The Secretary Read Online Free PDF

carefree.
    She would have given up everything she owned to have him back, and not just because she missed him, but because she missed the life she had led when he was alive. He was the only person who had every truly seen her for what she was, and she still grieved for him even though the mourning period had ended.
    But if she could succeed at this, she might be able to return to the life she had once lived at her father’s side. She had not lied when she told the earl that she had been a good secretary to her father—she had. She might even have been a great secretary. She was certain her father would not have been nearly so successful in the House of Commons without her assistance. Though she had not been allowed to trail her father around the halls of Westminster, she had done everything else for him; kept his papers and schedule, arranged his appointments, written his speeches. He had said often that he couldn’t have done it without her, and it was true. At times it had almost seemed as if he had raised her expressly for that purpose. But that didn’t stop her from wondering as she neared Trevor Street whether she was truly up to the task of being secretary to an earl. If he decided to keep her on after the month was over, and if by some miracle she managed to stay on until the session ended in July, there would be a great deal more than simply editing speeches and ferrying bills. She had gleaned some useful information while organizing the papers on his desk—not all of them had been related to the business of Parliament. There were letters from Mr. Jensen, his steward at Ramsay, the earl’s country seat in Somerset. The notations listing the rents collected and the profits from the recent harvests had made her eyes pop. The man had to be worth more than ten thousand pounds a year, and she was now responsible for organizing all his personal business.
    She did not have time to be intimidated, she told herself as she turned down the narrow alley, climbed the stairs and unlocked the door to her flat. It was a strange building, and she remembered the first time that door had been opened, when Mr. Parkhurst had shown the place to her a year ago. He owned the whole building on Trevor Street, the front of which was made up of lovely, spacious rooms rented by people of quality. But back along the alley was another door that opened onto a narrow staircase. Up four flights, above the luxurious apartments below, was a tiny flat that had been squeezed into the odd space left when the rest of the building had been finished. It wasn’t much—a sitting room, a small kitchen and a single bedroom, but it had been clean and furnished, and Clarissa had known she would not be able to find another place fully furnished near Belgravia for such a reasonable price. She had taken it instantly, and Mr. Parkhurst, to his credit, had asked her very few questions. She had been fortunate to find him, fortunate to find this place. She knew what could have happened to her, what happened to many destitute young ladies when they were left alone in the world. Now she was once again staring down that fate, trying to escape it. She was determined to succeed.
    She crossed the little sitting room and lit a small lantern. Then she picked up her father’s miniature from the table. “Well, Papa,” she said. “What do you think?” She reached into the pocket of the threadbare coat and pulled out the sovereigns she had been given at the end of the day. Her first week’s pay. “Everything will be all right now. You’ll see. This is a good man. We will do good work together.”
    She went into the bedroom and crouched down on her knees to retrieve the small box from its place beneath her mattress. With the key that had been hidden atop the wardrobe she unlocked the box and lifted the lid. Inside lay six sovereigns and twelve shillings, the entirety of her fortune. She added the sovereigns from today to the lot, locked the box, and replaced it in its