The prologue of our tale introduces us to our hero, Sir Harry Valentine. The middle of 3 children (an elder sister and a younger brother), Harry has a strong-willed, opinionated Russian grandmother, a passive, disconnected mother and a father who is a drunk. A agreeable drunk with a bad habit of stumbling and tripping, laughing when no one else did, and throwing up with regular frequency. By the time Harry was 12, any other young child would have lost count of the number of times he'd cleaned up after his father, but he had always been a precise sort of boy, and once he'd begun his accounting, it was difficult to stop... once he'd reached 20, the issue became somewhat academic... It had to be academic. If it wasn't academic, then it would be something else, and he might find himself crying himself to sleep instead of merely staring at the ceiling as he said, "Forty-six, but with a radius quite a bit smaller than last Tuesday. Probably didn't have much for supper tonight." By the time he graduates from Hesselwhite (a reasonable rigorous academy for families without the clout to attend Eton or Harow), the count has grown to 126.
When his Aunt Anna and cousin Seb(astian) journey with him home, Harry's crossing his fingers that it won't be too late, so Aunt Anna and Seb will be satisfied with tea and he can avoid the potential scene of his father sharing mots who weren't so bon, spilling the gravy, and tearfully apologizing that he's 'tho, tho thorry.' Aunt Anna reveals that she's purchased a commission for Seb (the only person in the world he trusted, completely and absolutely... the only person who had never let Harry down). Harry's mother suggests Harry join him. Harry is planning on attending university, but when his father appears and congratulates him on his acceptance at Pembroke College, Harry blurts out that he's joining the army instead.
Our story begins in the parlor of Olivia's family's London abode. Olivia is serving tea and trading Ton gossip. One of her friends (they're not really consequential to the plot, save to get Harry on Olivia's radar) mentions the rumor that her new neighbor, Sir Harry Valentine, killed his fiancée. Sir Harry is very handsome, wears only black, and he thrashed Julian Prentice. Olivia internally rolls her eyes - The killing of one's financee sounded far too much like one of those gothic novels Anne and Mary were always reading - but her curiosity is piqued and she starts watching him.
Harry, of course, notices.
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... or if not that, then some sort of relation... And she wasn't a governess... No wife allowed a governess who liked like that into her household.
So she was almost certainly the daughter. Which meant that he had no reason to suppose she was anything other than a typically nosy society miss, the sort who thought nothing of peering at one's new neighbors. Except that she had been watching him for five days...
He'd been tempted to wave. Plaster an enormous, cheerful smile on his face and wave. That would put a halt to her spying. Except then he would never know why she was so interested. Which was unacceptable. Harry never could tolerate an unanswered "why."
Not to mention that he was not quite close enough to her window to see her answering expression. Which defeated the purpose of the wave...
Harry sat back down at his desk, acting as if he hadn't a clue that she was peeking at him from behind her curtains. He had work to do, and he needed to stop wondering about the blonde up at the window. A messenger from the War Office had delivered a rather lengthy document earlier that morning, and it needed translating right away.
...But even he, who was so enamored of the task [of translation], could not imagine spending the day watching someone translate documents. And yet there she was, once again at her window. Probably thinking she was so very good at concealment and he an absolute dunce. He smirked. She had no idea.
After 10 years in the military, Harry now works for the Home Office, translating documents of a sensitive nature from the Russian or French. And Olivia is proving quite the distraction.
The pair come face to face at the Smythe-Smith musicale. She's hurrying to the washroom and he has the audacity to speak to her without being introduced first. Olivia's unnerved and his suspicions are confirmed: She was just what she seemed -- a typical, most probably spoiled, society miss. Perhaps a bit nosier than average. He's also rather horrified by how attractive he finds her. Seb maneuvers them into having to dance together and they part agreeing that they don't like each other.
Then the Home Office directs Harry to keep an eye on Olivia in an effort to flesh out whether Russian Prince Alexei (in London looking for a rich heiress bride) shares his father's fondness for Bonaparte. We do not suspect Lady Olivia of collusion with the prince, but we do think, given his well-documented talent for seduction, that she might succumb to bad judgment... Her father is an important man... She is well known and well liked in society. Should anything happen to her, the scandal would be irreparable. Harry reluctantly agrees. His first step is to bring Olivia the gift of a book, Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron.
"You brought me a gothic novel?" "A lurid gothic novel," he corrected. "It seemed the sort of thing you might enjoy." ..."I don't really read," she murmured. His brows rose. "I mean I can... I just don't much enjoy it." His brows remained up. ..."Try it," he said, motioning toward the book. "I thought you might find it more entertaining than the newspaper." It was just the sort of thing a man would say. No one ever seemed to understand that she preferred the news of the day to silly figments of someone else's imagination.
But as they share tea, they start to like each other. He's charming and enjoys teasing her. He reveals that all the behaviors that she thought so odd -- his strange plumed hat that he wore indoors, the mad rush to toss papers in the fire -- were staged for her benefit. "I was near to jumping on the desk and dancing a jig, but I thought that would be too obvious." "You were making fun of me the whole time." "Well..." He thought about that. "Yes."
...
She made a funny little huffing sound -- it was quite endearing, really -- and he decided to go in for the winning blow with, "Oh, and by the way, I have never been betrothed."
She blinked, looking somewhat confused by his sudden change of topic. "The dead fiancée?" he supplied helpfully. "Not so dead, then?" "Never even alive to begin with."
...
He smiled at her. He was enjoying himself far more than he'd expected to. She looked as if she might roll her eyes, and for some reason he wanted her to. He liked her much more when her face was in motion, replete with emotion. At the Smythe-Smith musicale, she had been cool and uncompromisingly reserved. Except for a few unharnessed flashes of ire, she had been devoid of expression.
It had grated. It had got under his fingernails, like an itch that could never be satisfied.
I really enjoyed Harry and Olivia's relationship. We get to know them as they get to know each other -- she likes reading newspapers but not novels, he likes . They have many conversations sitting in their respective bedroom window sills. The friendship they build is one of those marshmallow types of snuggly goodness where we as the reader are cossetted with healthy respect and mutual admiration, even as he pretends not to speak Russian, sorta competes with the Russian prince for Olivia's affections, and keeps his connection to the War Office a secret. I'm left really liking both these characters and the romance/relationship they built. (His proposal is too squooshy.)
One of the other things that I really enjoyed is the sibling relationships: Olivia and her twin Winston, Harry and his brother Edward, Harry and his cousin Seb (they're only a month apart and while cousins, they're as close as any 2 brothers can be). There's easy banter, camaraderie, loyalty and (of course) annoying one another as only siblings can.
Miranda and Turner are only briefly mentioned in the book, so it reads mostly like a stand alone.
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