What Happens in London Read Online Free PDF Page A

What? ” This, from everyone.
    “And you’re only just mentioning this now?” Anne added, with great disbelief.
    Philomena waved her off. “My brother told me. He and Julian are great friends.”
    “What happened?” Mary asked.
    “That was the part I couldn’t get very clearly,” Philomena admitted. “Robert was somewhat vague.”
    “Men never recall the correct details,” Olivia said, thinking of her own twin brother, Winston. He was worthless for gossip, just worthless.
    Philomena nodded. “Robert came home, and he was in quite a state. Rather…er…disheveled.”
    They all nodded. They all had brothers.
    “He could barely stand upright,” Philomena continued. “And he stank to high heaven.” She waved her hand in front of her nose. “I had to help him get past the drawing room so Mama wouldn’t see him.”
    “Then he is now in your debt,” Olivia said, always thinking.
    Philomena nodded. “Apparently they were out and about, doing whatever it is men do, and Julian was a bit, er…”
    “Soused?” Anne put in.
    “He frequently is,” Olivia added.
    “Yes. Which stands to reason, given my brother’s condition when he returned home.” Philomena paused, her brow wrinkling as if she were considering something—but then, just as quickly, it was gone, and she continued, “He said that Julian did nothing out ofthe ordinary, and then there was Sir Harry, practically tearing him apart from limb to limb.”
    “Was there blood?” Olivia asked.
    “Olivia!” Mary scolded.
    “It’s a pertinent question.”
    “I do not know if there was blood,” Philomena said, a bit officiously.
    “I would think so,” Olivia mused. “What with limbs being torn off.”
     
    Limbs I would least mind doing without, in descending order By Olivia Bevelstoke (all limbs currently intact)
     
    No, forget that one. She wiggled her toes in her slippers reassuringly.
    “He does have a blackened eye,” Philomena continued.
    “Sir Harry?” Anne asked.
    “Julian Prentice. Sir Harry might have a blackened eye. I would not know. I’ve never seen him.”
    “I saw him two days ago,” Mary said. “He did not have a blackened eye.”
    “Did he look at all impaired?”
    “No. Lovely as ever. All in black, though. It’s very curious.”
    “All?” Olivia pressed.
    “Most. White shirt and cravat. But still—” Mary flipped a hand through the air, as if she just could not accept the possibility of it. “It’s as if he’s in mourning.”
    “Perhaps he is,” Anne said, jumping on that. “For the fiancée!”
    “The one he killed?” Philomena asked.
    “He didn’t kill anyone!” Olivia exclaimed.
    “How do you know?” the other three said in unison.
    Olivia would have answered, but it occurred to her that she didn’t know. She’d never clapped eyes on the man, never even heard a whisper about him until this afternoon. But still, common sense was surely on her side. The killing of one’s fiancée sounded far too much like one of those gothic novels Anne and Mary were always reading.
    “Olivia?” someone said.
    She blinked, realizing that she’d been silent for a beat too long. “It’s nothing,” she said, giving her head a little shake. “Just thinking.”
    “About Sir Harry,” Anne said, a little smugly.
    “It’s not as if I’ve been given the opportunity to think of anything else,” Olivia muttered.
    “What would you rather be thinking about?” Philomena asked.
    Olivia opened her mouth to speak, then realized she hadn’t a clue how to answer. “Anything,” she finally said. “Almost anything.”
    But her curiosity had been piqued. And Olivia Frances Bevelstoke’s curiosity was a formidable thing indeed.
     
    The girl in the house to the north was watching him again. She’d been doing it for the better part of a week now. At first Harry had thought nothing of it. She was the daughter of the Earl of Rudland, for God’s sake, or if not that, then some sort of relation—if she were a