After Papa had drawn me to his side one last time, I vowed never to decorate anything white. It was the color of death. My stomach churned with nerves at the sight of the alabaster walls, the ivory linens, and most of all his wan features. But I stayed because he needed me.

Brushing a few loose strands of graying hair out of his eyes, I dabbed a cool cloth against his feverish skin. Pointing at the nightstand, Papa instructed me to retrieve a small wrought iron box, whose contents jingled as I handed it to him.

"No, Ella." He gave me a weak smile. "It's for you, my dear."

"For me?" I asked, wide-eyed. "What about Mama?"

"Once I'm gone, she'll marry you off to the highest bidder," he said in a contemptuous tone. "Do you want that fate?"

With a horrified grimace I shook my head. Papa had deflected all of Mama's attempts to pair me off with any nobleman who had come sniffing around our house. Once he died, though, nothing could stop her.

I'd be damned if I let that happen.

"She's changed. When we were young, love was enough." Papa beckoned me nearer and handed me a copy of his will. "Mister Hall keeps the key so that your mother can't access it. Find him."

"Thank you, Papa." I pursed my lips. "But as a woman..."

Papa squeezed my hand. "Your brother Frederick can help you from the grave."

My eyes widened. "Surely you don't mean that I should...?"

"The resemblance between you two is uncanny, my dear."

"What if he returns from the war and finds I've taken his place?"

"It's been five years." Papa cringed with pain. "Frederick isn't coming back."

"I couldn't."

He grasped the metal box and pushed it toward me. "Use it wisely."

His head sank back into the pillow as a wave of exhaustion washed over him, his eyelids drooping. Papa fell into fitful slumber from which he never woke again.

He died three days later.

***

Yet another nobleman stormed to his fancy carriage after I'd rejected him. Such an arrogant twit would never convince me to don a white gown and give away my heart to him.

Never.

Mama rushed up to me and gripped me by the shoulders, a fearsome wardrobe of a woman. It took all my discipline not to defend myself the way my brother Frederick had taught me when we were younger.

"Do you want to die a poor maid, Ella?" she demanded. "Do your duty for this family and secure our future."

"A man should love me for my mind and heart." Able to breathe once more, I sighed with relief once I'd unlaced my corset. "Not because I squeeze my ribs in a vice, eat like a mouse, and engage in meaningless chatter."

"I told your father not to fill your head with all that rubbish."

"Not to enrich my mind with philosophy and science, you mean?" I retorted.

"You have the face of a horse and the body of an emaciated man." She puckered her face as though my very existence offended her. "You should be glad Lord Carmichael wishes to court you at all."

"If a man wants me for my nonexistent curves, he can go to the devil!"

Mama slapped me, stinging me with the pain of a thousand wasps.

"It should have been you who left us," seethed Mama. "Not Frederick."

I'd never lost any fondness over Mama, but her insult pained me nonetheless. After my brother Frederick had gone missing in the war, it'd broken my heart just like hers. A persistent voice had always niggled at the back of my mind, telling me that she'd wished I'd died instead of him, but I'd always opted to ignore it.

Until now.

Without packing a bag, Mama stormed into town. Days later I received a letter saying she'd eloped with a sea captain and would never return. He would care for her since I stubbornly refused to marry.

To the devil with her!

Luckily Papa had provided for me. The time had come for me to embrace the future.

Storming to Frederick's room, I found it the way he'd left it before the war. When I opened his closet, I discovered his fancy tux and gentleman suits freshly pressed by the maids. Mama ordered them to be well kept in case he came home. Such madness came from having no body to bury.

Perfect for my escape, though.

Just like Papa had said.

I packed away my brother's tux and two casual outfits before I put on his fancy suit. The shoulders suited my figure very well--in that way Mama wasn't wrong--but it hung loosely over my tall, slender frame. Hiding any trace of femininity, it allowed me to slip away from home undetected.

Before I left, however, I took Mama's secret stash for a train ride to visit Mister Hall. The one man who could open Papa's inheritance.

***

My body trembled while I ascended the marble staircase to Mister Hall's office in the City. A brusque middle-aged man of serious mien met me in the foyer.

His jaw dropped.

"Mister Pearce! Good heavens, you survived the war?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"It is I, sir." I gave him a courteous nod and whispered, "Ella Pearce."

