Page 150 of The Language of Love

Annis raised a hand to her mouth to cover her gasp.

“Jenkins treated me kindly—if distantly. I’d always assumed that any lack of sentimentality on her part was because I was a duty to her.” He snorted. “It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I learned differently.”

Henry still shied from thinking about that morning ten days earlier, when Jenkins’s words had opened a very old wound.

“Jenkins told me that my uncle had threatened her against showing me any affection.”

“Dear God,” Annis whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek.

Henry didn’t tell her how Jenkins had wept when she’d confessed the truth to him. Or how she’d dropped to her knees beside his chair, taken his hand, and begged for his forgiveness.

“I was weak and afraid, Henry,” she’d cried, her forehead pressed hard against his fingers. “You were just a scared little boy and instead of loving you, I let fear keep me at a distance.” She’d sobbed so badly her words were almost unintelligible. “I’d lost my own baby only a few years before taking the job with the earl. My husband and little Tommy both died within a few months of each other. When your uncle gave you to me, it was like my prayers had been answered: a boy of my own to love.”

She had looked up at him then, her eyes anguished and red-rimmed. “I don’t blame you if you hate me. But… I was so afraid. You see, his lordship t-told me he’d take you away if I coddled you. He’s a bastard, Jenkins—he’ll need to learn how to earn his way. Babying him will only make his life harder.” She’d given a half-hysterical laugh. “You were just a child. I should have stolen you away—we could have hidden somewhere; he wouldn’t have come for you. I’m sure of that now. But I was weak.” Tears had rolled down her cheeks. “Can you ever forgive me… my lord?”

What else could a man do when faced with a kneeling, weeping woman? So, Henry had lied. “There is nothing to forgive, Mrs. Jenkins,” he’d said, helping her to her feet. “You did your best in the face of my uncle’s vindictiveness. You took care of me and were always kind.” That was all true, but Henry feared he would always harbor a certain resentment toward her. Or perhaps resentment was too strong a word. Reserve would be better. He wasn’t angry with her, but he still felt the echoes of betrayal when he looked at her.

Henry realized Annis was staring at him and shook himself.

“Jenkins did her best to see that I was fed, clothed, and cared for.”

“She loves you, Henry. I can see it on her face—in her eyes—when she looks at you.”

Henry shrugged off her words and continued, “I have often wondered why my uncle didn’t pack me off to a workhouse and can only guess he knew what opprobrium such an action would have brought down on his head. As it was, I rarely saw him. I grew up underfoot in the kitchen. The servants were not cruel to me, but nobody wanted to show me too much kindness and draw the wrath of the master.”

He finished his wine and replenished his glass before resuming his tale. “Charles took his cue from his father, and Julia and Edmund followed Charles. The townsfolk and farmers in the area followed my uncle’s lead as well.

“I was fortunate to grow large and strong and I learned early on how to fight. But even the largest boy cannot succeed against four or five or more attackers.”

He met her horrified expression with a wry smile. “My tormentors were inventive and persistent. I once spent four days trapped in an abandoned mine; another time five boys ambushed me in the woods and I ended up with a broken wrist and collarbone; once they tied me to a tree in a pasture, where I was gored by a bull—that scar I still bear on my leg, and I’m fortunate it was not far worse. Those are the ones I remember well, but there were dozens of other episodes.”

“But… why?” she asked, utterly stunned by such cruelty.

“I was like a stray dog that was amusing to kick and bait when there was nothing better to do. Bullying, it is well known, is a group sport and there were few who resisted the urge to join in the entertainment.”

He swirled the wine in his glass and stared at it. “Life got better when Charles and Edmund, both a year older, went away to school. When they left, even the village boys were less aggressive. And so, for months at a stretch, I could live without the constant fear of violence.”

Dark humor glinted in his eyes. “Best of all, when they were gone, Julia would be kind to me. In fact, she would seek me out—because of boredom—and we became… playmates. She, too, had to hide any time we spent together from my uncle.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I daresay you can guess what happened next. I was a foolish, lonely boy, and I fell in love with her. She led me a merry dance for a few months, until one night, not long after my cousins came back for the summer break, Julia invited me into her chambers.”

“It was a trap,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“Indeed, it was. My cousins raced bravely to the rescue of the damsel in distress, and my uncle accused me of attempted rape. My options were simple: jail or India.” He gave a bitter laugh. “History had repeated itself, in a way. Except I left Stoke alone at sixteen, not with a pregnant lover and a property deed in my hand. I was damned fortunate that my father’s business partner, Jitesh, is an honorable man. He took me in, taught me the business, and signed over the half that had belonged to my father. If not for Jitesh—well, I don’t like to think about it.”

His eyes settled on her finally. “So, you see why there is no love lost.”

Her blue eyes were fiery, like the center of a flame. “I wouldn’t forgive them either,” she bit out, her flaring nostrils making her resemble a tiny, adorable bull.

Henry gave a startled bark of laughter at her fury.

“I am not speaking in jest,” she insisted. “What they did to you is a crime. And you see these same people over your dinner table and whenever you go into town. A town that is benefitting from your largesse. I would let them all starve!”

A warm rush of pleasure flowed through him at her words. “Ah, my champion,” he teased.

But she wasn’t smiling. Instead, she was breathing roughly, her chin wobbling, her cheeks darkly flushed.

“Lord, what is wrong, Annis? It was a long, long time ago. You needn’t—”

“There is something I need to tell you, Henry.”

Ah, was this it?

She cleared her throat, looking everywhere but at him.

“Annis—”

“Please don’t be kind to me,” she begged. “I can’t—just…” She sprang to her feet. When Henry made to follow suit, she shook her head. “Please, just sit and listen. I need to pace to tell you this story.”