Page 13 of The Language of Love

“The last earl died almost two years ago, Miss Bowman.” Henry cut Colin a narrow-eyed look. And the new one might not make it home tonight.

“The Rotherhithe name is both ancient and revered,” she said.

Colin’s brows plunged like two ferrets diving off a cliff. “Er, is it?” He slid Henry a frantic look. “Fancy you knowing such a thing.”

Henry smiled at the woman, but she was staring fixedly at Colin. “It’s not so unusual, my lord. After all, everyone has heard of the Stoke Relics.”

Colin’s jaw sagged. For once, the other man’s ignorance was Henry’s fault. He’d not mentioned the damned relics because he had no intention of ever bothering to see the blasted things.

The silence stretched.

“You are correct, Miss Bowman,” Henry said. “The Stoke Relics are a national treasure. And yes, the title is ancient. I was refreshing my memory with a copy of the peerage in his lordship’s library and it seems the first Baron Rotherhithe was created during Henry VIII’s reign. The family became well known for their ships, and, of course, their dockland.”

Miss Bowman’s frown eased, and she gave Henry a nod of approval.

He couldn’t help preening, just a little.

“Rotherhithe is an Anglo-Saxon word,” she said.

It was Henry’s turn to be baffled. “Er, is it? How interesting. I did not know.”

“Do you know the meaning of your new name, my lord?” she asked Colin.

Colin leaned back, as if she’d poked him in the chest with something sharp. “Uh. I just thought it had to do with the docks and such.”

“Yes, of course, that is true. But all names have an origin, you know.”

“They do?” Colin stared apprehensively at the slight, but persistent, female, as if he were about to be quizzed by a housemaster.

“Rotherhithe means, landing place for cattle.”

Colin’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Henry was impressed that Miss Bowman had reduced the normally garrulous man to stupefaction.

But he decided it was time to rescue his employee. “Anglo-Saxon? What an interesting piece of information. Tell me, Miss Bowman, do you speak, er, Anglo-Saxon?”

Before she could answer, Lady Sedgwick rejoined them. “Lord Rotherhithe and Mr. Parker have only just arrived from India, Annis,” the countess told her friend as she sat beside Miss Bowman, gracefully settling her lavender skirt, which was—Henry couldn’t help noticing—elegantly cut but made of cheap muslin.

Miss Bowman’s eyes opened wider, which Henry hadn’t thought possible.

“Oh, India, how wonderful.” She smiled, which made Henry notice the rest of her face, and not just those eyes. A small, coral-pink mouth curled up at the corners and above it was a straight little nose that was perfectly in proportion to her heart-shaped face. But both features were utterly cast in the shade by the enormous blue orbs above them.

“I should love to go to India,” she said, annihilating Henry’s usually razor-sharp wits with her cerulean gaze before she aimed it at Colin.

Henry felt dazzled, as if he’d just smacked his head on a low lintel.

“Er, you would?” Colin asked, visibly betwattled

“Oh, yes! What a fascinating collection of dialects and languages.” A slight flush crept across her pale cheeks as she leaned toward Colin, her posture one of barely contained excitement. “Languages are something of a passion for me, my lord. Tell me, do you speak Urdu, Sanskrit, Telugu, or any of the other languages?”

Colin’s jaw sagged. “Me? Lord no, I can barely speak English!” He chortled and then stopped when he saw nobody else was laughing with him. He pressed his lips into a straight, serious line. “Ah, yes, languages,” he said, his voice dropping at least an octave. “Hmm, well, I do know a few words in some language or other—I can’t quite recall which one—at least enough to say, ‘this tea is bloody strong,’ and ‘what the devil is that dreadful stench?’”

Henry looked from his chuckling employee to his aghast audience. “His lordship is jesting,” he assured them. “He is quite conversant with several dialects and speaks fluent Urdu after almost two decades of living and doing business in India.”

Colin blinked, and Henry knew the handsome sapskull had once again forgotten who he was supposed to be.

This bloody charade would be over before it even began.