His expression melted into stunned shock and then disdain as he hurried me inside his office and locked his door. For a long moment, he stared openly at my attire. "Miss Pearce, what the devil is the meaning of this?"

"Since Mama grumbled about my masculinity," I replied, gesturing at my suit, "I thought I should embrace the look in full."

"Uncanny." Mister Hall gave me another once-over. "You are the mirror image of your brother, my dear."

"Indeed?"

"You certainly had me fooled."

My lips curled into a smirk.

"You wouldn't stoop so low simply to irritate your mother." He raised a quizzical brow. "So I ask again: What is the meaning of this deception?"

"I wish to make my own living," I said in a matter-of-fact tone, "which is impossible as a woman."

"You could serve as a governess."

I gave him a sour look.

"Right, carry on."

"I decided to wear Frederick's clothes and take up his mantle," I said in a decisive tone. "Can you help?"

"What do you wish to do?"

Opening my suitcase, I retrieved Papa's metal treasure chest. "It depends on what this contains."

Mister Hall's eyes widened with recognition.

"Papa said you had the key," I added.

After he'd opened the little trove, I could scarcely believe my eyes. Hidden beneath a mountain of silver and gold coins rested several bank notes. Most of Papa's inheritance lay inside, the result of many decades of tutoring rich industrialists.

"Good Lord!"

"Yes?"

Mister Hall cupped his chin in thought. "You could buy a house with this...and more. Though I would invest it and live off the dividends."

I pursed my lips. "Could I afford to study and start a venture?"

"Are you sure you want to take that risk?"

"Risk?"

Mister Hall lowered his voice while his eyes twinkled with mischief. "They say that a woman who feeds her brain starves her womb."

I curled my lip. "Tell that to my menses."

"Most likely the ramblings of poor folk who don't understand how the human body works," he said with a chuckle.

"If it is indeed true, Papa ruined me long ago."

"If you do study," he insisted, "you must keep any revolutionary talk to yourself. It'll draw too much attention."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, I shall help you."

Until much later I had no idea how much of a risk Mister Hall took to forge the necessary documents. They allowed me to graduate with high honors under the name of my brother, Frederick Pearce.

***

Dressed in my finest suit and top hat upon my graduation, I approached the guard station at Lanca Mills to apply for my first tutoring position. One of Mister Hall's friends, a certain Mister William Thompson, hoped to improve his knowledge of the classics.

Before our meeting Mister Hall had informed me that the wealthy businessman had risen to the position of mill owner after many years of grueling work and study. Despite the difference between our stations, I couldn't help but admire a young man who'd risen from rags to riches.

Exhaling a deep breath, I tugged on my expensive yet classy black waistcoat and knocked on the giant oak door.

A gruff Northerner greeted me at the company gates and escorted me to Mister Thompson's office. The scruffy worker introduced me to my potential client as "Mister Pearce" and left me to face the man who had become one of the richest industrialists in the region.

Mister Thompson towered over my tall frame after striding toward me with his hand outstretched. "Mister Pearce, I've heard many good things about you from our mutual acquaintance."

His voice resonated in a deep baritone. It took me a second to pull myself out of my schoolgirl reverie and shake his hand, his fingers calloused in the way a gentleman's weren't. "Mister Thompson, the pleasure is mine."

We stared at one another a beat too long, his dark gaze betraying a fierce intellect that could cut through wrought iron. Had this man enjoyed my station, he surely would have studied at a prestigious college. But I admired him for seeking out the education he'd missed. Mister Thompson had fought for every penny. Now that he enjoyed the vast fruits of his labor, he used his wealth to better himself.

I like him.

Oh, God! Stop staring. You're supposed to act like a man, remember?

Mr Thompson cleared his throat. "Won't you please have a seat, sir?"

While we discussed my recent studies of all the classics and philosophers, Mister Thompson's eyes twinkled with delight as though he couldn't devour the knowledge fast enough. Soon the encounter evolved from a negotiation of employment to a sample lesson.

"Mister Pearce, I believe there is no need to continue this negotiation," said Mr Thompson in a serious tone.

I balked. "Pray tell I did not offend you, sir."

"On the contrary," he said, rising to his feet with a broad smile. "I hope to learn from you five times a week. You shall train my foreman and workers to improve their literacy as well."

