Julia Quinn - What Happens in London

Olivia made no further comment, purposefully trying to extend the moment into awkwardness. Perhaps he would take the hint and leave. Anybody with sense knew that conversation was impossible between two ladies on a bench and a gentleman on horseback. Her neck was already beginning to cramp from looking so far up.

She reached up and rubbed the side of her neck, hoping he would take the hint. But then-because clearly everyone was against her, even herself-she had an extremely ill-timed burst of memory. About her imaginary boils. And the plague. Of the bubonic variety. And heaven help her, she laughed.

Except she couldn’t laugh, not with Mary sitting right next her and Sir Harry looking down his arrogant nose, so she clamped her mouth shut. Except that sent the air through her nose, and she snorted. Most inelegantly. And that tickled.

Which made her laugh for real.

“Olivia?” Mary asked.

“It’s nothing,” she said, waving her hand at Mary as she turned the other way, trying to cover her face. “Really.”

Sir Harry said nothing, thank God. Although it was probably only because he thought her insane.

But Mary-now she was a different story, and she never knew when to let go. “Are you sure, Olivia, because-”

Olivia still looked down into her shoulder, because somehow she knew she’d laugh anew if she didn’t. “I just thought of something, that is all.”

“But-”

Amazingly, Mary stopped pestering her.

Olivia would have been relieved, except that it seemed highly unlikely that Mary might suddenly develop tact and sense. And indeed, she was proved correct, because Mary hadn’t cut herself off out of any sympathy for Olivia. She’d cut herself off because-

“Oh, look, Olivia! It’s your brother.”

Harry had been planning to head home. It was his custom to take an early-morning ride, even in town, and he’d been just about ready to exit the park when he spied Lady Olivia sitting on a bench. He found this sufficiently intriguing to stop and be introduced to her friend, but after a few moments of idle chatter, he decided he didn’t find either one of them sufficiently intriguing to keep him from his work.

Especially since Lady Olivia Bevelstoke was the reason he’d fallen so far behind in the first place.

She’d ceased spying upon him, that was true, but the damage was done. Every time he sat at his desk, he could feel her eyes upon him, even though he knew very well she’d shut her curtains tight. But clearly, reality had very little to do with the matter, because all he had to do, it seemed, was glance at her window, and he lost an entire hour’s work.

It happened thus: He looked at the window, because it was there, and he couldn’t very well never happen to glance upon it unless he also shut his curtains tight, which he was not willing to do, given the amount of time he spent in his office. So he saw the window, and he thought of her, because, really, what else would he think of upon seeing her bedroom window? At that point, annoyance set in, because A) she wasn’t worth the energy, B) she wasn’t even there, and C) he wasn’t getting any work done because of her.

C always led into a bout of even deeper irritation, this time directed at himself, because D) he really ought to have better powers of concentration, E) it was just a stupid window, and F) if he was going to get agitated about a female, it ought to be one he at least liked.

F was where he generally let out a loud growl and forced himself to get back to his translation. It usually worked for a minute or two, and then he’d look back up, and happen to see the window, and the whole bloody nonsense cycled back to the beginning.

Which was why, when he saw the look of utter dread cross Lady Olivia Bevelstoke’s face at the mention of her brother, he decided that no, he did not need to get back to work just yet. After all the annoyance she had caused him, he was looking forward to watching her experience similar pain.

“Have you met Olivia’s brother, Sir Harry?” Miss Cadogan asked.

Harry swung himself down from his mount; it seemed he would be here for a while. “I have not had the pleasure.”

Lady Olivia’s face assumed a decidedly sour mien at his use of the word “pleasure.”

“He is her twin brother,” Miss Cadogan continued, “recently down from university.”

Harry turned to Lady Olivia and said, “I did not realize you were a twin.”

She shrugged.

“Has your brother completed his studies?” he asked.

She nodded curtly.

He almost shook his head at her attitude. She really was quite an unfriendly female. It was a shame she was so pretty. She did not deserve the good fortune of her looks. Harry rather thought she ought to have a large wart on her nose.

“He might be acquainted with my brother, then,” Harry commented. “They would be of an age.”

“Who is your brother?” Miss Cadogan asked.

Harry told them a bit about Edward, stopping a moment before Lady Olivia’s brother arrived. He was on foot, walking by himself, with the loose-limbed gait of a young man. He looked rather like his sister, Harry noticed. His blond hair was several shades darker, but the bright eyes were precisely the same, both in color and shape.

