The Secretary (18 page)

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was uncalled for.”

He nodded curtly. They were leaving the village and turning into a narrow lane. At the end of the lane, a wide gate led into a beautifully landscaped park, with a great Palladian house at its center. As they clattered up the long drive, Clarissa spied a narrow creek running through one side of the park. Beyond the bridge that crossed it she spotted a small summerhouse on the edge of a calm, glassy lake.

On the steps before the portico a spare man with thick mutton-chop sideburns awaited them.

Anders preceded Clarissa out of the carriage. “Ah, Jensen,” he said.

“We are exceedingly grateful that you came, My Lord,” Jensen said, bowing.

“This is my secretary, Mr. Ford,” Anders said smoothly, not stumbling at all over her pseudonym despite the fact that he had been calling her Clarissa for the better part of two days.

Jensen nodded in greeting. “A pleasure to finally see you in person, Mr. Ford.”

“I’m only sorry we must meet under these circumstances,” Clarissa said.

“I believe Carrington has put Mr. Ford in the blue room, My Lord.”

“Very good, Jensen. I think we will both rest a little this morning. It has been a long journey. Then we will go to see the tenants this afternoon.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Jensen said, leading them inside. Clarissa paused to take in the vast hall. Above them, the coffered ceiling was inlaid with paintings of nymphs and satyrs. A wide staircase dominated the space, with doors leading to parlors and dining rooms on either side of the cavernous space.

“Will you have Ford shown to the blue room, Jensen?” Anders asked, already disappearing up the stairs. When Clarissa and the steward were alone, she smiled at him.

“It is good to have a face to put to your letters, Mr. Jensen,” she said. “I cannot tell you how much I have appreciated the thoroughness of your communications.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jensen said. He glanced up at the landing above. “I take it you are not going to the blue room?”

“No, Jensen, I am not. There is much to do before we go out to the farms this afternoon. Do you have an office in the house?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Let us go there now. I want to know everything you can tell me.”

SIXTEEN

“There are nineteen tenant farms, housing one hundred eighteen people, and about sixty more in the village,” Jensen said, unrolling a large map across the desk in his office, which was at the back of the house behind the butler’s room. On the way there, Jensen had paused to introduce Clarissa to the butler, Carrington.

“How many acres?”

“A little more than eight hundred, the twenty acres of the park included.”

“And the cottage that burned?”

“It was the home of the Lapham family,” Jensen said. “Mr. and Mrs. Lapham, Mr. Lapham’s brother, and three of the Lapham children perished. The other two children have gone to live with Mrs. Lapham’s sister, Mrs. Rutledge, in the village.”

“I am glad to hear that they have a place to go,” she said.

“Indeed. But Mrs. Rutledge has four little ones of her own.”

“I will speak to His Lordship about it, but I am sure he will want to do something for them. How old are the two children?”

“Seven and five. Two girls.”

“Old enough to remember, then,” Clarissa said, regret clutching at her heart. In many ways, she thought, it would be kinder if they did not remember what had happened. “The earl will also bear the cost of the funeral,” she added. She and Anders had discussed that much in the carriage.

“Very good, Mr. Ford.”

“I have another concern I wish to discuss, Mr. Jensen.” The man pursed his lips, looking grim.

“You wish me to tell you how the earl is perceived in Ramsay.”

He had read her thoughts exactly. “I do.”

Jensen sucked in a breath between his teeth. “It’s not terrible, sir, but it’s not good, either. He has been here twice since the previous Lord Stowe died, once for the funeral and once for the second harvest last year. I do not believe the tenants think him uncaring, just overcommitted. He has many responsibilities, and they understand that. But Lord Frederick was not very involved with the tenants, either. They are clamoring for some attention, I think.”

“I understand, Jensen, and I thank you for your honesty,” Clarissa said. “We will begin this afternoon with a visit to Mrs. Rutledge in the village, and then we will go out to the Lapham farm, and perhaps some of the others if there is time.”

Jensen smiled. “Very good, Mr. Ford,” he said.

