Page 13 of The Unassuming Curator

“Unless my memory has failed me completely, we were introduced only a few minutes ago, Miss Norton.”

“You are right.” Relief brought a smile to her face.

“I am glad to hear it. Although, I confess, Benedict and I have never before taken someone we know so little into our confidence.”

Emily recognized his unspoken request. “You have nothing to fear on that score, sir. My silence was assured the moment Lady Millward asked me to accompany her on her mission of reinforcement.”

“Did she call it that?”

“She did, although she was somewhat vague with regard to the details of said mission.”

He chuckled. “My aunt is a worthy ally and is remarkably good at thinking on her feet.”

“I am beginning to see that.”

“Have you been acquainted—”

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen.” A sonorous voice interrupted Mr. Buckland’s question and cut through the hum of conversation in the room. Emily swung around to see the butler standing stiffly at the door. He inclined his head to acknowledge those in the room before continuing. “Dinner is served.”

Mr. Buckland offered her an apologetic look. “Forgive me, Miss Norton. It seems that I must find my dinner partner.”

“Yes, of course,” Emily said, experiencing an unexpected pang of regret. She’d given no thought as to who’d been assigned to escort her into dinner, but it appeared it was not to be Mr. Buckland.

He bowed. “It was very nice to meet you.”

Already, he had put their past encounter behind him.

Emily bobbed a curtsy. “The pleasure was all mine, sir.” She met his eyes. They were filled with warmth and gave her the courage to speak again—to voice the question that had consumed her since she’d left him on the lane in Berkshire. “Before you go, may I ask why you were digging up the red campion plant?”

“I am the curator over the natural history compilation at the British Museum. We boast a large collection of dried plants and flowers, but many are in need of replacement. I have learned to be prepared for those moments when one stumbles upon a perfect specimen.”

Emily stared at him. A curator at the British Museum. Never in her wildest dreams could she have conceived of so thrilling and fascinating an occupation. “How marvelous!” she breathed.

His eyebrows came together, and he studied her quizzically. “You truly believe that?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, finally stepping away. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Compared to Benedict, Henry considered himself fortunate. He was seated at the table between the younger Lady Pendleton and Aunt Millward. Benedict, poor fellow, was sandwiched between the Dowager Lady Pendleton and Lady Aurelia. The Dowager Lady Pendleton was all but ignoring Benedict, choosing to converse almost exclusively with their mother, who was seated across the table. Lady Aurelia appeared more than happy to make up for her grandmother’s neglect, however, and had been regaling Benedict with tales of all the balls she’d attended since arriving in London. Her constant chatter, punctuated by giggles, had scarcely stopped long enough for her to put food in her mouth, and if the level of concentration Benedict was giving to cutting his brussels sprouts was any indication, he had reached his limit.

Thankfully, Henry had been spared making small talk with Lady Pendleton because she’d spent most of the meal discussing the shocking lack of reliable hired help with Lord Basingstoke. Aunt Millward had been blissfully content to focus on her meal and had allowed Henry the same luxury. Indeed, it would have been a perfect scenario had it not been for the conversation occurring at the far end of the table.

Henry stabbed a piece of carrot as Colonel Eastberry launched into a third story about yet another personal encounter with an Indian elephant.

“The herd had trampled the local fellow’s crop of sugarcane by the time we arrived,” Eastberry said. “Shocking what such enormous creatures can destroy in a matter of minutes.”

“Poor man,” Miss Norton said. “It must have been devastating.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? But the Indians are a resilient lot. Once we’d cleared the elephants out of the area, they were back in the fields, attempting to save what they could.”

“I suppose they would know how to salvage cuttings from the damaged canes to propagate more.”

Eastberry’s brows came together. “Why, yes, I daresay they would.”

“Were there many calves in the herd?” Miss Norton asked.

Henry stabbed another carrot. Lud. How many other young ladies in England knew that sugarcane grew from cuttings or that baby elephants were called calves? The well-decorated military gentleman may be accustomed to having an audience, but Henry doubted that he’d ever had one so genuinely interested or surprisingly knowledgeable as Miss Norton