Page 121 of The Language of Love

After she’d washed off the travel grime, Grace tidied her hair and helped her into a lovely gown of moss-green velvet. Annis had believed the dress would be too warm for this time of year, but it would be perfect for her new home, which was damp and draughty.

She was ready with a few minutes to spare and went to look out the windows that faced west. There was a snaky glitter that must be the small river that ran alongside Stokely. She could see the roof of a largish house not too far from a little wooded area. It seemed too close to be a neighbor, so perhaps this was one of the tenants that Henry had mentioned.

She heard the door open and turned to find Henry. “Are you ready, Annis?”

His hair was damp, and he looked fresh in a clean shirt and new cravat. He smelled delicious, which meant his valet must have shaved him with his special soap.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

He held out his arm.

Annis tried to pay attention to the way they were going, but again, she lost her way after three or four turns.

Henry smiled down at her. “Will I have to draw you a map to help you find your way?”

“Probably. I have a dreadful sense of direction. Miles always said I should carry a pocketful of bread, so I could leave a trail of crumbs.”

He didn’t respond and when she glanced at him, he was staring straight ahead, his jaw tight.

Annis sighed, saddened that he was jealous because she had a male friend. She set her own jaw; she refused to give up her friends just because her new husband was jealous.

“Here we are,” he said, interrupting her unhappy thoughts and stopping in front of a wooden door with a prominent raised cross. “You will find these doors all over the house. Many were installed by the ancestor who brought back either the second or third relic. I can’t recall which one right now.”

“Are the relics kept here?” she asked, more than a little curious to see the famous objects.

“There is a special reliquary that is kept in the vault and brought out once a year on St. Oswald’s Day.”

“I’ve not heard of that celebration before.”

Henry chuckled. “I’d be astounded if you had—as far as I know, we are the only ones in Britain to celebrate it. You won’t have to wait until August fifth, however. I shall show you the relics whenever you like.” He opened the door to a charming, sun-filled room with two occupants.

Viscount Singleton and Lady Rotherhithe looked to have been sitting in silence, separated by several chairs and settees. They both smiled and stood, like automatons that had only been animated by Annis and Henry’s entrance into the room.

While the four of them waited for the tea tray, they exchanged awkward, empty conversation about the weather.

Well, it would be more accurate to say that Annis and the two others conversed while Henry watched.

“And how do you like your chambers?” the dowager asked. “Mrs. Jenkins and the maids worked day and night to get the rooms ready. I’m afraid that nobody has occupied those rooms since my husband’s mother was alive—almost forty years ago now.”

Annis smiled. “They are lovely, my lady.”

“I beg you will not stand on ceremony; you must call me Julia.”

“And please call me Edmund,” the viscount chimed in with false-sounding heartiness.

Annis smiled. “Thank you. You both must call me Annis.”

After a long, awkward silence, Henry said, “You two may call me Lord Rotherhithe or my lord.”

Edmund and Julia stared for a moment, and then Edmund laughed. After a moment, Annis and Julia joined in.

Still chortling, Edmund said, “You always did have a sharp sense of humor, Henry.”

Henry didn’t reply to his cousin.

Annis did not think her husband had been jesting.

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