The Secretary (8 page)

“Would you care for tea?” Miss Martin was asking. She gestured to a rather worn armchair as she took a seat on an equally well-used divan.

“Yes, thank you.” He waited as she poured for both of them, trying to get comfortable in the lumpy chair. As put the pot down he glanced quickly around the flat. It was small but serviceable. The wallpaper and furnishings had clearly seen better days, but everything was clean and orderly, including Miss Martin, spare and trim in her pink day-dress. But spare and trim seemed to suit her. She looked perfectly at ease as she handed him his teacup.

After he had taken a few sips, he said, “I wanted to express my condolences in person, Miss Martin, on the loss of your father. He was a great man and I admired him very much.”

Miss Martin looked evenly at him, but it was an expression he recognized. She had lost her lodestone, and she was holding the pieces of her life together with both hands. He had seen that same expression on Leo’s face when his friend had lost his father five years earlier. It was a long, slow climb up from such a loss. “Thank you, My Lord,” Miss Martin said. “It was very sudden. I still find myself thinking that I will walk in the door one afternoon and see him waiting here for me.”

“You lived here when he was still alive?” Anders asked without thinking. “Forgive me,” he said immediately. “That was an impertinent question.”

“No offense taken, My Lord,” Miss Martin said, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a little smile. She had an alluring mouth, Anders thought. “We lived in Piccadilly when my father was still alive, in a townhouse near the Quadrant. I moved here after his death.”

“He did...forgive me, Miss Martin, but I am going to ask another impertinent question.”

“There is no need to ask, My Lord. I know your question, and I am not ashamed to answer it. My father left me enough to live on. I am quite comfortable here.”

He could see that she lied, but there was nothing he could do about it. “And your mother is gone as well.”

“She died when I was an infant,” Clarissa said. She stood and disappeared into the other room for a moment, and when she returned she had a miniature in her hand. “Here is her portrait.”

Anders studied the picture, though he saw little resemblance between the subject and the woman before him. Neither of her parents could take credit for her beauty, then. “Do you see Mr. Ford often?” he asked.

“Often enough,” she said. “He is my connection to the world of politics, now that my father is gone.”

“Your father was a law professor at one time, was he not?”

She nodded. “He taught at Balliol for fifteen years before being elected to Parliament.”

“An Oxford man,” Anders scoffed.

“Ah,” she said, wrinkling her nose in a way that made her look young and carefree. “Cambridge, I take it?”

“Yes,” he laughed, “though now I rather regret it. When I say I was an admirer of your father’s, Miss Martin, I mean it. I would have greatly enjoyed having him as a teacher.”

“That is kind of you to say.”

“It is also the truth,” he insisted.

“Perhaps,” she said, laughing, “this is one of those rare instances when it is kinder to tell the truth. But you are right. He was an even better teacher than he was an MP, My Lord. He raised me on the law, on its beauty and purpose.”

“Did he teach you other things as well as the law?”

“Oh yes,” she said, and she gestured to a narrow bookshelf on which sat several volumes that had clearly been very well loved. “He was a great lover of Shakespeare, though only the dramas. I had to sneak the comedies up to my room. And he taught me to read Greek and Latin and to speak French, though with rather a terrible accent, I think. The Greek books are gone, however,” she added mournfully. “There is nothing like one of the Greek plays in the original language.”

“You’re better off than me,” Anders said. “I speak Russian and a smattering of Danish, thanks to my mother.”

“She was Danish?”

He shook his head. “My grandmother. She would have wanted me to say she was Norwegian, actually.”

“Well, one of these days Norway will gain its independence again and then you’ll have to claim your proud heritage.”

Anders blinked at her. He had never met a woman before who knew as much as Miss Martin about British politics let alone those on the continent. “Yes,” he managed. He was in the process of making a rather foolhardy decision. But there was no one to tell him no, and he felt a great desire to do a good turn for this woman he barely knew. He made up his mind. Then he cleared his throat. “Miss Martin,” he said, “as you are fond of Shakespeare, I wonder whether you wouldn’t like to join my party at the theatre on Tuesday night. They are all good friends, and I think you would enjoy the play. It is
Two Gentlemen of Verona
, I believe.”

