Page 39 of The Language of Love

“What are your plans now that you’ve returned to England… Henry?”

His powerful shoulder shrugged slightly under her hand. “I’m only temporarily serving as his lordship’s secretary. I have a letter of introduction to a gentleman at the Company headquarters.”

“You will stay in London?”

“I might.”

“You said you had family here, but you won’t be visiting them?”

Something unreadable flickered across his face. “They are distant relatives.”

“Ah.” They danced for a moment in silence, Annis unable to pull her gaze away from their feet. They were moving in such perfect harmony; it was quite mesmerizing.

“What about you, Annis? Will you be vising your grandmother anytime soon?”

“No, probably not until after—” Annis bit her lip, catching the words I get betrothed or married.

“After?”

“What is it you will do for the Company?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“Move piles of paper from one side of a desk to the other.”

Annis looked up at his words.

“There, I knew that would get you to look at me, rather than my feet.”

Her face heated, and she knew her pale skin would be splotchy and red.

“What were you thinking about, Annis?”

“I was wishing this dance wouldn’t end.”

Bother and blast! Now why did I say that?

His eyes widened, and his hand tightened.

“I just meant that I love the waltz and dance it so infrequently,” she clarified.

He nodded, a faint smile on his lips.

And then the music swelled, and the loveliest waltz Annis had ever danced was over.

***

Henry’s face hurt; he’d not smiled so much in years. His odd little dance partner was utterly enchanting, her bunny hopping manner of conversation adorable and invigorating. A man would never know what Annis Bowman might say next.

He was still smiling as he led Annis into the room where tables were set up for supper, a massive banquet along one wall groaning beneath enough food to feed a village for a month.

Henry led Annis toward the table where Avington and Lady Sedgwick sat.

The earl stood as they approached. “You ladies relax; Parker and I will be your servants.”

“The duchess is not stinting, is she?” Avington asked beneath his breath as he and Henry took their places in front of the crowded buffet, where liveried footmen loaded plates at the guests’ direction.

“Not all balls are like this one?” Henry asked, gesturing to the opulent excess of rich food, thousands of candles, huge potted plants, and almost suffocating floral displays.

“I don’t recall anything quite this luxurious,” Avington admitted. He nodded at the footman who approached them and said to Henry. “What do you think, Parker? A sampling of all the dishes?”