What Happens in London

She pushed her window open.

“Good morning,” Harry said. He looked very solemn. Or rather, his mouth looked solemn. His eyes looked like they were up to something.

She felt her own eyes begin to twinkle. Wasn’t that odd? That she could feel it. “Good morning,” she said.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you. I think I needed time to rest.”

He nodded. “One needs time after a shock.”

“You are speaking from experience?” she asked. But she needn’t have done so; from his expression she knew that he was.

“When I was in the army.”

It was funny. Their conversation was simple, but it wasn’t flat. They weren’t awkward; they were merely warming up.

And Olivia was already feeling the first tingles of anticipation.

“I bought another copy of Miss Butterworth,” he said.

“You did?” She leaned on the ledge. “Did you finish it?”

“Indeed.”

“Does it get any better?”

“Well, she does go into surprising detail about the pigeons.”

“No.” Good heavens, she was going to finish that wretched novel. If the author actually showed the death by pigeons…well now, that was worth her time.

“No, really,” Harry said. “It turns out Miss Butterworth was witness to the sad event. She relives it in a dream.”

Olivia shuddered. “Prince Alexei is going to adore it.”

“Actually, he’s hired me to translate the entire book into Russian.”

“You’re joking!”

“No.” He gave her a look that was both sly and satisfied. “I’m working on the first chapter right now.”

“Oh, how exciting. I mean, awful, too, since you actually have to read it, but I suppose it’s a different task altogether when you’re being paid to do so.”

Harry chuckled. “It’s a change from the War Office documents, I must say.”

“Do you know, I think I would like those better.” Dull, dry facts were much more to her taste.

“You likely would,” he agreed. “But then again, you’re an odd sort of female.”

“Charming as always with the compliments, Sir Harry.”

“As I am a scholar of words, that is only to be expected.”

She realized she was grinning. She was hanging half out of her window, grinning. And she was quite happy to be there.

“Prince Alexei pays quite handsomely,” Harry added. “He feels that Miss Butterworth will be a huge success in Russia.”

“He and Vladimir certainly enjoyed it.”

Harry nodded. “It means I may retire from the War Office.”

“Is that what you wished to do?” Olivia asked. She’d only just found out about his work; she’d not got a sense as to whether he enjoyed it.

“Yes,” he replied. “I don’t think I realized just how much until these last few weeks. I’m tired of all the secrets. I enjoy translation, but if I can keep to gothic novels-”

“Lurid gothic novels,” Olivia corrected.

“Indeed,” Harry agreed. “I-oh, excuse me, our other guest has arrived.”

“Our other-” She glanced this way and that, blinking with confusion. “Someone else is here?”

“Lord Rudland,” Harry said, nodding deferentially at the window below and to the left of Olivia’s.

“Father?” Olivia looked down, startled. And perhaps a bit mortified as well.

“Olivia?” Her father poked the upper half of his body out the window, twisting awkwardly to see her. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” she admitted, the sheepishness of her tone taking an edge off her impertinence.

“I received a note from Sir Harry requesting my presence at this window.” Lord Rudland twisted back around to face Harry. “What is this about, young man? And why is my daughter hanging out of her window like a fishwife?”

“Is Mother here?” Olivia asked.

“Your mother is here, too?” her father blustered.

“No, I was just wondering, since you’re here, and-”

“Lord Rudland,” Harry interrupted, his voice loud enough to cut the both of them off, “I would like to request the honor of your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Olivia gasped, then squealed, then jumped up and down, which turned out to be a bad idea. “Ow!” she yelped, smacking her head on the window. She poked her head back out and beamed down at Harry with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Harry,” she sighed. He’d promised her a proper proposal. And here it was. Nothing could have been so splendid as this.

“Olivia?” her father asked.

She looked down, wiping at her eyes.

“Why is he asking me this through a window?”

Olivia considered the question, considered her possible answers, and decided that honesty was her best alternative. “I am fairly certain you do not wish to know the answer to that question,” she told him.

Her father closed his eyes and shook his head. She had seen that gesture before. It meant he didn’t know what to do with her. Luckily for him, she was about to be taken off his hands.

“I love your daughter,” Harry said. “And I like her very much as well.”

Olivia put her hand over her heart and squeaked. She didn’t know why she squeaked; it just came out, like a little bubble of pure joy. His words-they were quite simply the most perfect declaration of love imaginable.

“She is beautiful,” Harry went on, “so beautiful it makes my teeth ache, but that’s not why I love her.”

No, that was more perfect, aching teeth and all.

“I love that she reads the newspaper every day.”

Olivia looked down at her father. He was staring at Harry as if he’d gone mad.

“I love that she has no patience for stupidity.”

It was true, Olivia thought with a silly smile. He knew her so well.

“I love that I’m a better dancer than she is.”

Her smile disappeared, but she had to acknowledge the truth of that as well.

“I love that she’s kind to small children and large dogs.”

What? She looked at him in askance.

“I’m guessing,” he admitted. “You seem like the sort.”

She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh.

“But most of all,” Harry said, and although he was looking squarely at Olivia’s father, it felt as if he were looking at her, “I love her. I adore her. And I would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my days standing beside her as her husband.”

Olivia looked back down at her father. He was still staring at Harry with an expression of great shock.

“Father?” she asked hesitantly.

“This is highly irregular,” her father said. But he didn’t sound angry, just dazed.

“I would give my life for her,” Harry said.

“You would?” she asked, her voice small, and hopeful, and thrilled. “Oh, Harry, I-”

“Hush,” he said, “I’m talking to your father.”

“I approve,” Lord Rudland suddenly said.

Olivia’s mouth fell into an indignant O. “Because he told me to hush?”

Her father looked up. “It is indicative of uncommon good sense.”

“What?”