She appeared to consider it for quite some time before she said, “I would like that very much, My Lord.”

“Excellent,” he said, rising. “I must be on my way, but my carriage will be outside at nine o’clock on Tuesday.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” she said, and she escorted him the three steps to the door.

Clarissa closed the door behind the earl and breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t recognized her. And because she had already spent so much time with him as Clarence Ford, she had been less befuddled by his winning smiles and deep gray eyes than she might have been if this had truly been their first meeting. She had managed to be composed and calm, which had probably helped her to keep from giving anything away.

She leaned back against the door. She had been cool and collected, yes, but that didn’t mean she had been unaffected by his penetrating stares. But he had done the one thing that truly made her melt, though she knew it was ridiculous that it should do so: he had praised her father. And in addition, he had not scoffed at her thirst for knowledge. It was fortunate, however, that he had not noticed the volumes of Wordsworth and Byron that hid among the more scholarly tomes on her shelf—as much as she loved the writings of the great thinkers, there was also a part of her that hungered for magic and beauty. She knew that there were many young women who eagerly devoured the works of the romantic poets. She was just glad he did not know she was one of them.

When did you become so ashamed to be a woman?
she asked herself.

No matter. As she replayed their conversation in her head, she realized that she now had bigger things to worry about. Had she truly agreed to go to the theatre with him? She was sure Lord Sidney would also be one of the party, and perhaps the odious Marquis of Cayleigh as well. Would either of them recognize her? She had had trouble enough pretending to arrange this meeting between Lord Stowe and Miss Martin, going back and forth until a time had been agreed upon. Could she truly maintain the pretense for a whole evening?

She wouldn’t have agreed at all, but it had been so long since she had gone
anywhere
. At least he had not invited her to dine beforehand. That would give her some time after they had finished work for the day to rush home and change back into herself.

But what on earth was she to wear?

She would have to visit Simms Variety Goods again, Clarissa decided as she began picking up the tea things.

SEVEN

February 4, 1833

“Listen,” Leo said as he and Anders rode down Rotten Row early the next morning. “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday, about Georgina and Maris.”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” Anders laughed. “I know my duty, and I’m glad to do it. I was glad to do it when Eleanor came out last year, too. But I think you nearly gave Bain an apoplexy.”

“He did look rather red, didn’t he? Truly, you don’t even have to dance with them if you don’t wish to. I know how unbearably exuberant they can be, and they’re
my
sisters.”

“I don’t mind in the least, Leo. But your mother must understand that I’m not looking for a mere slip of a girl as a bride, and neither is Bain. There are plenty of eligible young men out there, titled or not. I’m...well, I’m too old for your sisters. Even Eleanor’s a little young for me, and she must be nearly twenty.”

“I like that!” Leo cried. “You’re three months older than I am, that’s all, and I hardly consider myself decrepit.”

“Are you sure? With those bags under your eyes? What did you do last night, anyway?” Leo really did look awful, as though he hadn’t even gone to bed.

“Oh, I followed Bain to some hell, and I wish to God I hadn’t. That man takes greater risks with his health than any other rake I’ve ever met.”

“I wouldn’t consider Bain a rake, Leo. Once he has some real responsibilities, he’ll cool down.”

“If his father lives up to his promise to outlive all his children, I doubt he’ll ever have any responsibilities.”

It was true that the Duke of Danforth had promised to live to a ripe old age, which meant that their friend might never inherit the title. But even Danforth could not defy the almighty, and he had to be at least sixty now. Someday, the dukedom would pass to Danforth’s son, but for now Bain seemed wholeheartedly dedicated to spending however many years of freedom he had in dissolution. And he did it with style. But Anders had more faith in him than Leo did. “He’ll come round. In the meantime, you ought to consider your own responsibilities, and not his. You have a mother and three sisters to look after.”

“And what did
you
do last night?”

“I sat at my desk and read papers. It was thrilling.”

