better off than when she had first gone to Stowe House.

  She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to have to marry Anders out of desperation, but she could not see any way out of her predicament unless she did. This was not what her father had wanted for her.

  Her mind was still troubled when he called for her that evening. He came to her door himself, and when she turned to get her mantle he strode into her sitting room.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you this morning,” he said.

  “It’s all right.”

  “This is all rather confusing for me.”

  She smiled wryly. “Do you think it isn’t confusing for me, too? I’ve had to be two people for the last two weeks.”

  “Yes, I suppose you have.”

  He escorted her down to the carriage. When they were seated inside, he said, “I like you much better as Clarissa.”

  “Me, too,” she said. He tapped on the roof of the carriage and they were off.

  They arrived a little late at Sidney House and found the whole family assembled and waiting for them. Eleanor greeted Clarissa warmly. Lady Sidney looked rather put out, but said nothing. She introduced the other guests, who included Miss Granger and Lord Sherbourne, who had both been at tea the other day, and Lord and Lady Stanhope, an older couple. Apparently Lady Stanhope and Lady Sidney had been childhood friends.

  “How are things progressing?” Leo asked as the ladies chatted.

  Anders sighed. “Ask me after dinner,” he said. “I have some news for you.”

  “You’ve never proposed already?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “You haven’t changed your mind?” Leo asked, gripping his elbow.

  “Ask me after dinner,” Anders repeated.

  Leo let it go. Anders found himself seated between Eleanor and Georgina at dinner, and across from Lord Sherbourne, who spent the entire meal making eyes at Eleanor. Down the table, Leo was talking animatedly to Clarissa and Lady Stanhope. Every time Clarissa laughed at one of Leo’s terrible jokes Anders felt a stab of jealousy.

  Lady Sidney had barely stood to escort the ladies out when Leo pulled Anders into a corner. “What’s happened?” he asked.

  Anders told him about Clarissa falling into the pool, and about their agreement. He even told him about snapping at her that morning.

  “Did she forgive you?”

  “Forgive me? Don’t you think it’s me who should be forgiving her?”

  “No,” Leo said. “Well, maybe. Perhaps you should just forget about forgiving each other and start over.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the way it works,” Anders said.

  “Me neither, but it’s worth a try.”

  A
nders wasn’t so sure, but that didn’t stop him from seizing the opportunity to talk to Clarissa alone later in the evening when they found themselves sitting apart from the rest of the company in the drawing room.

  “You look quite lovely this evening,” he said. “That dress becomes you.”

  She smiled. “You said that the last time you saw me in it.”

  “Did I? Well, it’s still true.”

  “Thank you.”

  He paused for a moment, unsure if he should say what was on his mind. But she tilted her head to the side a little and looked up at him through her eyelashes and he forgot his scruples. “You’re not angry with me, are you?”

  “Why should I be angry with you? If anything, you should be cross with me.”

  “That’s exactly what I said to Leo, but—.”

  “You told him?”

  Anders groaned. He hadn’t felt it was a mistake to tell Leo about Clarissa’s deception, but it had certainly been a mistake to tell her he had. Still, he couldn’t stop himself trying to explain. “He’s my oldest friend, Clarissa. He would never reveal your secret.”

  “Don’t you think you had better call me Miss Martin in public?”

  “If you like,” he said, his petulant tone matching hers.

  Eleanor chose that moment to join them. Lord Sherbourne, looking a little like a lost puppy, followed on her heels.

  “We were just talking about the story in the Messenger about the disturbances in Ireland,” Eleanor said. “I couldn’t resist asking your opinion, Miss Martin.”

  Clarissa shot Anders a look that said their discussion wasn’t finished, but then she said, “I think it’s a terrible shame, Lady Eleanor. It seems unfair for the Marquis of Sligo to allow his underlings to decide the fate of a place like Gallen without any input at all from the locals.”

  Eleanor looked a little taken aback by this reply, so Anders said, “Miss Martin and I have been discussing the disturbances in Mayo, Eleanor. Apparently the county magistrates met and deliberated in secret before placing Ireland under the Peace-Preservation Act, which has meant that hundreds of policemen have been posted to Ireland without the people’s consent.”