"My name is actually Marcus Beaton," he says in an awesome British accent, but the awesomest part is Blair's reaction, which bears a hilarious resemblance for a second to total eye-popping fear at this other voice coming out of him, like maybe he's possessed by British demons, or he has MPD and "Marcus" is the personality that bakes scones and rapes people to death. And then he totally goes, like he actually says, "I'm British. And a Lord." This is the best show on TV. And Blair's next move in this ongoing domino cascade of awesomeness upon which she's embarked is that she shakes her head around and says, in the spazziest voice she's ever used: "Whaaaaaaat?" Meanwhile, Chuck has also learned from Mike the PI the truth about James Marcus Peter Alex Brian guy.
Blair asks why he didn't tell her, and then -- in the accent -- Marcus explains laboriously the plot of Blair's second favorite movie (Roman Holiday) and mine (Thoroughly Modern Millie) in case she doesn't remember it, but the way he talks now is so awesome: "Well, most women I meet only like me for my title. I vowed the next time to pretend to be a common American and see what happened." "Common"! "American"! "See what happened"! He "vowed" to do this! I love this so much I can't even fucking explain it. Blair declares a general amnesty for them both about how their whole relationship is built on lies, and he says that he -- like every fucking man in the entire United Kingdom -- liked how she was verbally abusive and called him "boring" and how this got him off because nobody's ever honest with him. Which is a lie. He likes it because he is a perv, because he is British. Blair promises to eventually have a second thought about him if he keeps talking in the accent. This is the greatest storyline of any television show ever produced.
Catherine and Nate hold hands until they make their way back to where people are; Jenny and Eric at the bar getting refreshed when Laurel sidles up. "So... I hear Tinsley offered to help you find an internship if you want one." Jenny admits she did, waits a beat, and continues: "I said thanks, but I'm actually learning a lot where I am right now. I didn't think it was right to leave just yet." Laurel is pleased -- which is kind of cool because pure fashion is real and decisions are made for reasons we might never explain and yes my toesocks are cerulean blue and whatever, but it's quite a leap to then assume that everybody in fashion is wise or creative, so you have people who actually do just adjust their aesthetics based on bellwether celebutantes like that -- because apparently Jenny is talented now. Because Tinsley Mortimer said so. "Well, enjoy the rest of your weekend... Jenny. I'll see you Monday?" Jenny says she's looking forward to it, and Laurel leaves. Eric doubts Laurel meant anything she said -- better to have a friend of a friend of Tinsley's closer to the nest I guess -- but Jenny's just glad she knows her name. Oh, Jenny. This is exactly what fucked you last time, this compulsion to know people and climb ladders. Woe betide the first teen model or real designer who comes under Jenny's needy, desperate gaze, because Jenny is just looking for the next solid reason to go totally buttcrazy and we all know it, and the fashion world has buttcrazy to spare.