Page 39 of A Mismatch Made in London

“Yes.” I tried not to grimace. If only I could have dissuaded him, but it was too late now.

“Last night was so tedious.” Juliet sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Mr. Owens, poor man, was not the best conversationalist. And you, Amelia, having to endure Mr. Watkins talking on and on about his horses and his dogs, his poor dead wife, and where he likes to hunt and what he likes to shoot. I wonder that you were still sane by the end of the evening.”

“Bless you for noticing.” I sighed. “It was all I could do not to burst into tears at one point. My fear is that he will call on me today and ask me to marry him.”

“How horrid that would be! He’s so old. He couldn’t possibly think you’d say yes.”

“Oh, he could. But I did my best not to give him the impression that I would.”

“Then let us go somewhere, anywhere. Jeremy, can we have the carriage?”

“Where are you going?”

“Wherever you will take us. Can we shop for new dresses?”

“Why don’t we go to the British Museum instead?”

“That place is so dull.” Juliet pouted, frowning. “Amelia, you would rather go shopping, would you not?”

“Honestly? I have always wanted to visit the British Museum.” I gave her an apologetic look.

“Why can we not do both?” Juliet was ever the enthusiastic planner and negotiator.

“Get your bonnets, ladies.” Jeremy’s face contorted as if he were trying not to laugh.

The British Museum was as fascinating as I’d ever imagined it would be. But I felt as if we’d only just arrived when Juliet insisted it was time to go shopping.

“Why does anyone like history and historical objects?” Juliet huffed out a breath. “I cannot understand all this looking at the past. Why not look forward to lovely dresses and balls and parties?”

I said, “I like history. It is fascinating to see what other people did and how they lived.”

Juliet sighed. “Very well. I would not cut your enjoyment short.”

Jeremy couldn’t help sneaking glances at Miss Amelia Moore while she stared, open-mouthed at times, at the natural history exhibits, as well as at the works of cultural history. She would gasp, say, “Oh, my,” and lean closer. Since Juliet cared nothing about the exhibits and was often talking to other people in the crowd while they explored the museum, Miss Moore would end up talking to him.

“Is this real?” she said in a breathless voice, pointing to a shrunken head from South America.

“I believe it is.”

She leaned closer to the glass case. “It looks as if they sewed the hair back on its head.”

“And they sewed the eyes shut.”

“Yes. Just think, this was a real human person. It’s so gruesome. But I cannot look away. Do you think it was a missionary, killed by a pagan tribe?”

“Possibly. Or more likely someone from an enemy tribe killed in battle.”

She stared a minute longer, then a shiver went across her shoulders, and she moved to the next exhibit.

He no longer saw her as he had at the beginning of her friendship with Juliet. He cringed at how he had accused her of only being friends with his sister to get to him. He was almost ready to accept that that was not the case. After all, she avoided him as much as possible.

She became fascinated with a Mayan sculpture of a warrior, then an intricately carved bowl.

“How did they carve stone and wood with such precision, especially when their access to tools was so limited, living in the jungle or the desert?”

“It is very impressive, I agree.”

She was very pretty, with her light brown, almost golden hair, soft cheeks, and dark eyelashes and eyebrows. Although she was not as strident and assertive as Juliet, her strength of convictions was very great, as he remembered how she’d demanded justice for the servant girl abandoned by Skeffington.