The Secretary (23 page)

“Missing something?” Anders said. She turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, holding the book.

“Oh!” she cried. “I’m so sorry, Anders. I never would have borrowed it if I had known it contained such a personal inscription. I just wanted something to read on the journey.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he said. “I don’t think my uncle would have minded. And I had never seen this inscription.” He handed the book back to her. “Do you know, I never thought about whether my aunt loved my uncle? I always assumed he was just a silly old man. Now I know differently. I’m glad you found the book.”

He kissed her one last time, and they went down into the taproom to wait for their carriage.

TWENTY-ONE

February 22, 1833

As the carriage was nearing London, Anders began to think about the days ahead. “I’ve asked my mother and stepfather to receive you tomorrow afternoon,” he said to Clarissa, who had been reading the last pages of
Much Ado
.

“All right,” she said.

“I’ll send the carriage for you about two.”

“Very well,” she said. “But I will still be at Stowe House in the morning.”

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather rest a little?”

“Will you be resting?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t suppose I will. There will be a great deal of work to do after my absence.”

“Then I will see you at eight, as usual,” she said.

It was late evening when the carriage stopped on Trevor Street. Anders carried Clarissa’s case upstairs and kissed her goodbye.

“I will see you in the morning,” she said.

“Don’t worry too much about meeting my mother,” he said.

“But you’ve forgotten that we’ve already met.”

He laughed. “Of course. How could I forget?”

When he reached Stowe House, it was to find Leo waiting for him in his study. “Leo, what are you doing here?”

“Oh good, you’re back,” his friend said, just as if Anders had burst in on
him
. “I thought you’d want to hear everything that’s happened while you’ve been away. How was Somerset, by the way? Terrible business.”

“It was about as good as it could be, given the circumstances. Perhaps a little better, if you must know.”

“How so?” Leo sat forward in his seat, looking rather impatient as Anders dropped into his own chair.

“Miss Clarissa Martin has accepted my offer of marriage,” Anders said.

Leo leaned back and let out a long breath. “So you actually did it.”

Anders hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Did what?”

“Proposed to her, of course. Why? You didn’t...” he paused when he saw the look on Anders’s face. “Oh. You did. Well then. Um. Let me tell you what was decided today about the Irish disturbances.”

Clarissa stood in the center of her sitting room, unsure what to do next. She felt as though she had become a completely different person over the last few days, and yet her little flat was exactly the same.

She remembered when she was seven and she had built a box with netted sides and then gone out searching for caterpillars. After a few weeks they had built cocoons, and after a few more they had emerged beautiful, perfect butterflies. She had been fascinated and terrified at the same time. And she had finally expressed her secret fear to her father. “Papa,” she had asked, “will they ever change back?” He had laughed and assured her they would not. “They are changed forever.”

That was her. Changed forever. The girl she had been, coolly analytical and immune to romance, was gone. She was still not entirely comfortable with the woman who had been left behind. But she knew that with Anders by her side she could face anything, could learn to be this new woman. And he would let her continue to work at his side. More than anything, she loved him for that.

“Clarissa, darling,” Anders’s mother cried as they entered the sitting room of the townhouse in Mayfair where the Coleridges lived during the Season. “It is so good to see you again, especially now that I know you are to be my daughter-in-law. Come and meet my husband, Mr. Coleridge.”

Clarissa stepped forward to greet Anders’s stepfather. Coleridge was a sensible looking fellow with a sedate, placid face and a large, round, bald spot on his head that always shone no matter how much light there was in the room. Anders had never asked his age, but he thought he was about five years older than his mother.

“It is such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Coleridge, and to see you again, Mrs. Coleridge,” Clarissa said. She was wearing that pale pink gown she had worn to the theatre, though she had added a lace fichu for the afternoon. Every time he looked at her Anders thought of how he had first realized his attraction to her because of that gown.

“Come, sit and have some tea while the gentlemen discuss whatever it is gentlemen talk about,” his mother said, pulling Clarissa onto the sofa. Anders followed his stepfather through into the library.

