Page 31 of The Unassuming Curator

Henry raised his eyebrows, the first inkling that he had misstepped entering his mind. “How very gallant.”

“Wasn’t it? Unfortunately for him, Lord Culham, Mr. Poltock, and Colonel Eastberry all had the same notion.” Aunt Millward smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of her floral gown and gave him a look that bordered on exasperation. “Thanks to all Miss Norton’s admirers, we have flowers in almost every room in the house.”

Henry knew full well that his aunt’s home boasted far more than four rooms, but he was too busy coming to grips with the way in which his earlier unease had so quickly become burning annoyance to correct her exaggeration. Had any of those gentlemen done anything more than dance with Miss Norton? He thought it unlikely. He hadn’t been that late to the ball. But she must have made her mark on them regardless.

His satchel sat on the floor beside him. He pushed it farther under the chair with his feet, his idea for an outing with Miss Norton now seeming foolish. He should have sent flowers. No matter that the weather had probably kept her housebound, she’d had five days to enjoy the daffodils, not to mention whatever blossoms the others had had delivered, and to think fondly on the senders. He gave the bright-yellow flowers an irritated look. At least some of them should have had the decency to wilt by now.

Light footsteps sounded in the passage. Aunt Millward faced the door expectantly, and Henry rose to his feet in time to watch Miss Norton cross the threshold.

“Good day, Mr. Buckland.” She dropped a small curtsy. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting.”

Henry inclined his head in greeting. “It is I who should apologize, Miss Norton. I came unannounced and have undoubtedly taken you from something else.”

She offered him a shy smile. “I was reading to Lady Dunsbourne as she worked on her embroidery, and since her interest in the history behind the various clan tartans of Scotland is somewhat limited, I think she was rather glad of the interruption.”

He chuckled. What was it about this young lady that lifted his spirits the moment he set eyes on her?

“How is her ladyship?”

“She is much improved from how she was feeling on the evening of the Tilsons’ ball. For now, she is keeping to her bed, and we are hopeful that if she limits her activities over the next few weeks, all will be well with her and the baby.”

“I am very glad to hear it.”

She moved farther into the room and claimed a spot on the sofa beside his aunt. He sat down again, his leg inadvertently brushing against his satchel. The soft clink of the metal buckle hitting the chair leg filled the silence, and Miss Norton’s gaze dropped to the bag on the floor.

“Is that the bag you use to collect your plant specimens?” she asked.

There was no hiding it now. And regardless of his second thoughts about the excursion he had planned, any excuse he could possibly contrive for having the satchel with him would surely be more awkward than the true reason.

“It is.” He lifted the bag, placed it on his knee, and lifted the flap. Drawing out his trowel, he showed it to her. “I brought it because I wondered . . .” He swallowed. Lud, this was an exceptionally stupid idea. No young lady would wish to risk ruining an elegant gown to tromp through wet grass and mud in search of a weed. He cleared his throat. Forward. It was his only option. “You mentioned that you miss visiting the river near Dunsbourne Manor, and so I thought you might enjoy an outing to Clapham Common. After all the rain we’ve had, the foliage will be thriving, and if you are of a mind to help me search near the ponds there, the museum could use some samples of ribwort plantain or water crowfoot or lesser periwinkle. All three should be blooming at this time of year.”

She stared at him, her brown eyes wide and an expression of pure delight on her face. “Truly?” she asked. “You would let me do that?”

An unfamiliar warmth filled his chest. He smiled, relief that he had somehow avoided appearing a complete dolt combining with the pleasure her enthusiastic response produced. He patted his satchel. “I have the tools we need, and my carriage is waiting outside.”

She turned her brown eyes on his aunt. “May I go, Aunt Millward?”

Cocking her head slightly, Aunt Millward gave him a deliberately inquiring look. It was the same look she’d given him at the annual Millward family picnic when he’d been about eight years old. That time, he’d been so focused on choosing the biscuit with the most raisins, he’d neglected to offer the plate to her.

Henry swallowed his grin and assumed a formal tone. “Aunt Millward, would you like to accompany Miss Norton and me to Clapham Common, where we can visit the river and dig up a plant or two?”

“Well, that took you long enough,” she huffed. “Did you actually think I would forfeit my role as chaperone to a maid rather than participate in so adventurous an expedition?”

“Not for a moment,” Henry said. “Indeed, if you do not come with us wearing your peacock-feathered hat, I shall be sorely disappointed.”

“I must say, I am twice amazed that someone who is uncommonly dense when it comes to interacting with the fairer sex would pay such close attention to their headwear.” She sniffed. “But you are right, I believe my peacock-feathered hat will do very well today.” She came to her feet, and Henry and Miss Norton immediately followed.

“Might I also suggest wearing your sturdiest boots?” he asked.

“Do not get ahead of yourself, Henry,” Aunt Millward warned. “Just because I am choosing to wear my favorite hat does not mean that I require your direction on the remainder of my wardrobe.”

Given that Henry was unable to match his own articles of clothing, it was wise counsel.

“Duly noted,” he said.

She nodded gravely but was unable to fully hide the twinkle in her eyes. “Very good. I am off to fetch my hat.”

Henry glanced at Miss Norton. Her lips twitched. He winked, and her smile grew.