Page 75 of The Language of Love

“Just what the devil is going on here?” Percy demanded. “Coombs said something about Parker claiming to be Rotherhithe?”

“Now Percy—” Uncle Thomas began.

“This person says he is Lord Rotherhithe.” Aunt Agnes looked and sounded far more like herself now that she was surrounded by her children.

Gasps and exclamations filled the room.

Percy marched up to Henry’s chair and glared down at him, an ugly sneer on his face. “I daresay I’ll have to teach you it’s not wise to go about aping your betters.”

Annis gasped at his condescending threat, but Henry just smiled.

Her aunt grabbed Percy’s arm and tried to lead him away, but he would not budge.

“Please, step away from him, Percy. There is no need to sully yourself.” She turned to her husband when her son refused to listen. “Mr. Bowman, I think you should summon the constable. Or the magistrate. Or—”

“Before you summon anyone, perhaps you might want to speak with the gentleman on this card. He can attest to my identity.” Henry extracted a slim silver case set with a single, enormous emerald. His movements were languid and relaxed, and Annis knew, without a doubt, that he was who he claimed to be. How had everyone failed to recognize his assertive confidence? His aura of command?

Percy snatched the card from his hand and squinted at it before uttering a derisive, “Ha! Anyone can print one of these.”

“Percy.” Once again, Thomas Bowman used a tone that demanded instant authority. He took the card from his son, looked at it, and quickly glanced up, his eyebrows disappearing beneath a thatch of white hair. “Sidmouth?”

Henry gave a lazy shrug. “We Henrys hang together.”

Annis had to stare, too. Viscount Sidmouth—or Henry Addington—was the Home Secretary.

Until that moment, Annis had still maintained a few niggling doubts. She’d not truly believed that Henry was who Freddie had claimed he was. After all, people often bore uncanny resemblances to strangers—there was even a word for it in German: doppelgänger.

But surely Henry would not bandy about Sidmouth’s name if he wasn’t telling the truth? Such a thing would be easy enough to disprove and only a fool would attempt to lie about it.

He must really be Rotherhithe.

She could see by her uncle’s expression that he was thinking the same thing.

“Sit down, Percy.”

“But Father, surely you—”

“Be quiet, Percy.”

For a moment, Annis thought the young hothead might say something. She could see that her aunt thought he should and looked disappointed when Percy took a seat far away from Henry.

“Sidmouth has been out of the country,” Henry said. “But he returned two days ago.” He smirked. “I know that because he invited me to dinner to discuss the possibility of leasing a few of my ships. If you like, you can send your footman to his house and summon him to discipline me.”

Uncle Thomas cleared his throat and swallowed, still staring at the card he held. “I am going to assume you are who you claim to be.”

Henry smiled.

Thomas Bowman looked toward the door, to where his daughters still hovered. “You must leave—you too, Percy.”

The room erupted in pandemonium as her uncle argued with his offspring.

“I don’t understand, Father. How could this happen?” Susanna’s voice rose above the fracas and Annis couldn’t help feeling sorry for her cousin, who’d just discovered she’d been fawning over the very man—a lowly clerk—that she’d scolded Annis for dancing with.

“This is outrageous behavior, sir!” her aunt shouted, glaring at Henry.

“Yes, it is. And I apologize.” Henry’s lips twitched slightly. “Although I assure you that the real Colin Parker—my employee—is unmarried and the son of an eminently respectable country vicar.”

Annis winced at Susanna’s wail.