“Well, Anders, she seems like a very nice young woman, for all of the two minutes I’ve known her,” Mr. Coleridge said.

“Thank you, sir,” Anders said. He and his stepfather took their customary seats at the chess table. Anders was not an accomplished player and generally did not enjoy the game, but he would play with Mr. Coleridge because chess was one of the man’s chief joys in life.

As the pieces moved across the board, they talked idly of affairs both in Parliament and at Ramsay. Anders had not had the benefit of his uncle’s tutelage, though he had sorely needed it, and when he had come into the title Mr. Coleridge had given him a great deal of sage advice. He owned a sizable property in Kent, and had a plenty of experience dealing with tenants and farms. Now Anders felt that he had something useful to contribute to the conversation after the hours he had spent with Jensen and Clarissa at Ramsay.

“I heard about the fire,” Mr. Coleridge said when Anders told him why he had gone back to Ramsay so early in the Parliamentary session. “Terrible business. But you did the right thing, going back.”

“I was glad I did. It felt right, being there with those people, standing with them in the church.”

“They will be pleased to know you are giving them a countess.”

“Indeed.”

Mr. Coleridge moved his queen’s knight and then sat back in his chair. “She is an Oxford professor’s daughter, I understand?”

“Her father was Jonah Martin. Before he was an MP, he taught at Balliol,” Anders said.

“Not a conventional breeding ground for countesses.”

“No, and I don’t suspect she’ll be a conventional countess.” Anders paused to consider the board before making his move. He had lost the game three moves ago and they both knew it, but he still picked up his bishop. “But that’s not what I want.”

Mr. Coleridge smiled. “I didn’t think it was.”

Clarissa came into the library carrying a cup of tea for Mr. Coleridge. She looked inquiringly at Anders. “No, thank you,” he said. She put her hand on the back of his chair and studied the board.

“You’ve lost your queen already, Anders,” she said.

Mr. Coleridge laughed. “I think we’ve ascertained that, my dear. Do you play?”

“Terribly, Mr. Coleridge. I don’t think I would impress anyone with my skills at chess. My father quite despaired of me. He would have liked for me to be a great chess master.”

“It sounds like he had great hopes for you, my dear,” Mr. Coleridge said, rearranging the board. Anders took that as a hint to vacate his seat so that Clarissa could sit. He pulled the chair out for her and then went into the sitting room to join his mother. He was sure she had new questions for him.

After Anders went out, Clarissa took a moment to plan her first move. Then she remembered that Mr. Coleridge had said something to her. “Oh, he had great hopes for me, sir. I think he would have liked me to be a philosopher or a celebrated author or a scientist.”

Mr. Coleridge studied her for a moment while she looked down at the board. “But not a countess?” he asked.

She looked up at him, hoping that her face did not betray her alarm.

“It’s all right, dear girl,” he said. “Marriage to an earl is an intimidating prospect. I was terrified to marry an earl’s sister-in-law. But Anders is a good man, and he respects you. I can see that.”

Clarissa made her move. “Thank you,” she said.

Mr. Coleridge looked down. “Interesting.” They played in amicable silence for a while. When Clarissa had put Mr. Coleridge in check three times, he said, “I think you underestimate your skills, Miss Martin.”

Anders came back into the room then, followed by his mother. “Has he flattened you yet, Clarissa?”

“Quite the opposite,” Mr. Coleridge said, just as Clarissa said, “Checkmate.”

Mrs. Coleridge said, “Good. You’re both planning to stay to dinner, I hope? Then I’ll steal Clarissa away now to begin making plans.” She took Clarissa’s arm and guided her out of the room and across the hall into a smaller, more feminine parlor. “Now then,” she said when they were seated and she had pulled out a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles that perched on the end of her nose, a sheet of paper and a pen. “I wish my son would abandon this plan of a special license, but it seems he is quite determined.” She looked over the frames of her spectacles at Clarissa, who felt a flush creeping up her face. Did Mrs. Coleridge imagine that she was with child? How could she possibly assure her otherwise?

“Yes,” she squeaked.

“I understand that you attend Holy Trinity in Brompton?”

