Page 55 of The Unassuming Curator

“Yes, she does,” Phoebe said. “And she’s rather good at navigating difficult social situations.”

A vision of Aunt Millward’s coming out victor after having gone head-to-head with the Dowager Lady Pendleton at the Farwells’ home filled her mind. Aunt Millward had discouraged the viscountess’s overbearing matchmaking by dwelling on Lord Benning’s involvement with farm animals. Perhaps, if Emily were to follow her example and paint herself in a less than favorable light, she might dissuade Lord Culham from pursuing her further. She squared her small shoulders. Together she and Aunt Millward could surely manage the odious gentleman.

“I fancy Aunt Millward’s intelligence over Lord Culham’s, don’t you?” Emily said.

“Absolutely,” Phoebe agreed. “Yours too. In fact, I believe I shall spend the entire time you are gone feeling terribly sorry for Lord Culham.”

Raising her eyes to the ceiling, Emily picked up her knitting basket and handed it to the maid. “Would you take this to my bedchamber, Hannah? It seems that I am off to engage in a battle of wits.”

Aunt Millward’s voice rang out as Emily reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Do you plan to attend the Morrises’ ball, my lord?”

“Oh, most assuredly. The Morrises’ ball really should not be missed.” He paused. “You and your family members will be there, I assume. I confess, I shall be quite crushed if Miss Norton is not present.”

Emily made a mental note to discover the date of the Morrises’ ball so that she might be unwell that day.

“I cannot say for certain,” Aunt Millward said. “Miss Norton’s social calendar is of her own making, you understand, and she tends to prefer less popular activities.”

The large potted plant in the corner of the entrance hall caught Emily’s attention, and an idea settled upon her. If Lord Culham’s fixation on the clothing worn by those attending the Tilsons’ ball was any indication, he was a gentleman for whom a young lady’s appearance mattered a great deal. It might be for the best if he were to learn that she was not always so well turned out or refined as he believed.

She could not be sure whether Aunt Millward had heard her descent on the stairs, but the older lady was doing a marvelous job of setting up her entrance. Hurrying over to the plant, Emily slid her hands beneath the leaves and reached for the soil below. She burrowed her fingers in the moist dirt and then quickly withdrew them. Content that enough soil clung to her fingers and nails to make her ruse plausible, she walked directly into the drawing room.

Lord Culham was sitting on the sofa opposite the chair Aunt Millward was currently occupying. His fair hair was pulled back in a ribbon of the same light-blue hue as his jacket and breeches. The lace at his neck and sleeves was crisp white, and his shoe buckles were polished to a shine. His smug expression and the arrogant angle of his weak jaw spoke of the gentleman’s overconfidence, and Emily’s resolve to avoid any form of encouragement deepened.

At Emily’s entrance, he rose to his feet and bowed.

“Good day, Lord Culham.” Making sure to keep her dirty hands clearly displayed and away from her gown, Emily curtsied. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.” She glanced at her fingers. “As you can see, I was otherwise engaged, but perhaps I should have taken the time to clean up a little before joining you.”

“Good gracious, my dear, have you been digging up plants again?” Aunt Millward’s suitably shocked expression was perfect. “You really can leave such things to the gardener.”

“So you have said.” Emily took the chair beside Aunt Millward, studiously avoiding the sofa. “But you have no need to fear. This time there were no worms involved.”

Aunt Millward placed one hand on her heart. “I am very glad to hear it.” She leaned a little closer to Lord Culham. “Miss Norton is totally fearless when it comes to such creatures, my lord. She’s really quite remarkable.”

Lord Culham shifted uncomfortably. “Worms, you say? Well now, that is quite something.”

“Caterpillars and ladybirds tend to remain in the plant’s leaves if I remove it by the roots, but worms appear to take exception to the disruption,” Emily said. “I find myself feeling quite sorry for them. After all, we would feel equally put out if a giant shook the very foundations of our homes.”

Aunt Millward took in Lord Culham’s glazed expression and smiled. “You will join us for tea, won’t you, my lord?” Without waiting for a response, she pulled the bell and turned to Emily. “Lord Culham was wondering if you plan to attend the Morrises’ ball.”

“I’ve heard wonderful things about it,” she said.

“You must go, Miss Norton.” Lord Culham reentered familiar territory with an ingratiating smile. “Everyone of importance will be there, and I have great hopes of securing the first dance with you before I leave today.”

Those two things alone were enough to keep Emily at home, but she mustered a smile. “That is very kind of you, my lord, but I would not have you miss a dance on my account.”

“Miss a dance?” He was clearly confused.

Emily clasped her soiled hands on her knee and sighed. “Unfortunately, my attendance at the ball is fully dependent upon the weather. And as England’s weather is notoriously fickle, I can make you no promise.”

He blinked. “The weather, Miss Norton?”

Vaguely aware of a knock on the front door, Emily pinned a regretful expression to her face. “Why, yes, my lord. I’m sure you are aware that when we have rain, worms vacate their holes in the ground.”

“Can you imagine how many worms meet an untimely demise on the wet roads of London when every member of the ton is out in their carriage?” Aunt Millward asked.

Something that looked remarkably like panic flashed in Lord Culham’s eyes. “I cannot say that I have ever considered—” he began, but he was interrupted by the arrival of the butler.