When he reached his chambers, Anders collapsed onto his bed fully clothed and fell immediately into a fitful slumber. When he woke, he was being shaken rather forcefully. Still half-asleep, he swung his arm at the intruder, groaning. But he snapped fully awake when his arm connected with soft flesh and a ladylike cry rang in his ears.

Clarissa sat sprawled on the Aubusson rug, a hand against her chest. She smiled lamely up at him. “Oof,” she said, reaching up to pull her wig straight.

Anders sat up. “I’m sorry,” he said, leaping off the bed and reaching down to help her up. “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly,” she said. “I wouldn’t have woken you, but I wondered whether you might want something to eat before we go to the village.”

“The village?” he asked, turning to the mirror that stood in one corner of the room and pulling his cravat straight. Clarissa stepped between him and the mirror and tugged at his waistcoat.

As she pulled at his collar, she said, “The two children who survived are living with their aunt in the village. I thought we might go there first, before we visit the farms.” She paused and looked up into his eyes. Then she lifted a hand and tucked a long strand of hair back behind his ear. As her fingers brushed the tender flesh of his earlobe, he shuddered. “Do you think you might do something for the aunt, Anders? Jensen says she already has too many mouths to feed.”

“Of course,” he said, smiling down at her. “But how do you know all this?”

She looked away.

“I thought I made it clear that you were to rest this morning, Clarissa,” he said.

“I know you did, but I wanted to make sure I knew a little bit about the estate before we went out. Now, are you hungry?”

Anders’s stomach growled. “It would appear so.”

“Good. I’m famished. Let’s have something to eat and then we’ll go down to the village.”

When they were seated at the table in the vast dining room, Anders asked, “Do you want to take the carriage down to the village, or can you ride?”

“Believe it or not, My Lord,” Clarissa said, “I took riding lessons as a—as a child,” she said. Anders smiled. She had been about to say ‘girl’, but had caught herself at the last moment.

“Excellent,” he said, knowing that he could not ask if she could ride astride. It would be a foolish question to ask a man.

He had the horses saddled and brought around. A footman boosted first him and then Clarissa into the saddles. She settled herself atop the horse, and Anders saw that she did, indeed, have a good seat. She stroked the horse’s neck gently. “Shall we be off?” he asked.

She nodded, and they set off down the lane towards the village.

Mrs. Rutledge lived in a tiny cottage near the church. As Clarissa stepped onto the block and then down to the ground, she looked about. The cottage had a well-kept garden, as did many of its neighbors. Despite their absentee landlord, the villagers seemed to take pride in their homes.

Mr. Rutledge greeted them at the door, bowing deeply. “You do us great honor, My Lord,” he said.

“I am only sorry the circumstances of my visit are not better,” Anders said. “This is my secretary, Mr. Ford.”

“Welcome to our home, Mr. Ford,” Mr. Rutledge said, gesturing for them to come inside. In the tiny parlor sat a wan looking woman in a dark gray dress and white cap. She held a baby that could not have been more than five months old. She stood when they entered. “M’wife, Mrs. Rutledge,” their host said. “Miss Lapham, as was.”

“I am very sorry for your loss, ma’am,” Anders said softly, bowing his head.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She looked as though she might break. Her skin was very pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

“How are the children faring?” Anders asked, taking the seat by the fire Mr. Rutledge offered.

“I don’t think they quite understand, My Lord. They are playing upstairs with their cousins now. It seems that they think their family are coming soon, that they will all be together again.” Her lip began to tremble, and she clutched the child even tighter. “But they never will,” she managed to sob as the tears spilled down her cheeks.

Instinctively, Clarissa reached out and took the infant from her arms. As if she knew it was all right, Mrs. Rutledge surrendered the baby and took the handkerchief Anders had offered. Clarissa cradled the sleeping child protectively to her chest, dropping slowly onto the settee next to Mrs. Rutledge as the woman put her head in her hands and wept.

When Mrs. Rutledge had calmed herself a little, she said, “I’m sorry, My Lord.”

“No, no,” he said. “You deserve a few tears. No doubt there will be more. You are a strong woman, Mrs. Rutledge, and I admire your bravery. Yours too, Mr. Rutledge. The children will not have an easy road. Losing a parent is an experience that changes you forever,” he added, looking up at Clarissa. When he saw the baby in her arms, his expression changed into something unreadable, a look that made Clarissa’s heart slam against her ribcage.