“Oh, yes,” Leo groaned.

Anders could not resist revealing his little secret, if only to show that he was not quite as straitlaced as Leo supposed. “But before that, I went to see Miss Clarissa Martin.”

Leo’s eyes went wide. “You
found
her?”

“Ford did. He kept in touch with her after her father died.”

“Was she as pretty as I remembered?” Leo asked.

“Prettier. I invited her to come to the theatre with us tomorrow night. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. It’ll just be mother and Eleanor and me. Bain turned me down, of course. But have you considered, Anders, that your secretary might have a prior claim?”

In truth, that thought had not occurred to him, and Anders slowed his horse a little as he considered it. Ford struck him as a mere boy, not old enough to have a sweetheart, and certainly not one as beautiful and womanly as Miss Martin. But now that he gave the matter some thought, it did occur to Anders that Ford’s voice had taken on a rather strange tone when he spoke of his former employer’s daughter. “I’ll tell him I’ve invited her,” he said. “That will give him the opportunity to let me know if he’s courting her.”

“And I’m sure he’ll tell you he has a prior claim to the woman his employer, who happens to be an earl, has taken a fancy to,” Leo said sarcastically.

Anders shrugged. “I suppose it’s one of the benefits of being an earl,” he said.

They said their goodbyes soon after, Leo headed for the dining room at Westminster, Anders bound for home. As he trotted out of the park and back towards Belgravia, Anders thought about Leo’s sisters—all three of them. He knew, of course, that as Leo’s closest friends he and Bain were Lady Sidney’s best candidates for prospective husbands—or at least Anders was. With the way Bain had been throwing himself into his dissolute lifestyle lately, he might not even be on Lady Sidney’s list. But Anders knew he was as eligible as they came. Indeed, he had known it since the day after his twenty-third birthday, when he had stepped into a London ballroom for the first time and been instantly swarmed by men and women eager to introduce him to their sisters and daughters. He was not unaware of the appeal his title and fortune held for young women, and he knew that he must marry one day since, unlike his uncle had, he had no brothers or sisters to produce potential heirs for him.

But Anders had been spending holidays at Sidney Park since he was ten, and had known Eleanor, Georgina and Maris Chesney for all that time, or almost all that time in the twins’ case, since they had not yet been born when he and Leo had first become friends. He could not help but see them as an extension of his family, younger sisters who just happened to have grown up elsewhere. It was impossible to see them as prospective brides.

Eleanor, who was already out and would be accompanying them to the theatre that evening, had perhaps the most sense of the three girls, but Anders was sure he had been right when he had said she was not yet twenty. She would catch some gentleman’s fancy, but not his. And as for the twins, well, Anders had been at Sidney Park when they were born. He didn’t think he could consider someone whose birth he had attended a prospective spouse.

But neither was he thinking of Miss Clarissa Martin in that capacity, for all that Leo seemed to think that was his express intention in going to see her. She was quite pretty, it was true, but clearly not cut out to be a countess. No, Anders told himself, his interest in Miss Martin was purely benevolent. Still, Leo was right, he thought. He should ask Ford if he was courting his former employer’s daughter. And he would. It was only right, after all, not to step on any toes.

Clarissa was already in the study when the earl returned from his morning ride. She had risen early that morning, planning to take extra care in her transformation into Mr. Ford. She had stood before the looking glass a good long time, making sure there was not a hair out of place. Now that the earl had met Clarissa Martin, it was far more likely that he would notice similarities between her and his secretary.

Fortunately, when he arrived the earl seemed completely oblivious to her appearance. “Do you have the notes on the Irish disturbances ready?” he asked as he swept into the room.

She put a large pile of papers in front of him, knowing that there was a look of disgust on her face as she did so.

“That bad?” he asked, and she nodded. She had read each of the accounts carefully the night before, poring over them, unable to stop reading and yet wishing she could. The number of laws that had been broken by the authorities in Ireland seemed staggering to her, and yet it appeared that the men who had the power to make changes were determined instead to suppress the troubles until they could be safely ignored.