Clarissa nodded feebly.

Mrs. Coleridge made a few notes. “Good. We will arrange to have the ceremony there, and then the wedding breakfast at Stowe House. After that there will have to be a ball as well, I suppose. It can’t be helped.” She let out a rather unladylike sigh. Then she put her paper and pen down on the table and took Clarissa’s hand. “These idiotic conventions,” she said. “If only my brother-in-law could have married again and had a son!” Clarissa stared at her. She had expected Mrs. Coleridge to launch into a discussion of gowns and flowers and illustrious guests. But her future mother-in-law smiled sadly at her. “I should have raised Anders to be an earl. I should have insisted that his uncle take him and teach him what was right and proper. I never learned, I’m afraid. He told you that my father was the curate of our village?”

Clarissa nodded.

“When I married Lord Landridge, it was in my best Sunday dress. My mother went out and picked a bouquet from our garden. I was embarrassed for Lord Landridge to see my gown—he had seen it a dozen times before, after all! But he smiled and said I looked lovely.”

The thought of a simple country wedding made Clarissa smile.

“But then he took me back to Ramsay, and the whole house flew into uproar. He had not told them he had married me, you see, before we appeared on their doorstep. And by then I was already expecting Anders. It was a terrible time. I want to spare you that, my dear. I do not want you to ever feel that you are less than we expected or hoped for my son.”

Clarissa felt tears spring to her eyes. She felt rather foolish. “Forgive me,” she said.

Mrs. Coleridge took her hand. “Don’t apologize, dear. You’re allowed some tears now.”

“I know, but my father...” Clarissa realized that she would have been ashamed for her father to see her crying. Why should that be?

“He would be proud of you, Clarissa.”

Clarissa smiled at her, but she knew in her heart that her father would
not
be proud. Wasn’t this exactly what he had always taught her to eschew? He had always said that romantic ideals were an illusion—that after they had fallen away, her mind would always be her best quality.

Still, she was determined. He had been wrong when he had said that romantic love was a trap. She was making this choice freely.

She squeezed Mrs. Coleridge’s hand. “Thank you,” she said.

“Of course, dear,” she said. “Now, let’s talk about flowers.”

As his mother finally led Clarissa back into the sitting room, Anders leaped up from the sofa.

“Don’t worry,” his mother said airily, “still in one piece.”

He looked past her to meet Clarissa’s eyes. She smiled at him, but there was something in her level gaze that made him glance nervously back at his mother. “We’ve planned everything, dear,” his mother said, grinning, “including the name of my first grandchild.”

Now Clarissa’s smile widened, and she laughed. Anders breathed a sigh of relief. While Clarissa had been closeted with his mother, his stepfather had attempted to assuage his fears.

“Astrid means well,” he said. “She wants Miss Martin to be accepted by society as she wasn’t when she married your father. I think it hurt her deeply to be treated so cruelly by his family.”

Anders nodded in agreement. “I will make sure she is spared that,” he said, determined.

But as he led Clarissa in to dinner, he couldn’t help but worry a little at the guarded expression on her face. What had his mother
said
to her?

Anders handed Clarissa into his carriage, still feeling rather agitated. When the door had been shut and they were driving towards Knightsbridge, seated next to each other, she said, “Your mother was perfectly lovely, Anders. Don’t be worried.”

Anders gave her a penetrating stare. “Are you sure?”

Clarissa nodded firmly. “She only wants to ensure that what happened to her doesn’t happen to me.” She put one gloved hand on his lapel. “I know you will make sure of that.” Then her voice changed slightly, becoming a little flatter. “You will take care of me.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Anders asked before he could stop himself. When she stared at him, he asked, “Are you afraid I’ll try to take care of you?”

She started to shake her head, but then the movement became a nod. “My father always taught me that I was more than just a...just a girl waiting to become a wife. It is hard not to feel that I am betraying him a little,” she admitted as they rolled to a stop on Trevor Street. Anders felt his heart sink into his shoes. “But I am quite determined, Anders,” she said, her fingers curling around his coat. “This is what I want.”