The Secretary (17 page)

After supper, Anders barely saw Clarissa. She was claimed by one partner after another, and when he finally tracked her down before the second waltz, she was sitting on a bench by the tall, narrow doors that led out to the garden. She looked rather flushed.

“I’m not used to such exertion,” she admitted.

“Let’s go out onto the terrace, then,” he said, offering his arm. She took it, but looked worried. “Don’t trouble yourself. There will be plenty of people out there, even though the evening is cool. It’s quite warm in this room.” Besides, he desperately needed to talk to her somewhere where there weren’t quite so many people.

The night air was refreshing, and Anders breathed deeply once they were outside. He had always disliked balls, largely because there was nowhere to escape from the suffocating crowds. He had gone to the drawing room for some time before supper and had found it equally packed, though he and Lord Brougham had managed to exchange a few words. The Earl of Granville had also been there, though Anders had heard he was returning to France any day. But Granville had enquired politely about Clarissa.

“I hear you’ve been seen about with her a great deal,” he had said conspiratorially.

“You hear correctly,” Anders admitted, seeing no reason to hide his preference.

“You’d be smart to snap the girl up, Stowe,” Brougham put in. “Her father was a genius, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d inherited it from him.”

“She’d give you some fine sons,” Granville put in without a trace of embarrassment. “Young Parliamentarians for the Stowe line.”

Anders was sure he was turning rather red. “Thank you for that advice, My Lords,” he said, and he excused himself and went to seek Clarissa out for their waltz.

But all through supper he could think of nothing but what Brougham and Granville had said. The ladies of the
ton
could not imagine that he wanted Clarissa for her mind, but to the peers of the House of Lords, Clarissa was the daughter of a man they had universally respected and whose mind had been greatly admired.

There were worse reasons, he supposed, for people to suppose a man had taken a bride.

And now, after what had happened at supper, everything Granville had said had been confirmed, and those who had assumed that there was an unspoken promise between him and Clarissa had had confirmation of their suspicions, and those who had not had been given clear evidence to persuade them that a wedding was imminent.

There were others on the terrace, and so he took Clarissa’s hand and pulled her a little further from the house. They went to the edge of the terrace where they would not be observed and looked out over the sleeping garden.

“My mother,” he said when he had worked up enough courage.

She frowned. “Your mother,” she said.

“I’m so sorry, Clarissa. I had no idea she meant to do that.”

“Please, don’t worry. I’m sure she didn’t do any harm. Everyone already suspected there was something between us, and now she has lent it her approval. If anything, it bolsters my reputation.”

He allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. Indeed, now that the worry that had been tying his stomach into knots was relieved, he felt a little light-headed.

“I had no idea it would be like this,” Clarissa was saying.

He turned his attention back to her. “Like what?”

“So wonderful and terrifying at the same time. I could never have imagined how much my life would change so short a time. Do you realize that it has been only a little more than two weeks since I came to Stowe House?”

“I do,” he said. “I have been counting the days carefully.”

She smiled. “So have I, and each day has been more colorful than the last.” She turned to him. “You have brought such light to my gray world.”

Anders couldn’t resist. He looked about to make sure no one could see them and then he took her in his arms and kissed her. Somehow—Lord knew how—he managed to restrain himself, though the image of her with her shirt and waistcoat unbuttoned as she lay atop his desk was in the forefront of his mind.

He had no idea how long they stood together like that, but he was drawn out of his stupor by the sound of someone clearing his throat behind them. They broke apart quickly, and Anders whirled to see Leo standing on the terrace.

“Sorry to interrupt,” his friend said.

Anders breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad it’s only you,” he admitted.

“Mama would like to retire for the evening,” Leo said.

Anders looked down at Clarissa. “Have you promised any more dances?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Let’s go, then.”

When the Sidney carriage had dropped them at Stowe House, Anders called for his own carriage immediately. Then he took Clarissa inside to wait.

“It was a wonderful evening,” she said, unsure what else to say.

“Yes,” he agreed, sounding equally awkward. She knew that he felt as chastened as she. If it had been anyone other than Leo on the terrace, it would have been a disaster.

Fortunately, a footman appeared and saved them from any more awkwardness. “Thank you for the pearls,” Clarissa said as Anders handed her into the carriage.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly. “Good night.”

As the carriage pulled out of the park, Clarissa leaned back and closed her eyes. It was a dangerous game she was playing, and tonight the stakes had been made apparent. If she made it out alive, the rewards were great. But if she took one false step...well, the consequences did not bear consideration.

FIFTEEN

February 15, 1833

Dawn came far too quickly. Anders stumbled out of bed, feeling bleary, and went down to the cellar for a swim. The cool water woke him up, but it did little to clear his mind.

He had not expected to see Clarissa when he went into his study, but there she was, coat buttoned, wig perfect, not a hair out of place. “I had not thought to see you so early,” he said. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

Clarissa didn’t look up from the letter she was studying. “Lovely,” she murmured. He wouldn’t be deterred, even if she was angry with him for his behavior. Still grinning, he leaned across the table and kissed her on the cheek.

When she still didn’t look up, he asked, “What’s the matter?”

Her eyes finally lifted to meet his. There were tears in them. “There was a fire in one of the cottages at Ramsay,” she said. “Six people are dead. Three of them were children.”

He gripped the edge of the desk. “When?”

“Two days ago. The funerals are Monday.”

He sank into his chair, feeling rather dizzy. He didn’t know them well, but those were
his
people, out there at Ramsay. And now six of them were dead. “Does Jensen say how the fire started?”

Her eyes drifted back to the letter. “No,” she said, shaking her head.

“I must go to Ramsay. Today.”

“I will go home and pack,” she said, getting up.

