Page 53 of The Language of Love

Chapter 9

“I’m sorry—but you think Henry is who?” Annis demanded, goggling at her friend.

“Shhh,” Freddie said, glancing around at the other shoppers.

They were looking for fabric for a new dress for Freddie and the shop was crowded.

Annis sidled closer to her friend. “Why in the world would you think Mr. Parker was really the Earl of Rotherhithe?”

Freddie gestured to a bolt of fabric. “Let me purchase this and then we can talk at the tea shop down the street—that’s if you have time?”

Annis didn’t, but she’d make time. It had thrilled her when Freddie had called on her early that morning and invited her along on her errand. As luck would have it, she’d been at liberty since her aunt and cousins were still abed and wouldn’t get up until it was time to get ready for their late-afternoon function.

Annis hoped to be back at the house before they climbed from their beds, but a stop for tea would make that a tricky proposition. Still, this was some news worth getting in trouble for.

She stood off to one side of the shop as her friend handled her transaction, her mind spinning.

Henry the Earl of Rotherhithe?

After her initial surprise, it made far too much sense. The earl—or the man everyone believed was earl—was sweet, but he had no more brains than one of the bolts of fabric piled up on the tables.

And then there was their too-similar histories. And the fact that her Parker went by the Christian name of Henry, too—not that Annis had told Freddie about either of those things.

Why would he masquerade as a servant? She’d seen the way people treated him. Did he want to be mistreated?

Annis frowned and plucked at a loose thread on her glove, grimacing when she pulled out a row of stitches. “Well, bother,” she muttered. These were her best pair of gloves; now she’d have to mend them. Again.

“Ready?” Freddie was standing in front of her, holding a large brown package.

Once they were out on the street, Annis could no longer check her curiosity. “How did you find out?”

“Only by chance. Colonel Oliver and his wife—do you know them?”

“Is that the sweet old couple who—”

“Don’t always remember who they are or where they are?” Freddie finished. “Yes, the same. Did you know they lived in India for years?”

“Yes, I’ve heard my cousins complain about being bored by the Colonel’s stories.”

Freddie gave an unladylike scowl. “They would complain about such a sweet couple. It was the Olivers who exposed our dear Lord Rotherhithe’s deception at the Simpson rout and—”

“The Simpson rout? But that was weeks ago.”

“Yes, it was.” Freddie frowned. “Why?”

“Well, I just—why didn’t you tell me until now?”

“Is there some reason that I should have told you?” Before Annis could answer, she added, “Besides, I have not talked privately with you for weeks, thanks to that dreadful aunt of yours.”

Annis felt a pang of guilt at her friend’s words. She could hardly admit that she’d made time for Henry while ignoring her friends, could she?

“Now, shall I continue my fascinating tale?” Freddie teased.

“Yes, please do.”

“So, at the Simpson rout Mrs. Oliver greeted Mr. Parker as Rotherhithe. Of course, Mrs. Simpson corrected her, but Mrs. Oliver was adamant. Nobody believed her and people later made a joke of it. I made a point of sitting next to the Olivers that evening and brought up the subject again.”

They entered the tea shop and Annis had to wait on tenterhooks until after they ordered before Freddie would continue.