Page 14 of The Unassuming Curator

“Four or five young ones, if memory serves,” Eastberry said. “And at least ten extremely large adults.”

“Unless the calves were traveling with a herd of males, they were not all extremely large,” Henry muttered.

“A valid point,” Aunt Millward said.

Henry eyed his aunt over the rim of the glass in his hand. “You were not supposed to hear that.”

“My dear boy, the comments not meant for one’s ears are the most interesting and enlightening comments of all.”

“Undoubtedly,” he said dryly.

She took a small bite of the roast duck on her plate and studied the couple at the end of the table thoughtfully. “Tell me, Henry, what do you think of Colonel Eastberry?”

The fair-haired gentleman in question was smiling at something Miss Norton was saying, the brass buttons on his officer’s dress uniform gleaming in the candlelight.

“By all accounts, he’s given admirable service to the Crown and has left his mark on the East India Company,” Henry said, attempting to shrug off his inexplicable irritation. “Despite his propensity for exaggeration, he seems an honorable fellow.”

“Indeed. And Miss Norton? What are your first impressions of her?”

“She is remarkably well versed on the subjects of sugarcane and elephants.” He took a sip of wine and lowered his glass. “And wildflowers.”

“I must have missed the floral portion of her conversation with Colonel Eastberry,” Aunt Millward said. “But if that is the case, I would imagine that you and Miss Norton would have a great deal in common.”

“It’s possible.” Henry refused to admit that the same thought had already occurred to him. It had taken him a full ten minutes to process Miss Norton’s unaffected wonder upon learning of his chosen career. He was far more used to reactions that fell somewhere along the mild-interest to total-perplexity spectrum.

“Perhaps you should engage her in conversation,” Aunt Millward prodded.

“There is no need for that. Quite apart from the fact that it would require talking across half the length of the table, Eastberry is entertaining the lady perfectly well.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Too well, perhaps?”

Henry stifled a sigh. “I am sure Benedict is most grateful for your assistance this evening, Aunt, but I do not have the same need for your oversight.”

“Hm.” She appeared disturbingly unconvinced.

“Aunt Millward, I mean it.”

“Very well,” she said, turning her attention back to her meal. “But if I do not receive complimentary tickets for entrance into the British Museum within the next few days, you shall hear from me.”

“You wish to acquire tickets to the museum?” He did nothing to hide his surprise. “I distinctly remember you visiting the most recent exhibit last month.”

“I did. But Miss Norton has seen none of the collections, and I rather think she would enjoy perusing them.”

He could not argue with that, and his aunt seemed to know it.

Setting down her knife and fork, she gave him a penetrating look. “Henry, since you claim to need no assistance when it comes to socializing with young ladies, I shall simply submit an observation for your consideration: Miss Norton appears to be uncommonly curious about the world around her. Colonel Eastberry has spent time in India—has ridden an elephant, even—but unless Miss Norton boards the next ship bound for Calcutta, she cannot personally experience those things. You, on the other hand, have full access to the treasures housed at the British Museum. Those are wonders she can see and feel for herself—if someone were sufficiently considerate to provide her with a ticket.”

At the far end of the table, Eastberry had diverted the conversation from elephant herds to mango fruit.

“If there is a genteel way to eat them, I have yet to learn it,” he said. “The juice simply cannot be contained.”

“But you consider eating them worth the mess they produce?” Miss Norton asked.

“Without question,” Eastberry replied. “Mangos are most assuredly the most delicious fruit I have ever tasted. And when it comes to exotic foods, I have sampled more than my fair share.”

Henry reached for the poached pear on the plate before him. It was no mango, but it happened to be his favorite dessert, and he wasn’t going to allow Eastberry and Miss Norton’s discussion to dilute his enjoyment of the dish. He cut into it, his spoon clinking noisily against the china beneath. Eastberry glanced his way. So did Miss Norton. She met his eyes and smiled. He managed a brief nod before Eastberry claimed her attention again.

“A trip to the British Museum is always a good idea when one is visiting London,” Henry said, knowing full well that his aunt was listening even though his attention was on his food. “I will have four tickets delivered to your townhouse tomorrow.”