A broad smile crept across my face, my heart welling up with joy.

My first job.

"Shall we say fifty per annum?" he suggested. "Plus room and board in the cottage adjacent to my home?"

"I'd be delighted, sir. How long shall I plan for this employment?"

"A minimum of one year to start," he replied, "which we can revisit later."

A clever businessman would have negotiated and bargained for more. Four years ago, though, I couldn't have fathomed the idea of having my own cottage or salary in addition to my independence. So I took the chance and ran with it without a second thought.

"Yes, sir!" I exclaimed, shaking his hand with great vigor. "Our first meeting shall be on Monday evening then?"

"At the seventh bell, yes."

His eyes roved over my frame, a gaze that pierced through all my secrets, stoking a fire in my belly along with a wave of tingly nerves. I couldn't help but wonder what hidden thoughts lay buried inside his mind. But one thing I realized for certain: That stare held an emotion more intense than mere professional courtesy or admiration.

I bowed my head. "I look forward to our meeting, Mister Thompson."

"Indeed, Mister Pearce. Until then."

***

For months we studied together, each ninety-minute session passing as fast as a racing steam train. Each time a lesson ended, I regretted the cruelty of time as we came closer and closer to the end of the contract. Despite myself, I began to fancy him. Mister Thompson must have felt the same way, for he would invite me for a drink every evening to continue our talks late into the night.

Try though I did, I couldn't reveal my secret and risk destroying our strong friendship.

The night after our last session, Mister Thompson dissected me with his gaze once more, a pool of inky black. "You have a keen knowledge of politics and economy, one that goes beyond both your studies and your age."

"I'm not much younger than you, sir."

"Still you impress me."

"I read three newspapers a day to stay abreast of all matters of foreign and domestic concerns," I replied as a faint blush swept across my cheeks. "Plus I read as many books as I can afford to acquire."

"Do you have everything you need?" asked Mister Thompson, his gentle voice stirring a wave of desire.

"Yes, sir." I swallowed the last sip of brandy audibly. "You are too kind."

He rose and walked to the window, staring out into the starry night.

"Am I?" he whispered to himself.

As nerves tingled in my fingertips, I rose and stood by his side, itching to reach for his hand. To touch him at long last.

But I couldn't.

As long as I pretended to be a man, romantic contact was forbidden for us. Admitting the truth would mean giving up on this life. My independence. My livelihood. If I accepted a gown of white, it would mean the death of my true self.

I couldn't.

Mister Thompson turned to face me. "Do you think something is missing from our lives?"

I balked. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Forgive my impertinence, but do you never wish for a woman?" he asked.

"I work very hard, sir. There's little time for such things."

He hummed in thought. "Mister Pearce, what does Kierkegaard say about romantic relationships?"

My face flushed crimson. "Most men pursue pleasure with such breathless haste that they hurry past it."

Mister Thompson turned to me. "Do you think I have done that? My whole life I've devoted myself to my work the way a man should attend to his wife. Have I made an error in judgment?"

"Have you neglected a woman you've loved?"

He drew a fraction nearer to me. "Not that I'm aware."

"Then you made no such error."

Silence fell upon us so that all I could hear was the ticking of a grandfather clock and the rushing of blood in my ears. Could Mister Thompson detect the warmth that seared my skin?

"You forgot the most important quote," he whispered, his warm breath fanning my cheek.

I fought to catch my breath. "Which one?"

"Love discovers truths about individuals that others cannot see," he breathed in my ear. "Is there anything you wish to tell me, Mister Pearce?"

Good God! Had he discovered my secret? Perhaps I should come clean before Mister Thompson hears it from someone else.

No! You cannot tell him! He will hate you for it, and he'll never speak to you again.

"I--"

"Mister Pearce..." His lips almost brushed my skin. "Please stay for another drink."

"I'm not sure that's wise..."

"Your clever discourse intrigues me," he whispered as his fingertips grazed my lower back, sending tingles of delight up my spine.

"Is it sensible for two gentlemen--?"

"I don't care."

Placing my hands upon his chest, I attempted to push him away. Instead Mister Thompson pressed my hand to his heart, his vibrant gaze willing me to understand. It broke my heart all the more, knowing that he would never enjoy my presence in any way other than professional. Even once our contract had ended.

