Page 85 of The Language of Love

“Thank you, my lord.” Colin’s hand shook as he took the glass and tossed back the contents.

Henry re-filled it without being asked and poured one for himself.

When he raised his glass in a toast, he saw that Colin’s chin was wobbling dangerously and his eyes were glassy. Like Flitwick, he looked on the verge of weeping, but, unlike the older man, he wouldn’t be crying with joy.

“What is the matter, now?” Henry snapped, and then felt even worse when Colin jolted. “Is it the damned Bowman chit?”

“I—I love her, my lord. And now she’ll never—”

“She will,” Henry assured him, not bothering to add the words, if she really cares for you. He threw back his whiskey, eyed the bottle, and then decided against a second glass.

“But—but I’ve no money, no connections, no—”

“The girl has a generous dowry and Mr. Bowman said he will not stand in your way.” He grimaced. “I can’t say the same about the mother.”

Colin winced. “Yes, Mrs. Bowman is rather—”

“Yes, yes, we are agreed on that,” Henry hastened to say, not wanting to talk about the abrasive woman.

They sat in silence for a long moment.

It was Colin who broke it. “What are you going to do now? Should I pack and—”

“You are welcome to stay here.” Henry pulled a face. “Although why you’d wish to, I do not know.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Colin looked so bloody grateful that Henry felt like an ogre.

“I’ll speak to somebody at Leadenhall Street on your behalf,” Henry assured him.

But Colin looked less than overjoyed by the prospect of a new job. Henry couldn’t blame him—the man was not clerk-material. To be honest, the only job that really suited Colin was the one he’d had for the past weeks: that of a feckless, lazy peer.

“I’ve authorized Flitwick to make any necessary repairs and hire more staff,” he added, hoping to cheer the other man out of his gloom. “That means new furnishings, a functioning kitchen, and even a cook.”

To his surprise, Colin smiled. “You’re going to fix up the old girl?”

“Yes, I guess I am.” Henry took a deep breath. “You should know that I am betrothed to Miss Annis Bowman.”

Colin goggled. “No… Are you really?”

“Yes, Colin. Really.”

His mobile features shifted into a huge grin. “Well, well, well. I never even guessed. Congratulations, you sly dog, you!” He must have recalled to whom he was speaking. “Oh, I say! I didn’t mean—”

“Thank you for your felicitations,” Henry said, firmly shutting off the flow of groveling.

A boasting Colin was bad enough. An obsequious Colin would be unbearable.

“I’ll be staying in London for the next ten days so you might as well finish out what remains of the Season, too,” Henry said, and then immediately wanted to bash his head against the marble mantlepiece for making such an absurd suggestion.

“Really?” Colin all but bounced up and down in his chair. The mournful puppy was gone and the exuberant puppy was back.

“I shouldn’t look so happy if I were you,” Henry warned. “It’s likely there won’t be much of a Season for either of us.”

Colin’s face fell. “Oh. You think people will be angry with us?”

“I daresay you’ll be safe enough from too much reprisal. As for me? Well, I shall soon find out.” Henry took out his watch and was annoyed to learn there was still plenty of time for his next errand. He replaced the watch and stood.

“Where are you going, my lord?”

“To make amends,” he said grimly. “You might as well come with me.”