"You were indeed! And I know just the place..." He offers her an arm.

She gives him an amused look, then takes the offered arm.

"So have you been in England long?"

"Only for about six months," he replies, leading the way. "And I have been here for barely two. You're from here, though, right?"

"Did the accent give me away?"

"Did mine?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps I should try harder," he says, perfectly mimicking a very posh accent.

She makes a face. "Too posh, doesn't suit you."

"Wha' if I try this?" he asks, switching to cockney. "Surely be'er."

"No," she snorts.

"Irish! My complexion's Irish, is it not? Or Scottish—specifically Edinburgh, I think I would make a fine Scotsman. Oh, wait, was that culturally insensitive?" That last question he asks in his normal accent, but he's still smiling.

She snickers. "You'd have to ask a Scot, I think."

"I thought there was some form of rivalry between y'all and them Scots in the north," he says, shifting to a southern American accent.

"Sort of," she clarifies, mildly amused by the latest accent. "But not quite. What is that accent?"

"Southern American," he says, reverting to his default.

"Huh. Interesting. So most of Ireland left the United Kingdom a little under a decade ago. Scotland occasionally threatens to do the same thing. England would like everyone to stay together, but everyone that is not English sort of resents us for being the ones everyone thinks of when one thinks of the United Kingdom. So there is something resembling a rivalry between England and Scotland, but it's more that Scotland would really rather people stop forgetting about them, and wish that England would please stop acting like we're England and our charming island sidekicks. There, I think that was suitably biased in favor of diplomacy, aren't you proud?"

He claps lightly, without moving the arm she's holding. "Very proud, well done, I feel enlightened."

"Thank you. So what brings you to England? Our charming weather?"

"I approximately just stopped here," he says, shrugging slightly. "I confess I understand the appeal of your brother's travels; I spent quite a while visiting many different places before arriving here."

"Huh. I would have expected dentistry to not really lend itself well to travel. How do you feed yourself?"

"I didn't practice while I was traveling," he explains, "and I accumulated money from before." Both things strictly true, even!

"Oh? How long were you practicing before? Actually, how old are you, you look like you're in your twenties, but I get the impression it takes an amount of time to get training and some kind of certification for practicing dentistry, and then that plus travelling..."

"I only practiced for a few years—I'm twenty-eight, spent two years traveling, and I practiced between when I finished training and that. I have a very good memory, though."

"Oh, all right." She does a bit of mental math and... yeah, that checks out. "I'm twenty-one," she adds, because that seems like a fair thing to inform him of.

He grins and—here they are, a quaint little cafe, probably more expensive than average, its decoration not overtly couply but there are certainly hints.