“No,” he said. “No, you cannot come. How could we possibly travel alone together?”

She smiled and came across the room and around the desk. She put her hands flat on his chest and leaned in until her nose was nearly touching his. “Great men often travel with their secretaries. And besides, you will need me,” she added, her voice becoming serious. “You cannot face this alone.”

He slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her down for a kiss. “Thank you,” he whispered against her lips. “I will call for you in an hour.”

As she carefully folded her meager wardrobe and packed it into her case, Clarissa tried not to think about the irrevocable step she was taking. They would have to travel hard to make it to Somerset in two days, and when they got there she would be a long way from London, alone in the countryside with Anders. If anyone discovered who she really was, she would be well and truly ruined, and he would
have
to marry her. That was not what she wanted. She didn’t doubt his affection for her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have her pride.

It took her all of ten minutes to pack, and then she had a good while to sit and wonder what Ramsay would be like. She had heard it was a grand estate, but from what she had read in Jensen’s letters it seemed that Anders had not been there much.

When at last the knock came on her door, it was Anders himself and not one of his footmen who stood outside. “Are you sure about this?” he asked as he hefted her case.

“Absolutely.”

“I sent word ‘round to Leo. No one else knows we’re going.”

“Good.”

It was only after he had handed her case off to a footman and they were both seated in the carriage that he took something from his pocket. “This was under your door,” he said, handing it across.

It was a letter, the direction written in an unfamiliar hand. She broke it open and read the few lines. “It is from my friend Cynthia Endersby. She wants me to take tea with her next week.”

“I suppose she will have to be disappointed.”

“Yes,” Clarissa said. “I will have to see her when we return. I have missed her companionship.”

“You two were good friends, then?”

“We were, yes. When we were growing up in Oxford there were not very many other little girls to play with, and our fathers were good friends. And we were both motherless, which drew us together.”

“How did your mother die?”

Clarissa sighed, remembering the stories her father had told. “It was when I was an infant. She fell ill after my birth and did not recover. I never knew her. Cynthia’s mother died when she was very young, too, before her father came to teach at Oxford.” Clarissa laughed softly, remembering those days. “We used to make up stories about our mothers being fairy princesses who had been spirited away to another world.”

Anders smiled.

“When we were older, and my father and I had come to London, she would visit and we would go to parties and dances. But then her father came into his inheritance and mine died and we just...lost each other, somehow.”

“Well,” Anders said, “here is your chance to find her again.”

“Yes,” Clarissa replied. “I only hope she isn’t offended when I don’t reply. I don’t suppose it would be wise for me to write her from Somerset.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“What is it like?”

“Somerset?”

“Ramsay.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t spent much time there.”

“You didn’t live there as a child?”

He shook his head. “I inherited the title from my uncle. He was my father’s older brother, and I don’t think he approved of my mother. She was only a country curate’s daughter, after all. Anyway, after my father died, she took me back to Devon to live in their village. Then she met Coleridge. His estate is in Kent, and when I had holidays from school I spent most of my time either there or at Sidney Park. I think I visited Ramsay perhaps twice in my whole childhood.”

“But you were your uncle’s heir your whole life?”

“He never had children. After his wife died, he didn’t remarry. I think he was content to have me.”

“But he showed no interest in your education?”

“Oh, he received reports from school every term, and wrote me a letter every Christmas. But beyond that, I think he was consumed by grief. My mother believes he mourned his wife until his death.”

“Goodness,” Clarissa said, staring out the window as they left London. “And now that you are the earl? Will you be there more often?”

“I keep meaning to be,” he said defensively. “I just...well, there always seems to be so much to do, and when I am in London, I forget.” His hands tightened into fists, and he pounded one of them against his thigh. “Perhaps if I had paid more attention to Ramsay and its tenants, this wouldn’t have happened.”

She reached across the carriage and took one of his fists in her hand, forcing the fingers open and lacing hers through them. “This wasn’t your fault. You cannot blame yourself when you don’t even know what happened.”

“I suppose not,” he said.

They lapsed into silence. After they had both stared out the window for a while, Clarissa reached into her case and pulled out
Iphigenia in Tauris
. Anders felt a strange surge of possessive satisfaction when she opened the book and began to read. “Will you read it to me?” he asked.

“In Greek?” she said, sounding incredulous.

He laughed. “Can you translate it?”

“Of course,” she scoffed. She turned back to the beginning and began to read without hesitation, “‘To Pisa, by the fleetest coursers borne, comes Pelops, son of Tantalus, and weds the virgin daughter of Oenomaus...”

They traveled straight through, stopping only to change horses and eat quick meals in tiny taprooms. Clarissa snatched brief periods of sleep in the carriage in between reading
Iphigenia
to Anders, who she suspected was quite bored with the story no matter how exciting she tried to make it, telling him the side stories of each of the heroic, godlike characters and giving them all unique voices.

At dawn on Sunday, they rolled into Somerset. “We’re about ten miles from Ramsay,” Anders announced when Clarissa woke from her fitful half-sleep. She stretched, wincing. She was sore and exhausted, and she was certain that despite the well-sprung carriage she had a bruise for each bump and pothole they had thumped over, but they had arrived at last. She gazed eagerly out the window.

In mid-February, the countryside was gray and bare, but she could see its potential. They passed large fields and tidy little cottages. Then they slowed to pass through a little village.

“The village is called Ramsay as well,” Anders informed her. It was a sweet little village, with a small church and pub. A few people in the street stopped to stare as the carriage went past.

“How many people live in the village?” she asked. He shrugged.

“A hundred, perhaps?”

“Really?” she demanded. “You don’t know how many people live in your village?”

“Clarissa,” he said, the defensive tone creeping back into his voice, “I have said that I mean to change. I haven’t been the best landlord, I know.”