Page 20 of The Unassuming Curator

“Is that the one you’ve been working on recently, Henry?” Aunt Millward asked. She leaned a little closer to Emily. “Be warned, my dear, Henry has been known to wade into ponds in perfectly good boots and climb crags that should never be scaled in search of plant specimens.”

Emily recognized Aunt Millward’s good-natured teasing and could not help but join in. “How very peculiar,” she said. “I recently learned of a gentleman who is wont to wander country roads with a trowel in hand for that very same purpose.”

At the sound of Mr. Buckland’s soft chuckle, Aunt Millward tucked her arm through Emily’s. “Very odd, don’t you think?”

“Most certainly.”

“Although relatively harmless,” Aunt Millward added.

“One would hope so.” Fighting back a smile, Emily dared a glance at Mr. Buckland. He was watching them, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes glinting.

“Am I to assume from this rather one-sided conversation that you ladies have no interest in seeing the museum’s plant collection?”

“Now, why ever would you think that?” The peacock feathers on Aunt Millward’s hat swirled in mock indignation.

“I can’t imagine,” Mr. Buckland said dryly.

“Truth be told, I’ve been looking forward to seeing what you do with the flowers you have gathered,” Emily admitted.

“Do we have time?” Aunt Millward asked.

Mr. Buckland withdrew his pocket watch and glanced at it. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “We passed the three hours allotted for your tour some time ago. I fear the museum is scheduled to close in fifteen minutes.”

Emily’s astonishment was immediate. Disappointment was swift to follow. How could time have passed so quickly? There was so much to experience still. “If we are not required to leave for another quarter hour, may I selfishly claim the time to see part of the botanical collection?” she asked.

“You may,” he said. “Do you have a preference as to which type of plants you see?”

“English wildflowers,” Emily said without hesitation. “I’ve been surrounded by them all my life but have never taken the opportunity to truly appreciate their beauty.”

Mr. Buckland smiled. “I located a particularly good red campion specimen recently. Unfortunately, it is still in the flower press. But I believe there are sufficient other species on display to please you.”

An unusual warmth filled Emily’s heart, but whether it was in anticipation of seeing the wildflower collection or simply in response to Mr. Buckland’s kindness, she could not tell. Nor did she especially wish to.

Chapter 8

“Thank you, Felix. That will do.”

Henry’s valet stepped aside to allow him a full view of the looking glass. Felix had paired Henry’s brown breeches with his gold jacket and embroidered waistcoat. The white lace at his sleeves and cravat lay perfectly, and his shoes were polished to a shine. Indeed, the gentleman staring back at Henry was very well put together and was an unnerving testament to the fact that appearances could be deceiving.

Releasing a tense breath, he turned his back on his reflection and took the hat in Felix’s extended hand. He was being ridiculous. Just because Miss Norton had not been far from his thoughts since she’d left the museum two days before and he would likely see her again this evening did not mean that he should be acting as though he’d never set foot in a ballroom before. He had. Many times. And he was relatively adept at dancing, mingling, and—when necessary—making himself scarce. There was no logical reason for his current discomfort, a fact that only exacerbated his frustration.

Footsteps sounded in the passage outside his bedchamber, and he heard his mother’s voice. Benedict had made good on his promise to leave for Gloucestershire earlier in the week, so she’d been particularly pleased when Henry had agreed to attend the Tilsons’ ball. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he donned his hat and gathered his gloves. As much as he wished that he’d refused the invitation and could spend the evening in his office at the museum, the deed was done, and there was no benefit to be had by making his parents wait for him to appear.

Exiting his rooms, he walked to the top of the stairs. From there, he could see his parents standing in the hall below. His mother laughed softly at something his father said. His father smiled and took her hand before leaning closer to brush a light kiss across her cheek. It was a simple scene—one Henry had seen replayed countless times during his growing-up years—but this evening, for the first time, he acknowledged its rarity among married couples in Society. As the second son who bore no title, Henry had been spared the level of matchmaking Benedict was forced to endure, but with an honorable profession and property in Shropshire that provided him additional income, neither was he fully exempt from the maneuverings of the likes of the Dowager Lady Pendleton.

Squaring his shoulders, he started down the stairs. Benedict was not the only one in the family who desired a match that included the type of love their parents shared. If Henry never found it, he would simply devote his life to his work. An image of Townsend dressed in black and poring over a book late at night in the manuscript saloon entered his head, and he winced. If he came to that, he would place Felix fully in charge of his wardrobe. The man’s color sense rivaled Fernsby’s.

As if to validate that thought, his mother raised her head and greeted him with a smile. “You look splendid, Henry.”

“Thank you, Mother.” He reached the ground floor, his expression softening at her obvious pleasure. “So do you.”

“She does, indeed.” His father took her arm. “I shall be fending off gentlemen all evening.”

Henry grinned. “Would you save me a dance, Mother?”

His father gave him a warning look, and Henry laughed. Perhaps the evening would prove more entertaining than he’d previously anticipated.

Emily entered the Tilsons’ ballroom at Aunt Millward’s side, with Adam and Phoebe close behind. Flickering candles illuminated the vast space, and large urns filled with flowers divided small groupings of chairs. People—more than she had ever before seen congregated in one room—lined the walls and streamed in a swirl of colored silk and lace across the dance floor.