“I won’t,” Ellis said, thinking this was all a far-fetched dream anyway.
“From now on, until you return here after your interview, you must lower your voice as you’ve practiced and speak as a man.” Mrs. Palmer gave her an encouraging nod.
Ellis pitched her tone to a baritone, or what she hoped was a baritone. Thankfully, she had a deeper voice than most women, so that was already in her favor. “I should have been doing that the entire time. How’s that?”
Mrs. Palmer beamed. “Perfect. Our practice has borne fruit. I shall ensure you won’t encounter anyone.” She left the chamber first, and Ellis followed, pulling the gloves on as they made their way to the stairs.
Leading her down two flights to the ground floor, Mrs. Palmer stayed far enough ahead so she could signal Ellis if she saw anyone, though that was unlikely. There were only two other lodgers, and they were typically gone by this time of the morning.
They hurried through the entrance hall and Mrs. Palmer opened the door to usher her outside. “I’ll be anxious to hear about the interview. I know you’ll do well!”
Ellis smiled at the landlady before embarking on her long walk to Mayfair from Wimpole Street in Marylebone. She dearly hoped she wouldn’t encounter anyone she knew. Thankfully, the Marquess of Keele did not live on the same street or even very near Henlow House. And if she did see someone, they wouldn’t recognize her anyway. Still, she kept her head down until she reached Keele’s house.
She turned onto Bolton Street and approached the marquess’s terrace, surprised at the narrow width. She’d expected something grander, but then she knew Keele, a widower, was rebuilding his family’s fortune. He was a friend of Min’s brother—Lord Shefford or Sheff as everyone called him—though Ellis had never met him. Keele didn’t participate much in Society, but apparently frequented one of the clubs, which was where Sheff saw him on occasion.
The reason behind Keele’s family’s misfortunes was unknown to Ellis, nor did it matter to her except as it pertained to her potential position as his secretary. She certainly wasn’t going to ask.
Her nervousness about the coming interview hadn’t lessened as she’d walked through Mayfair. In fact, it had increased to where her stomach was in knots.
Ellis took a deep breath and approached the door. She tipped her head back to survey the red brick that covered the façade from the first floor up through the fourth. The ground floor was white stone, and a wrought-iron fence kept pedestrians from falling into the servants’ access on the lower ground floor.
As she rapped on the door with her gloved hand, she was struck by the absurdity of what she was doing. Did she really expect to masquerade as a man whilst performing the duties of secretary for a marquess? One would think she’d lost her mind. Perhaps she had. The last several weeks had been the most trying of her life.
A butler opened the door. He was younger than she expected, perhaps in his middle thirties, with thick brown hair and deep-set gray-blue eyes. “Good afternoon. Are you Mr. Ellis?”
When Ellis had responded to Lord Keele’s advertisement, she’d used the name Daniel Ellis. “Yes, I am,” she replied in her deeper, hopefully masculine tone.
The butler inclined his head and invited her inside. “His Lordship is expecting you, of course. This way.” He led her to the rear of the first floor, through the staircase hall.
The door to Lord Keele’s study stood open, and the marquess rose from his desk, which was situated so he had a view of the small back garden. He came toward the door and extended his hand. “Welcome, Mr. Ellis. I’m pleased to meet you.”
Ellis hadn’t practiced shaking hands and hoped she would do so believably. Stepping into the office, she clasped his hand and was surprised at the strength of his grip. She should not have been, for the marquess was tall and powerfully built, with broad shoulders but a narrow waist. He appeared as though he could lift Ellis and hold her over his head. That was saying something, because Ellis was tall for a woman.
Keele released her hand and looked past her to the butler. “Thank you, Graham.”
Ellis heard the door close followed by the muffled retreat of the butler’s footsteps. Her gaze swept the marquess’s study. It wasn’t large, but then his house wasn’t either. Aside from his oak desk, there was a chair near the hearth, a cabinet of drawers, two bookcases, and a second, much smaller desk situated in the corner, adjacent to the marquess’s. The room wasn’t crowded exactly, but it lacked the space and opulence of the Duke of Henlow’s study.
“Let us sit.” The marquess gestured to the chair by the grate. Covered in faded dark blue velvet, Ellis envisioned the marquess sitting there often as he reviewed documents or read an investment scheme.
Reminding herself that the marquess didn’t need to wait for her to sit because he didn’t know she was a woman, Ellis took the chair. Meanwhile, he sat behind his desk and pivoted his chair toward her.
The desk was cluttered, with an overflowing wooden box in one corner and several unkempt stacks of a variety of things that clearly needed to be sorted. The marquess appeared to be in dire need of assistance.
She eyed Keele’s demeanor and copied him, situating herself against the back of the chair and resting one elbow on the arm. She did not worry about keeping her ankles together.
“I was glad to receive your letter,” Keele began. “Your qualifications and education are excellent, but your letter of recommendation from the Duke of Henlow is extraordinary.”
The recommendation from Henlow was the one thing Ellis had asked him for. He’d been eager to provide some kind of assistance and had offered the letter not just to Keele but to anyone else she wanted. “As he no doubt mentioned, my father worked for His Grace’s steward collecting rents,” Ellis said. That was the fib the duke had suggested.
Keele nodded. “He also said you worked for him temporarily when his secretary had to tend to a family matter for a fortnight. Most remarkably, he said your skill was exemplary and was tempted to replace his current secretary with you.” The marquess possessed razor-sharp steel-gray eyes and a hawk-like nose that made him appear almost predatory. Indeed, the way he was regarding Ellis presently sparked the sensation that she was his prey.
She shifted her weight and again resisted the urge to cross her ankles. Sitting like this, without a skirt to cover her legs, made her feel incredibly vulnerable. Or perhaps it was more due to the intensity of his stare. Did he suspect she was not who she claimed to be? Did he doubt the duke’s recommendation? Whilst Henlow had lied about how he knew her, the letter had been drafted by him without any contribution from her.
“That was kind of him to say,” Ellis murmured. Too late, she realized such mild vocalization was likely too feminine. Men didn’t murmur. They claimed space with their bodies, their actions, and their voices. “I enjoyed working for His Grace,” she added in a stronger tone.
“As it happens, I know the duke’s son very well. The Earl of Shefford is a friend of mine. Did you have occasion to meet him?”
Ellis was prepared for this question since she knew Keele and Sheff were friends. And Sheff was not aware of what she was doing. She preferred to have no contact at all with that family right now, except for the favor she’d requested of the duke. “I did not. I didn’t meet anyone in the household.”
