He finds her at the University of London's Horticulture Hall, shepherds her around, makes comments of limited sophistication but genuine enthusiasm regarding the pretty flowers, and excuses himself a couple hours into the affair for a bathroom break.
Ivan accepts a little help from Galeni in proceeding along the corridor. Oh, look, a lift tube, antigravity will relieve him of the burden of supporting his own weight for a bit.
"Turning," agree Miles and Mark in unison, in their respective versions of Miles's voice. They look at each other. Mark adds, "That one's your husband," pointing down, as they both reverse course and start hauling themselves down the ladder. Miles asks, "What'd you see up there?"
"Thank you. Plainclothes bunch of people who didn't care to interact with me. Barrayaran accents. I suspect if you were going to be happy to see them they'd be in uniform, yes? The Cetagandans I can probably call off for the time being as long as only one of you is around at the time."
Mark nods along. "Yes, I see it. Bull our way through the Cetagandans with our dignity dialed up to maximum power, then turn around and get you after we've cleared them off." He pauses, then adds, "The only way it could be better would be if we could show them me as Vorkosigan and you as Naismith at the same time. Your cover—"
Miles grins, but shakes his head, as his boots hit the floor at the bottom of the lift tube and he starts along the corridor. "I know, but we can't. They'd be too tempted to shoot me. The Cetagandans are extremely peeved with Admiral Naismith just now."
"Right." Linya takes point. "So where is the real Miles going to hide while Mark delivers my relayed message to confused ghem?"
"...really?" says Mark, following his look.
"It might not come to that. I hope it doesn't come to that. But it'd make a damn fine cloak of invisibility. Or we could go out the door we came in, but—"
Mark shakes his head. "The water's already covered it by now. I memorized the key points of the tide schedule."
"I suspected that might have happened, yes. So. Mark and Linya go ahead while the rest of us wait at the midpoint of this upcoming bend in the corridor. If we hear or otherwise sense any hint of Barrayarans coming the other way, Ivan and/or Galeni can attempt to persuade them to turn around while I cower out of sight and if necessary nip into a disabled pumping chamber for safe-ish concealment. Sound like a plan?"
Mark shrugs and moves up to walk behind Linya, separated by a respectful distance of a few feet or so.
She doesn't break stride. On in the direction of the Cetagandans.
She doesn't even have to step into the lift tube to find them. There's one scouting in this direction. He stops, double-takes at Linya, and then averts his eyes. She stands with absolute hauteur and emotionlessness.
"Ah," says Linya. "How convenient that it has taken so little time to find them; this place has limited appeal as a tourist attraction even when the crowds are thin. Miles, would you like to tell this gentleman for me that you are not acceptable collateral damage in their attempts on the life of your clone, unless Fletchir has decided to take back with his left hand what he gave me with his right?"
Mark-as-Miles, unwilling to peep out from behind Linya for long, jumps up so his head clears the level of her shoulder for just a moment. "Hello!" he chirps on the first bounce. "Have you met my wife?" on the second. Another bounce, "Isn't she lovely?" Bounce. "Your empress gave her to me!" Bounce. "It was a very moving ceremony!" Bounce. "You might want to put away that plasma arc," bounce, "before someone gets hurt!"
The Cetagandan scout puts away the plasma arc.
"Of course we have no wish to harm the lady's husband," he murmurs in the general direction of his knees. "Pardon me while I retrieve my commanding officer and this can be sorted out, I'm sure -"
Linya sighs with genteel impatience. The scout scurries away and is replaced by a fellow in extremely dramatic face paint.
"Er, milady ghem...?"
"Miles," says Linya exasperatedly, "perhaps while we're at it you'd like to notify this fellow that contra precedent I did not marry a ghem-lord, as I'm sure he can see with his own eyes, and therefore have not adopted the syllable as though producing it from the aether?"
"The proper form of address," bounces Miles, "is Lady Vorkosigan." Bounce. "She says she'll be annoyed if you shoot me."
"Miles," says Linya, "can you think of any reason to help this individual, for merely declining to annoy me by shooting you?"
The ghem winces.
"No," he says, ceasing his bounces at last and sidling out to stand by Linya's elbow. "Also, I owe Naismith a favour at the moment. His people recently rescued some of mine from Komarran kidnappers. Sorry, century-captain—" he makes this guess at rank based on the pattern of face paint. "You'd better turn around and go home. At least temporarily."
"I will - take that under advisement."
Linya peers at her fingernails. "It occurs to me that I could licitly be offended at attempts on your clone's life even without the possibility of mistaken identity, Miles," she muses. "Obviously he wasn't a participant in our wedding, but the ceremony is about genomes... it isn't really designed to take clones or even identical twins into account, when they're considered so... tacky, within Cetaganda itself... since you owe Naismith a favor, you could choose to warn this fellow here."
"My wife," he says, smiling at the century-captain, "suggests that since Naismith is as much an expression of my genome as I am, she could reasonably be offended at attempts on his life just as much as on mine. Perhaps you'd like to take that under advisement too."
"I believe I'll apply for orders from upstream in my chain of command. I apologize for the inconvenience, Lord Vorkosigan. Do please convey that to your wife as well."
To Linya, he bows, and then he scurries back into the tower.
Linya waits until she can't hear his footsteps anymore, then relaxes. "There. Sorry if you were harboring a latent hope to be thrown at Cetagandan assassins."
"I'm—past that," he says a little uncomfortably, still in Lord Vorkosigan mode. "But thank you. Let's go get the rest of them before they run into trouble." He heads back down the corridor.
"I—I—" He shivers. "Yes. I'm sorry. I, uh." He inhales a steadying breath. "Mark shot Ser Galen. Mark had a crippling panic attack immediately afterward. Miles got me on my feet again by suggesting I not be Mark. It's working so far. I'm reluctant to mess with it too badly while there are still people nearby who want me dead. It seems like a bad time to go catatonic again."
Linya nods, once, and doesn't say anything else while they traverse the remaining distance to rejoin the others.
"They're withdrawing. 'I' owe 'you' a favour," Mark explains. "For rescuing him," a gesture to Galeni, "from the Komarrans. And Lady Vorkosigan is prepared to be annoyed with them if they kill 'you' on the grounds that your genome, being mine, belongs to her."
Miles grins. "Good for you both. C'mon. If we run into ghem-lieutenant Tabor on our way out, ask after his bonsai - he mentioned briefly that he'd taken it up as a hobby, the one time I met him."
Mark nods. And toward Tower Seven they go.
"Specifically," elaborates Miles, "he gave Mark a nerve disruptor intending him to shoot us and he was not quite one full word into making the suggestion before Mark shot him instead."