Page 30 of The Unassuming Curator

Adam had seemed gratified by the extravagant gestures. Aunt Millward had complimented her on each spray and had asked to know the name of each sender. Emily had read each card to her, but she’d received the distinct impression that Aunt Millward had not been nearly as pleased by the deliveries as Adam had seemed to be.

In the privacy of her own bedchamber, Emily could admit to a minute portion of disappointment herself. The feeling was not so strong as to prevent her from feeling flattered by the gentlemen’s gifts, but it was just enough to cause her to keep listening for another knock on the front door. It was ridiculous. She had all but abandoned Mr. Buckland on the Tilsons’ patio. But she could not deny that his was the name she had most wanted to read on a card.

As it was, she could not countenance the thought of having Lord Culham’s flowers in her bedchamber. Irrational or not, the mere thought of the gentleman caused her to shudder. She’d offered his flowers to Phoebe and had been pleased when she’d accepted so readily. Aunt Millward’s butler had helped her find spots in the drawing room, library, and entrance hall for the other flowers. Seeing them there was a pleasant reminder that she had survived her first London ball.

Perhaps Phoebe’s thoughts had also moved to the ball, because she lay back against her pillows and set one hand on the blanket where it covered her swollen abdomen.

“Forgive me, Emily. This is not how I wanted you to spend your time in London. You should be going out for afternoon tea and rides in the park and dinner engagements.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Emily said. “As exciting as you may consider those things, I find them exhausting. I am more than happy to be here with you and a good book.”

Phoebe looked at the volumes arranged in a small pile beside the tulips and shook her head. “It is truly remarkable that we are such good friends.”

Emily laughed. “I agree.” She reached out and took Phoebe’s hand. “Do not fret over me. When the world has dried out a little more, I will venture forth. Perhaps Aunt Millward will take me back to Hyde Park.”

“Yes. You must go again soon.”

A knock sounded on the door. Emily released Phoebe’s hand.

“Come in,” Phoebe called.

The door opened, and Hannah, one of Aunt Millward’s maid’s, appeared.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady.” She bobbed a curtsy. “But there’s a gentleman come t’ visit, an’ Lady Millward’s askin’ if Miss Norton would join ’er in t’ drawin’ room.”

Phoebe’s eyes widened even as Emily’s stomach clenched.

“You have your first caller, Emily,” she said, smiling delightedly.

“Who is it, Hannah?” Emily managed. “Did you catch his name?”

“Yes, miss. It’s Mr. Buckland.”

Emily’s tightened stomach did a slow roll. She pressed her hand to her corset and took an unsteady breath. Why had he come? Was it simply a social call to see his aunt and the older lady had thought to include her in the visit? Or had he come because he’d received her letter? Her stomach lurched again. What had she been thinking? She knew better than to allow her curiosity to rule her tongue. She never should have brought up Mr. Buckland’s unique eye condition with Dr. Thorndike. If she’d kept her silence, she would have been offered no reason to write to the gentleman and no temptation to overstep.

“Please tell my aunt that Miss Norton will be there momentarily,” Phoebe said.

“Yes, m’lady.”

Hannah bobbed another curtsy, and the next moment, she was gone.

Emily’s panic swelled. She swung to face Phoebe again. “I’m not ready to go downstairs.”

“Of course you are,” Phoebe said. “You look perfectly lovely in that peach-colored gown.”

This was probably not the time to tell Phoebe that her appearance was the least of her worries.

“Go,” Phoebe urged. “I will be fine. I may even take a nap, just as Adam ordered me to do when he left to visit his banker.”

Reluctantly, Emily rose to her feet. She would have to face Mr. Buckland sometime. Discussing pleasantries over a cup of tea in Aunt Millward’s drawing room was surely better than almost any other alternative. “Very well. I will come back later this afternoon.”

Phoebe buried her head a little lower into her pillows. “I would like that very much.”

Waiting for Miss Norton to make an appearance in Aunt Millward’s drawing room would have been bad enough without doing so under his aunt's watchful eye. Henry glanced at the clock on the mantel and managed to refrain from running his finger beneath his collar. Barely. It had been eight minutes since the maid had left to fetch Miss Norton. Surely it didn’t take that long to deliver a message upstairs. He forced his gaze from the clock to the vase of bright-yellow flowers beside it.

“Are the daffodils from your garden, Aunt?” he asked.

“No. As a matter of fact, Lord Atwood had those delivered to Emily the morning after the Tilsons’ ball.”