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"Of course I'm worried about Oliver," she said with exasperation, throwing her hands out. "I've only been talking about how worried I am for the last—for—" Melania tilted her head and frowned, as she really could not remember how long she had been speaking, "for a while."

She looked about the ballroom and could not spot the tall, brooding figure of her princely baby brother, who was wholly undeserving of the tile of late. Melania was shocked he had even deigned to attend the gala tonight, but once she'd said, "It's for St Mungo's, Oliver, think of all the sick children you could be helping," it seemed to have done the trick. Likely, her brother was swayed by the idea of preciously small ill children cured by his proceeds from the ticket. And swayed by his sister's wonderfully persuasive abilities, of course.

"I think he must be sick," she announced suddenly, with absolutely no basis for this judgment. "I really cannot think of why else he would be acting so strangely."

When Melania turned back to Max, still aggrieved he was failing to chime in in agreement to her every word, her brow furrowed a bit. "You look a bit sickly yourself. Honestly, what's happened to you this evening?"