Page 8 of The Unassuming Curator

“You’re a good man, Akers,” Henry said.

The butler accepted his comment with a small bow. “We have had this same conversation a time or two, sir. I have come to expect it.”

Henry’s grin widened. “Let us hope that Felix is equally well prepared.”

“I daresay he is, sir.”

The longcase clock in the hall chimed the quarter hour. He had only fifteen minutes remaining to him. Crossing the entry at a brisk walk, he took the stairs two at a time, arriving on the landing before the chime fully faded. He reached the door to his bedchamber and opened it just as another door farther down the passage opened. As the sound of his mother’s voice talking to her maid reached him, Henry stepped into his room and closed the door behind him.

Felix set Henry’s dinner jacket on the back of the chair and turned to face him. “Welcome home, sir.”

“Thank you, Felix.” Henry glanced at the clothing laid out across the bed. “It looks like you are ready for me.”

“Yes, sir. Lady Farwell gave me to understand that tonight’s dinner is to be an elegant affair, so I thought perhaps your cream-colored breeches with the burgundy-and-cream embroidered waistcoat.”

Trusting in his valet’s superior perception of colors, Henry tugged his cravat loose. “Yes. That will do very well.”

After a long day at the museum, entertaining his mother’s guests was not the way he would wish to spend the evening, but she had made him promise that he would be in attendance, so he had left his office with his cataloging incomplete in order to keep his word.

He reached for the clean shirt Felix held out to him.

Thankfully, as the second son of Lord and Lady Farwell, Henry was not the primary target of Society matrons with eligible daughters, but he was often called upon to round out the numbers at functions.

“Did you happen to hear who is attending this evening’s dinner party?” Henry asked.

“Not officially, sir.”

“Unofficially, then.” The servants talked. There was no point in hiding it.

“I did hear mention of the Dowager Lady Pendleton,” Felix said.

Henry froze, his arm halfway into his sleeve. “‘You heard mention,’ as in the lady issued a horrible threat that has now blown over, or ‘you heard mention,’ as in she is actually expected at Benning House within the next ten minutes?”

Felix cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Given that Cook is in rather a flap over her jelly not setting as firmly as it should, I would assume the latter.”

“Blast it all!” Henry pushed his hand through his cuff with more force than was necessary. “Whatever possessed my mother to allow that awful woman back into the house? The last time she was here, she reduced two maids to tears with her biting tongue.”

“I believe she requested an invitation, sir.”

Henry stared at him. The dowager marchioness was known for being rude, but to demand a place at his parents’ table seemed beyond even her assertiveness. “Why?”

Felix helped Henry into his waistcoat and reached for the crisp white cravat lying across the back of a nearby chair. “I cannot say for certain, sir.”

Henry gave him an exasperated look. “Then tell me without certainty. Deuce take it, Felix, you’ve been my valet for eight years. I am well aware of your sense of propriety and confidentiality, and I am most grateful for it. But at this precise moment, I should like to hear the servants’ gossip. If I am to be required to spend the evening with the Dowager Lady Pendleton, I should like to know why.”

“It is my understanding that she is not coming alone, sir.” Felix straightened Henry’s cravat and held out his jacket. “She will be accompanied by Lord and Lady Pendleton and their daughter, Lady Aurelia.”

Lady Aurelia. The name conjured up a memory of a tall young lady whose eager and continual chatter at the Overtons’ ball a fortnight ago had encouraged a circle of gossip-hungry young ladies and discouraged the approach of most gentlemen.

“What do you know of Lady Aurelia?” Henry asked, shrugging into his jacket and wishing he’d paid more attention at the handful of social functions he’d attended since his parents had arrived in Town.

Felix brushed a piece of lint off one sleeve. “I believe this is her first Season in London, and the dowager marchioness wished to facilitate an introduction.”

Henry groaned. Everything made perfect sense now. Not only would his mother wish to avoid offending the overbearing Dowager Lady Pendleton by denying her request, but she was also unabashedly anxious to have her sons marry well. The daughter of the Marquess Pendleton would surely be an advantageous match for the future Viscount Farwell.

“Is Ben halfway to Gloucestershire already?”

“To the best of my knowledge, sir, no one has called for the carriage.”