Page 24 of The Language of Love

She curtsied with impeccable grace when she approached them; she was a lovely woman, but far too cool and reserved for Henry’s taste.

“Good evening my lord, Mr. Parker.”

They exchanged greetings and bows before the countess turned to Colin, her eyes widening slightly when she took in his salmon pink waistcoat, which was embroidered with small black dogs.

Henry had accompanied Colin to Bond Street to purchase appropriate clothing—far nicer garments than Henry was currently sporting—so he did not know where Colin had purchased the waistcoat, but the result was… startling, to say the least.

“What an unusual waistcoat, my lord,” Lady Sedgwick said.

Colin grinned. “Isn’t it?” He stepped so close to the countess that she had to step back to avoid having her slippers crushed. “See here,” he said, plucking at the skin-tight garment as if he could pull it closer to her. “It’s dogs—little black dogs! Is that terribly cunning?”

The countess opened her mouth to answer, but Colin was caught up in the excitement of the moment.

“I used to have a dog who looked just like these. A fine little terrier. Sniffer, we called him because he liked to sniff things. He was a bang-up ratter and once almost won a ratting contest, but when he got excited, he had the unfortunate habit of pis—” His eyes slewed to Henry.

Henry frowned and gave an imperceptible shake of his head to indicate that a pissing, rat-killing dog was not an appropriate topic for ballroom conversation.

Colin, in a show of willful independence, plowed ahead. “Er, that’s to say Sniffer would urinate all over himself, and anything else that might be around him. He urinated on the judge’s boot and was disqualified. Unfairly, I thought, as he had over forty rats chalked up.” He rocked on his heels, visibly pleased with himself for finishing his story.

The countess stared.

Henry cleared his throat. “You look lovely this evening, my lady.”

Lady Sedgwick wrenched her gaze from Colin. “Thank you, Mr. Parker.”

“Yes, lovely, and stunning,” Colin chimed in. “Spiffing! Bang up to the nines. Like a—”

“Thank you for your tailor recommendation, my lady,” Henry hastily cut in.

The countess stared pointedly at Colin’s waistcoat as if to say, Too bad you didn’t take my recommendation. And then she swept Henry’s person with her piercing gray gaze. Once again, he could almost hear her thoughts: Lord Rotherhithe must like his friend and secretary a great deal to be seen with him in such humble finery.

In keeping with his menial status, Henry—who had worn only the best clothing for years—was currently dressed like the clerk/secretary he was supposed to be.

Lady Sedgwick appeared to collect herself and recall why she was standing beside a buffoon and his servant. “There is a great deal of curiosity about you,my lord.”

Indeed, Henry could feel dozens of eyes upon them—or on Colin, rather.

Colin did not appear to have heard her, his attention seized by a voluptuous auburn-haired woman whose low-cut bodice must surely skim her nipples.

“I say,” Colin murmured in a tone thick with awe. “Those are quite the largest—”

“His lordship is all agog to meet everyone. Isn’t that right, my lord?” Henry asked in an overly loud voice.

But Colin was leaning over to catch a glimpse down the woman’s bodice and had no attention to spare on anything else.

Henry could have tipped him over with one finger and was seriously tempted to do so.

The countess’s lips twitched. Ah, so even she was not impervious to the ridiculous man.

She turned her attention to Henry. “And how are you finding things at Berkley Square, Mr. Parker?”

“Drafty, cavernous, inconvenient, freezing, moldy.”

If his critical assessment of his employer’s abode surprised her, she did not show it. “I believe it has been some time since anyone occupied the house,” she said. “I understand the late earl—not his lordship’s cousin, but his uncle—never came to town and chose not to lease the house.”

No, his uncle had been quite the muttonhead in matters of business—and proud of his ignorance, too. Uncle Robert would have viewed leasing the house a shameful admission of poverty. And so he had neither occupied nor rented it, and the house had fallen into disrepair. His son, Charles, had been just as foolishly proud, and even poorer.

“Yes,” Henry agreed, “it has stood vacant for over nearly four decades. Isn’t that right, my lord?”