What Happens in London

“It really couldn’t have been worse,” she murmured.

“This should be made into Russian,” the prince said. “It would be very much a success.”

“I thought you said your literature had a deeper tradition,” Olivia said.

“This is very deep,” he replied. “As a trench.”

“Shall I begin the next chapter?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes!” came the resounding response.

“Oh, please,” begged one of the maids.

Olivia still stood unmoving, only her eyes darting back and forth. As splendid as Sebastian’s performance was, she was not sure she could sit through an entire chapter of it without laughing. Which would not endear her to… well…anyone. She certainly didn’t want to fall into Huntley’s disfavor. Everyone knew he ran the house.

Maybe this meant she could slip away. She still hadn’t had breakfast. And she hadn’t finished with the newspaper, either. If Sebastian was entertaining all of the guests (and the household staff, too, but Olivia was willing to overlook this), then she could escape to the breakfast room and read.

Or maybe go shopping. She did need a new hat.

She was pondering her options when Vladimir suddenly spoke. In Russian, of course.

“He says you should have been on the stage,” Alexei said to Sebastian.

Sebastian gave a pleased smile and bowed in Vladimir’s direction. “Spasibo,” he said, thanking him.

“You speak Russian?” the prince said, turning sharply in Sebastian’s direction.

“Only the very basics,” Sebastian quickly replied. “I can say thank you in fourteen languages. Alas, please in but twelve.”

“Really?” Olivia asked, far more interested in this than the Miss Butterworth recitation. “Which languages?”

“I also find it useful to know ‘I need a drink,’” Sebastian said to the prince.

“Da,” he said approvingly. “In Russian, it is Ya nuzhdayus v napitkyeh.”

“Spasibo,” Sebastian replied.

“No, really,” Olivia said, even though no one was paying her any attention. “I want to know which languages.”

“Does anyone know what time it is?” Harry asked.

“There’s a clock on the mantel,” Olivia said without looking at him. “Mr. Grey,” she persisted.

“One moment,” he said to her, before turning back to the prince. “I am very curious about your servant,” he said. “He does not speak English, does he? How did he follow the recitation?”

The prince and Vladimir shared a quick conversation in Russian, and then the prince turned back to Sebastian and said, “He says that he can follow the emotion in your voice.”

Sebastian looked delighted.

“And also he knows a few words,” the prince added.

“Still,” Sebastian murmured.

“Portuguese,” Olivia said, wondering if anyone planned to pay her any attention that afternoon. “You must have learned some Portuguese in the army. How do you say ‘thank you’ in Portuguese?”

“Obrigado,” Harry said.

She turned to him with some surprise.

He gave a little shrug. “I learned a bit, too.”

“Obrigado,” she repeated.

“Obrigada for you,” he said. “Not that you are likely to be mistaken for a man.”

It was not the most resounding of compliments, but she decided to take it, nonetheless.

“What is the strangest language you can thank people in?” she asked Sebastian.

He thought about that for a moment, then said, “Koszonom.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“Magyar,” he said, and at her blank expression added, “It’s spoken in parts of Hungary.”

“Why do you know that?”

“I have no idea,” he said.

“It was a woman,” the prince said knowingly. “If you don’t remember, it was a woman.”

Olivia decided it was not worth the effort to feel insulted for that.

“Kiitos,” Prince Alexei said, giving Sebastian a top that sort of look, before adding, “Finnish.”

“My heartfelt thanks to you,” Sebastian said. “My repertoire now numbers fifteen.”

Olivia thought about saying merci, but decided she’d only look desperate.

“What can you do?” the prince asked Harry.

“Yes, Harry,” Sebastian said. “What can you do?”

Harry gave his cousin a cool look, then answered, “I’m afraid I’ve got nothing out of the ordinary.”

Olivia had the feeling that there had been some sort of unspoken conversation between the two cousins, but she was not given the opportunity to consider it further, because Sebastian turned back to the prince and asked, “How does one say ‘please’ in Finnish?”

“Ole hyva.”

“Excellent.” He nodded once, apparently tucking the small piece of knowledge into the back of his mind. “One never knows when one might come across a lovely lady from Finland.”

Olivia was wondering how she might possibly regain control of her drawing room, when she heard a knock at the front door. Huntley immediately excused himself to go answer it.

He returned moments later with a young man she had never met. Although…a little taller than average, dark brown hair…He was almost certainly-

“Mr. Edward Valentine,” Huntley announced. He raised his brows. “Here to see Sir Harry Valentine.”

“Edward,” Harry said immediately, standing up. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Edward replied, looking awkwardly about the room. He clearly had not expected so many people. He handed Harry an envelope. “This came for you. I was told it was urgent.”

Harry took the envelope and placed it in his coat pocket, then introduced his brother to everyone in the room, even the three housemaids, who were still sitting in a neat little row on the settee.

“Why is Seb standing on a table?” Edward asked.

“Entertaining the troops,” Sebastian replied, saluting him.

“Sebastian was reading from Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron,” Harry explained.

“Oh,” Edward exclaimed, his face lighting with enthusiasm for the first time since he’d entered the room. “I’ve read that.”

“Did you like it?” Sebastian asked.

“Brilliant. Great fun. The writing is a bit spotty in places, but the story is fantastic.”

Sebastian seemed to find that very interesting. “Fantastic good, or fantastic like fantasy?”

“A bit of both, I suppose,” Edward replied. He looked about the room. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Olivia opened her mouth to say, “Of course not,” but she was beaten to the punch by Sebastian, Harry, and the prince.

Really, whose home was this?

Edward looked over at her-it was interesting, he looked nothing like Harry save for the coloring, which was identical-and said, “Er, do you plan to come in, Lady Olivia?”

She realized that she was still standing near the doorway. All the rest of the gentlemen were sitting down, but it was unlikely that Edward, who had only just met her, would do so while she still stood.

“Actually, I thought I might go out to the garden,” she said, her voice trailing off when she realized that no one was protesting her departure. “Or I’ll sit down.”

She found a seat off to the side, not so far from the three maids, who gave her nervous looks.

“Please,” she said to them, “stay. I couldn’t possibly ask you to miss the rest of the performance.”

They thanked her with such devotion that Olivia could only wonder how she would explain this to her mother. If