The Secretary by Meg Brooke

opportunity to finally do something.
    As she rushed to meet Lord Stowe in the Peers’ Lobby, Clarissa concentrated on the masculine walk she had practiced. She had spent long hours observing men on the street, noting the way they walked, the way they tipped their hats, the way they sipped their tea. In order to achieve her greater goal, she would have to accomplish the smaller feat of maintaining this farce. She would have to put her whole being into the character of Clarence Ford now. There were great things to be achieved, and Clarissa intended to be there when they were.
     
    It was dark when they climbed into the Stowe carriage for the ride back to Belgravia. Anders looked with satisfaction at his secretary. Ford had done well today. He had certainly lived up to the claims he had made two days ago when he applied for the position.
    “I’ll have to go to a few parties tonight,” Anders said. “You might as well take the night off.”
    “Thank you, My Lord.”
    “There’ll be more invitations coming in now the session is opened. I’ll rely on you to choose the ones you’ll show me. Anything that sounds like a fashionable squeeze should be discarded immediately. I only want to see the invitations for the gatherings where real business will be done, do you understand?”
    “Of course, My Lord.”
    The carriage was pulling through the gate at Stowe House. Ford exited first and stood at attention while Anders got out. He really was a correct little man, Anders mused. “You don’t have to be so...official with me, Ford. Makes me feel ancient, and I’m only five years your senior.”
    “Yes, My Lord,” Ford said seriously, but there was a wry smile on his face as he followed Anders up the stairs to the study. He opened the case and very carefully laid the papers that had been brought back from Westminster into the piles on the table. “I’ll take these three home with me and have summaries ready for you in the morning.”
    “Very good,” Anders said. As he was leaving the study to dress for the evening, he turned and fished two sovereigns out of his pocket. “Ford,” he called, and he flipped the coins through the air. The secretary caught them clumsily. “There’s no session tomorrow. Take a few hours in the morning and find yourself a couple of new suits.”
    Ford blushed bright scarlet to the roots of his pale hair. “Oh, no, My Lord, I couldn’t—”
    “Nonsense,” Anders cut him off. “Of course you could, and you will. I can’t have you following me around Westminster in threadbare second-hand suits. But be here no later than ten.”
    The secretary, still red in the face, stuffed the coins in his pocket. “Yes, My Lord. Thank you.”
     
    As Clarissa walked through the darkened streets of Belgravia, she fingered the sovereigns in her coat pocket. It was a tremendous gift. Not, perhaps, to Lord Stowe, but to her it represented almost half a week’s wages. She could buy several suits with such a fortune at one of the consignment shops. But the gift also strengthened her determination to excel at her job. If Lord Stowe was putting such faith in her, she would have to live up to his expectations.
    She let herself into her silent flat and made herself a cup of tea. She sat in her men’s clothing on the divan and drank it slowly, trying to reconcile the odd feeling of being a man in a woman’s flat. She would have to get used to the dissonance, she supposed. With a sigh she got up and went into the bedroom to turn herself back into a woman.
    It was only as Clarissa was undoing the last pin curl that she realized she had left one of the documents she meant to read that evening in the office at Westminster. Cursing herself, she decided there was nothing for it but to hire a hackney back to retrieve it, especially now.
    Sighing, she dressed her hair simply and put on one of her better dresses. She could not bear to go through the whole ritual of turning herself into Clarence again, and there would