“Thank you, My Lord,” Mr. Rutledge said.

“I want to do something for your family,” Anders said.

“Oh, My Lord, that’s not—”

Anders held up his hand. “But I will do it anyway. I am going to take on the cost of the funerals, of course. But I am also going to put six hundred pounds in the funds for your family; a hundred pounds for each of the children. It will allow you to send them to school or buy them apprenticeships.”

Mrs. Rutledge dabbed at her eyes. “You are a fine man, My Lord. We thank you for this generous gift.”

“It is nothing,” Anders said.

Against Clarissa’s breast the baby stirred and whimpered a little. Mrs. Rutledge held out her arms, and Clarissa surrendered the child back to its mother. “We must be going,” Anders said. “We have many more stops to make. But we will see you again in the morning.”

Mr. Rutledge showed them out. “I can’t thank you enough, My Lord,” he said as they stood at the door. “I would never tell my wife, but I have been wondering how we could possibly afford my nieces in addition to all our other children. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Anders said. Then he and Clarissa mounted and rode away.

They visited eight farms that afternoon, including the burned-out wreckage of the Lapham home. Jensen had assured Anders that the fire had been an accident, not caused by the condition of the house or any neglect on his part. When he stood in the remains of the Lapham house, he was able to do so without feeling the burden of knowing he might have prevented the terrible thing that had happened. The weight of that guilt lifted, it was far easier to sit with his other tenants and listen to their other concerns.

And Clarissa was always there. She listened attentively to each family, the image of the perfect secretary—silent and unobtrusive. She even seemed to have memorized the map of his estate, correcting him a few times when he would have gone the wrong direction. No one observing her would have known she was anything but the most capable assistant. But Anders could not shake the picture of her holding the Rutledge’s baby from his mind. When he had looked up to see her with the child in her arms, he had instantly imagined what she would look like dressed as herself, with
their
child in her arms, and his heart had beat a little faster.

As they rode back towards Ramsay, Clarissa said, “I’m proud of you, Anders. You
are
a good landlord. It will not be easy to balance this place and your duties in town, but if anyone can do it, I think you can.”

“I must try,” he said. “I have neglected these people for far too long.”

The morning of the funerals dawned crisp and clear. Anders and Clarissa rode into the village for the service, Clarissa steeling herself to maintain her composure. She could not cry in front of the villagers. They would not understand.

But as she stood in that little church beside Anders in his dark suit, the caskets in front of them draped in white lawn, her spirit threatened to break. She bit her lower lip and tried to the think of anything but the caskets and the little girls who would have to live forever with the loss of their family. Just as she thought she was about to weep, however, she felt a firm, gentlemanly hand on her shoulder. Anders leaned in as if he were going to mention some task that needed to be done, but instead he whispered, “I love you. You are a strong, capable person. You can do this.”

That shocked the tears out of her. As the curate stood and began to recite the prayers, she fought not to turn and stare at him. He
loved
her? She followed along in the hymnal, but inside her emotions were in turmoil. As they stood at the gravesides and Anders threw his handful of dirt onto each casket, she asked herself: did she love him?

Of course she did.

She had loved him since he had given her a book in Greek, showing that he was not afraid of her mind. The hooks had been sunk even deeper into her heart when she had seen how deeply he cared about the people of the realm who could not care for themselves, who were hopeless and downtrodden.

As they rode back to Ramsay, she came to a decision.

She would marry him. She could not imagine a life without him. In a little more than two weeks, he had become as vital to her as air and water. And when he asked her, she would accept.

But somewhere along the road from her dingy flat in London to his side, something had changed within her. She was no longer the staid, upright little philosopher her father had raised. He had been unable to teach her to be a woman.

But Anders could. She wanted to be his, completely. And now. She did not want to wait until they were married. She wanted to show him that she trusted him not only with her greatest secrets, but with her heart. And she knew he wanted the same thing, even if he didn’t know it. For all his bluster about her reputation, she knew that, if given the opportunity, he wouldn’t hesitate.