Harry bowed; so did Mr. Bevelstoke.

“Sir Harry Valentine, my brother, Mr. Winston Bevelstoke; Winston, Sir Harry.”

Said by Lady Olivia with a stunning lack of interest or inflection.

“Sir Harry,” Winston said politely. “I am acquainted with your brother.”

Harry didn’t recognize him, but he supposed young Bevelstoke was one of Edward’s many acquaintances. He’d met most of them here and there; most were entirely unmemorable.

“You are our new neighbor, I understand,” Winston said.

Harry acknowledged this with a murmur and nod.

“To the south.”

“Indeed.”

“I’ve always liked that house,” Winston said. Or rather, pontificated. It certainly sounded as if he were about to take the statement on a grand journey. “Brick, is it not?”

“Winston,” Olivia said impatiently, “you know very well it’s brick.”

“Well, yes,” he said, with an offhanded wave, “or at least I was moderately certain. I don’t often pay attention to those things, and, as you know, my bedroom faces the other direction.”

Harry felt a smile creeping along his lips. This could only get better.

Winston turned to Harry and said, for no apparent reason other than to torture his sister, “Olivia’s room faces the south.”

“Does it now?”

Olivia looked as if she might-

“It does,” Winston confirmed, putting a halt to Harry’s speculation on what Lady Olivia might or might not do. But he was thinking that spontaneous combustion was not outside the realm of possibility.

“You’ve probably seen her window,” Winston went on. “You really couldn’t miss it. It’s-”

“Winston.”

Harry actually stepped back an inch or two. It looked as if there might be violence. And despite Winston’s greater height and weight, he rather thought he’d put his money on his sister.

“I am sure Sir Harry is not interested in a floor plan of our home,” Olivia bit off.

Winston stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I wasn’t thinking of a floor plan so much as an elevation.”

Harry turned back to Olivia. He was not sure he had ever seen such well-controlled fury. It was impressive.

“It’s so nice to see you this morning, Winston,” Miss Cadogan put in, quite possibly oblivious to the familial tension. “Are you often out and about this early?”

“No,” he replied. “Mother sent me to fetch Olivia.”

Miss Cadogan smiled brightly and returned her attention to Harry. “Then it seems you are the only regular morning visitor here in the park. I, too, came looking for Olivia. We haven’t had a chance to chat for ages. She has been ill, you know.”

“I did not know,” Harry said. “I hope you are feeling better.”

“Winston was also ill,” Olivia said. She offered a frightening smile. “Much sicker than I.”

“Oh, no!” Miss Cadogan gushed. “I am so sorry to hear that.” She turned to Winston with great concern. “Had I known, I would have brought you a tincture.”

“I shall be sure to inform you next time he falls ill,” Olivia told her. She turned to Harry, lowered her voice, and said, “It happens more often that we would like. It’s very distressing.” And then, down to a whisper: “He was born that way.”

Miss Cadogan rose to her feet, all of her attention on Winston. “Are you feeling better now? I must say, you look a bit peaked.”

Harry thought he looked the picture of health.

“I’m fine,” Winston bit off, his ire clearly directed at his sister, who was still sitting on the bench, looking extremely satisfied with her recent accomplishments.

Miss Cadogan looked past him to Olivia, who was shaking her head, mouthing, “He’s not.”

“I will definitely bring you that tincture,” Miss Cadogan said. “It tastes a bit foul, but our housekeeper swears by it. And I insist that you return home at once. It’s chilly out.”

“It’s really not necessary,” Winston protested.

“I was planning to return soon, anyway,” Miss Cadogan put in, proving that young Bevelstoke was no match for the combined might of two determined women. “You may escort me.”

“Do inform Mother that I shall be back momentarily,” Olivia said sweetly.

Her brother glared at her, but he had clearly been outmaneuvered, and so he took Miss Cadogan’s arm and led her away.

“Well played, Lady Olivia,” Harry said admiringly, once the others were out of earshot.

She gave him a bored look. “You are not the only gentleman I find irritating.”

There was no way he could ignore a comment like that, so he sat beside her, plopping right down into the spot recently vacated by Miss Cadogan. “Anything interesting?” he asked, motioning toward her newspaper.