He preferred the company of men, but I was no man.

Not in the way he needed me.

"I must go!" I insisted, trying to back away. "I cannot. We cannot."

"No one would know."

"I am your tutor. It isn't proper."

"Mister Pearce, I shall invite you to join me as my dearest friend," he insisted, drawing me nearer. "You shall act as my personal correspondent. No one would suspect our connection."

"Shall I abandon the other men?"

"We'll find another tutor for them."

"Mister Thompson, I'm not who you think I am."

"I know all about playing the game." His lips brushed my earlobe, making me tremble. "You don't have to play with me."

A low groan escaped my lips.

"That's it. Give yourself to me..."

His whisper fell so softly from his lips as his hands explored my chest, flat as a board. Down my sides. Down, down, down. As I lost myself in a tumultuous flurry of forbidden whispers and sighs as he closed all space between us.

Until he froze in shock. Mister Thompson paused to read my scared expression before backing away, wide-eyed.

"No, that's impossible," he whispered, shaking his head. "You're..."

I fled before he could say another word.

***

A frantic knock sounded on my door, which I ignored as I threw my clothes and documents into a travel bag. Taking the advice of my sage father, I'd saved enough of my tutoring money and his inheritance to start again in a new place. I'd leave Lanca Mills and Mister Thompson without another word. Escape through the back window. Change my name.

Start again.

Maybe in America.

"Mister Pearce, for the love of God," he said in a frantic whisper. "Open the door."

Silence.

"Let's discuss this like rational adults."

I didn't reply.

"Answer at once."

"No, sir," I said from the other side of the door. "I'm leaving with whatever dignity I still possess."

"Miss Pearce, forgive me." He sighed. "I never would have... Had I known..."

Don't remind me.

Don't remind me of my lack of masculinity. Don't remind me of the identity I wish to cast aside. Don't remind me that our passion isn't real.

I opened the door to my humble cottage. Mister Thompson stumbled inside, staring around him until he turned to me with a furious gaze. "Are you going somewhere, Mister Pearce?"

"I can't tutor you or the men anymore," I said in a firm tone. "Please don't extend the contract."

"Who says so?" he demanded. "Why?"

"You know why."

"Don't go." He gave the order before he added a more polite, "Please."

"Why should I stay?" Each word stabbed me like a needle. "You like men, and I can't serve you as a woman."

"Then serve me as a man," he said with gentle insistence, grasping my hands in his. "Become my personal secretary. You'll earn over twice your current salary."

"Mr Thompson, if someone found out..."

"I'll keep your secret if you keep mine," he whispered, drawing me close once more.

I drew a ragged breath as his nose traced a line along my neck, confusing me. Didn't he prefer the company of men? Or did he like women as well?

Which one was I even? Neither? Both?

"I prefer to live like this," I said, breathless as I drew away from him. "As a man. I need intelligent discourse, my own income, and sensible male attire, not a devilish corset that tries to coax curves out of my figure."

"To my mind, you are a man."

I gazed up at him. "Truly?"

He breathed me in before cupping my cheek and running a thumb over my chiseled jawbone. "Stay with me, Mister Pearce. I need your intellect, your fiery spirit, your--"

I pressed my lips to his.

His stunned reaction melted into a fiery embrace as he returned the kiss with all the passion I'd ever dreamed of from a man. My heart fluttered into a frenzy of a thousand wild drums.

"Never call me Miss again," I demanded as I pulled away from him.

He fought to catch his breath. "Never would I dare, Mister Pearce."

"Then I'll stay." I paused for a beat. "As your assistant and your friend."

Mister Thompson pressed his forefinger to my lips. "No, stay as my companion."

***

Years later Will and I strolled through the City as equal business partners on the way to a shareholders meeting. Along the way we happened upon an elegant lady dressed in a wig of brown curls and a fancy gown, her arm locked in the crook of an older officer. She bore a striking resemblance to me, down to the same steely gaze and chiseled jaw.

I stopped short and stared at her with incredulity, unable to fathom how the dead had returned to life.

As the gentlewoman passed us by, she whispered three words in Frederick's unmistakable voice.

"Well done, brother."

THE END

Word count: 3435

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A/N: Thank you for reading this short story. If you enjoyed it, please vote and share it with your friends.