Page 25 of The Language of Love

Colin’s head whipped around, his collar scraping his chin with an audible scritch.

Henry and Lady Sedgwick winced.

“I say, Lady Freddie, can you introduce me to any of these girls?” As if pulled by a winch, Colin’s eyes slid to the clutch of females who were ogling him, thus missing Lady Sedgwick’s priceless expression at either his question or the nickname, or both.

Henry had to admit the nickname was his fault. He should have known that saying anything in front of Colin—even in jest—meant the man was likely to blurt it out at any time, just like a child.

Henry crossed his hands behind his back to keep from throttling Colin.

He leaned toward the countess. “As you may have noticed, my lord is very excited about attending his first ball and I’m afraid it might have made him forget his manners.”

The countess fixed him with a shrewd, suspicious look, and Henry wondered if she smelled something rotten in Denmark. Not that it was unusual for aristocrats to be raving idiots, of course, but Henry could see she thought his management of Colin was a bit too masterful for a mere friend/servant.

“Tell me, Mr. Parker, what part of England do you hail from? Your accent is difficult to place.”

Ah, did she suspect something?

“I’m from Kent, my lady, but I’ve been away for almost five years, so I expect I’ve lost much of my regional accent.”

Her smile was a slight, feline expression that caused Henry to feel more than a little like a colorful piece of fluff that she was considering batting about.

“And yet how odd that his lordship seems to have lost none of hisaccent.”

Henry’s smile became strained.

“Not only that,” she added, “but he sounds like he’s from Kent. Yet I know he hails from Yorkshire.”

Yes, she definitely suspected something.

Henry was struggling for something intelligent to say when a flash of pale blond hair in his peripheral vision snagged his attention.

It was Miss Annis Bowman, and she was hovering near a raft of old biddies, leaning over one of them, her narrow shoulders visibly clenched with tension.

“I think that would be an excellent question to ask Miss Bowman.”

Lady Sedgwick raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“She was a language teacher and seems quite knowledgeable about language-related subjects. I daresay she’d know something about regional accents, too.”

Her gray eyes bored into him.

“Ah,” he said, “Speak of the lady and there she is.”

“Yes, she is here, along with her cousins, Miss Bowman and Miss Susannah. They all received a last-minute invitation to this ball. It was kind of the earl to use his influence on their behalf.”

“Did he?” Henry asked, hiding his smirk with some effort

“Indeed. I let the Duchess of Tinley know that Lord Rotherhithe wished for the Bowman ladies to attend and the duchess was most accommodating.”

Henry looked away from her too-probing gaze. “Yes, the earl is quite taken with Miss Annis Bowman.”

They both turned to his lordship, who was still goggling at the buxom lass a few feet away; Colin would need to wipe drool from his highly polished dancing shoes if he wasn’t careful.

Henry gave him a subtle jab in the ribs. “Miss Annis Bowman is here, Rotherhithe.”

“Say what?” Colin gave him an irritable look, which quickly drained away when he realized whom he’d just snapped at. “Er, I’m sorry. What’s that you say, Parker?”

“Miss Annis Bowman is here.”