Page 8 of The Language of Love

“I was the orphaned son of my uncle’s disgraced, dead younger brother. The earl cast my father out of the house—out of the family—and told him never to return.” He smiled unpleasantly. “So, I’m sure you can imaginehow thrilled his lordship was to have me dropped on his doorstep a mere five years later, after my father died. Are you following me, my lord?”

“Yes, P-Parker.”

“The earl didn’t send me to school like he did his son, Charles, or my other cousin Edmund. In fact, I didn’t step foot out of bloody Yorkshire from the day I arrived there at barely five until I left it at sixteen. For the entire eleven years, 8 months, three weeks, and two days that I lived with my uncle he never introduced me to anyone outside the family,” again he spat the word. “Indeed, he never publicly acknowledged me as his nephew. I spent the entirety of my childhood living in the servant hall, under the care of Mrs. Jenkins, his housekeeper.”

In retrospect, that might have been the only kind thing his uncle ever did for him. While Mrs. Jenkins had never loved him, she had never been cruel to him. She had merely treated Henry as another of her duties rather than a child requiring love and affection. His treatment at her hands had been far kinder than anything he’d received from his uncles and aunts, his cousins, or his uncle’s lovely ward, Lady Julia Tybald.

Lady Julia. Henry snorted. He’d met back-alley robbers who behaved in a more ladylike fashion than the former love of his life.

Thoughts of the duke’s daughter who’d once broken his heart, ground it under her dainty foot, and then driven a stake through it made Henry more determined than ever to enjoy a little entertainment at the expense of the ton.

Henry continued his pitiful tale, “I grew up in the servants’ quarters, played with servants’ children, and associated only with servants and farm laborers until the day I left. So, my lord, unless some lads from the stables—or perhaps the kitchen wench who relieved me of my troublesome virginity when I was fourteen—pop up in a London ballroom, I doubt I’ll have to worry about running into anyone I know.”

Colin looked like he might weep and Henry cursed himself for terrifying the poor man, who’d be a useless, nervous wreck if Henry could not curb his temper when he spoke to him.

“Take a deep breath, my lord—take several.”

Colin obeyed. Once he’d finished, he opened his mouth, but then closed it again.

“Ask me questions if you need to,” Henry encouraged. “Now is the time.”

“So… you’re doing all this just for a lark?”

“I’m not engaging in this deception solely for amusement.” Although that motivation—as immature as it was—was certainly a big part of it.

“Oh?”

Henry ground his teeth, hating that he had to admit this next part. “I’m also doing it because I wish—no,” he corrected, “because I need to marry.”

“But… er, wouldn’t more women want to marry you if they knew you were a downy lord?”

For once, poor Colin made sense.

“While that is certainly true, it is also true that many would want to marry me only because I’m a rich peer. I’m being forced to marry, but at least I’d like to marry a woman who isn’t a fortune hunter.”

Colin nodded, but Henry could see that he still didn’t understand.

“I’m engaging in this farce because nobody pays attention to servants or what they say in front of them.” Something Henry knew well from personal experience. “I will learn more about the ladies and gentlemen of the ton as a servant—from other servants and from listening in on masters and mistresses—than I ever would as a feted and petted wealthy lord.” He briefly showed his teeth. “I don’t have high hopes of finding a wife in this aristocratic snake pit, but if there is a decent woman lurking in the ton, this deception is the best way to ferret her out.”

Henry took a deep drink of wine, set down his glass, and continued, “Stop worrying about whether anyone recognizes me, my lord. Remember, whether or not I am discovered, you’ll get your money for the entire time and a position at Leadenhall Street.”

A posting in the Company’s home office was something a man like Colin could never hope to acquire without the proper patronage—especially after being sacked from his clerk position in India. With Henry’s name and money behind him, it wouldn’t matter that Colin Parker had the wits of a turnip and the social skills of a warthog: Henry’s influence would get him a job.

Whether he could keep it would be up to him.

“Won’t these people hate you when they eventually discover how you’ve fooled them all?” Colin asked.

Henry laughed. “I sure as hell hope they do.”

“But… but why would you want such a thing?”

He didn’t bother answering the question because Colin would never understand. Instead, he said, “Yes, they will hate me, but my immense wealth will ensure they get over their revulsion quickly enough—or at least learn to hide it.” The best part of this whole escapade would be watching the exalted members of the ton swallow their distaste and toad-eat him, even after he’d made fools of them all.

Henry regarded Colin’s baffled expression and wished, yet again, that there’d been any other man he could have engaged for this unusual position. But his choices had been extremely limited. Not only had Colin been desperately in need of a job, but he was returning to England—where he was unknown in ton circles; he was thirty-three—four years Henry’s junior, but close enough; he was unattached; and he was exceedingly handsome.

That last quality wasn’t a necessity, but the man’s heroic good looks would make what Henry thought of as The Great Earl Lottery a hell of a lot more entertaining.

At first, it had amused Henry to think of releasing this handsome but clownish man upon the ton and watching their members scramble to curry his favor.