Page 3 of The Unassuming Curator

Adam blinked. “Red campion?”

“Yes,” Emily said. “Why would one gather it?”

Phoebe glanced at her husband’s bewildered expression and came to his rescue. “For a flower arrangement, perhaps.”

It was the most obvious answer, but it didn’t explain the trowel or a need for the plant’s roots. Emily wrinkled her nose in concentration. Surely she’d learned something about the wildflower in one of the many books she’d pored over in the Dunsbourne Manor library.

“If I remember correctly, the flower itself is known to be mildly toxic,” she said.

“Then you may disregard my suggestion,” Phoebe said.

“What of the leaves or the root?” Adam asked.

“It seems to me that the root can be used as an ingredient in soap,” Emily said thoughtfully.

“Well, there you are, then.” Phoebe smiled. “That must be it.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Soap making seemed a very odd occupation for a gentleman. Then again, digging up flowers in a hedgerow was not exactly commonplace.

“Why do you wish to know?” Adam was looking at her curiously.

“There were several red campions in the hedgerow near the inn,” Emily said, mentally scrambling for a reasonable response. “One of them looked to have been dug up.” That was surely true by now.

Adam shrugged. “I would imagine the damage was done by an animal of some sort.”

“Then let us hope it was not foolish enough to eat the flowers,” Phoebe said.

With a soft chuckle, Adam took his wife’s hand. “Alternatively, there may be a hedgehog or a badger in this neighborhood with a remarkably clean mouth.”

Emily smiled. Watching Adam’s tenderness with Phoebe warmed her heart. And she would far rather picture the wild animals of Berkshire wandering the countryside with gleaming white teeth than contemplate members of the ton working their way around a London ballroom.

Releasing a tense breath, she leaned back against the seat cushion and studied the countryside through the window. Tiny yellow and white daisies dotted the green fields, and a cluster of wild crocuses grew at the base of a grove of trees. She watched for red campion but saw none. Perhaps the plant was not as ubiquitous as she’d originally thought.

In the distance, a row of gray stone houses came into view. The buildings were a poignant reminder that they would soon be leaving the countryside behind. Emily squared her shoulders. She would feign courage until she could truly claim it as her own. And if she was very fortunate, Lady Millward’s library might include a book about wildflowers that she could borrow. Her spirits lifted. With a good book in hand, she could escape almost anything.

Chapter 2

Henry approached the stairs leading to the large doors of Montagu House. Behind him, the wide drive stretched out between rectangular manicured lawns and tidy rows of well-pruned shrubs. Strategically placed gravel paths guided guests from the courtyard to the front of the elegant french-style building and the entrance of the British Museum. A pigeon cooed loudly from atop the head of one of the garden’s stone statues, and Henry paused his ascent to check his pocket watch.

This blissful early-morning calm would not last long. Very soon, those wishing to view the museum’s various collections would begin arriving at Montagu House, and all semblance of peace would be gone.

“Good morning, Rutherford.” Henry greeted the middle-aged porter as he entered.

“Welcome back, Mr. Buckland,” Rutherford said, inclining his head politely. “I trust your journey went well.”

“Well enough to please the board of trustees, I believe.” He raised an eyebrow. There was no use putting off the inevitable. “I assume the chair came looking for me yesterday.”

“He did, sir.”

Lord Claridge was nothing if not predictable. His displeasure at discovering that Henry had yet to return was a certainty.

“You are the epitome of protocol, Rutherford, but the truth might prepare me better. How badly was he muttering?”

“Not nearly so loudly as when the Roman coins exhibit was delayed, sir.”

If the porter had been attempting reassurance, he’d failed miserably. Claridge had all but had steam coming from his ears over the coin fiasco.

“I certainly hope not. I may be one day late in bringing him news of the Grenville collection, but I trust he will find that the wait was worthwhile.”