Julia Quinn - What Happens in London

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? ”

“And a healthy dose of self-preservation,” Harry added.

“I like this man,” her father announced.

And then, quite suddenly, Olivia heard another window opening.

“What is going on?” It was her mother, in the drawing room, precisely three windows over from her father. “Who are you talking to?”

“Olivia is getting married, dear,” her father said.

“Good morning, Mama,” Olivia added.

Her mother looked up, blinking. “What are you doing?”

“Apparently getting married,” Olivia said, with a rather silly grin.

“To me,” Harry said, just to clarify.

“Oh, Sir Harry, er…lovely to see you again.” Lady Rudland looked over at him, blinking a few times. “I didn’t see you there.”

He nodded graciously at his future mother-in-law.

Lady Rudland turned to her husband. “She’s marrying him?”

Lord Rudland nodded. “With my heartfelt approval.”

Lady Rudland considered this for a moment, then turned back to Harry. “You may have her in four months.” She looked up at Olivia. “We have much to plan, you and I.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of four weeks,” Harry said.

Lady Rudland turned to him sharply, the index finger of her right hand pointed straight up. It was a gesture Olivia also knew quite well. It meant that the recipient was to argue at his own peril.

“You have a great deal to learn, my boy,” Lord Rudland said.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed. He motioned up to Olivia. “Don’t move.”

She waited, and a moment later he returned with a small jeweler’s box. “A ring,” he said, even though it was quite obvious. He opened the box, but Olivia was too far away to see anything but a bit of sparkle.

“Can you see it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m sure it’s lovely.”

He poked his head farther out the window, his eyes narrowing as he measured the distance. “Can you catch it?” he asked.

Olivia heard her mother gasp, but she knew there was only one suitable reply. She gazed upon her future husband with a most supercilious expression and said, “If you can throw it, I can catch it.”

He laughed. And he threw.

And she missed. On purpose.

It was better that way, she thought, when they met in the middle to search for the ring. A proper proposal deserved a proper kiss.

Or, as Harry murmured to her in full sight of both of her parents, perhaps an improper one…?

Improper, Olivia thought, as his lips touched hers. Definitely improper.

The author wishes to thank Mitch Mitchell, Boris Skyar, Molly Skyar, and Sarah Wigglesworth for their expertise in all things Russian.

JULIA QUINN started writing her first book one month after finishing college and has been tapping away at her keyboard ever since. The New York Times bestselling author of nineteen novels for Avon Books, she is a graduate of Harvard and Radcliffe Colleges and lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest. Please visit her on the web at www.juliaquinn.com .