Page 36 of The Unassuming Curator

Henry leaned back against the seat, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I defy anyone to attempt to bamboozle you, Aunt Millward. It cannot be done.”

“I should certainly hope not,” Aunt Millward said. “Let that be your second life lesson during this carriage ride home.”

Emily bit her lip to prevent her smile from growing. Aunt Millward was a gem. A highly irregular but completely wonderful gem.

“One that I will definitely commit to memory,” Henry said solemnly.

“Good. And now you can tell me if you plan to be at the Southbecks’ musical event.”

This time his grimace was undeniable.

“I confess, listening to an opera singer—no matter how celebrated—warble one aria after another is not my first choice of how to spend my evening.”

“Yes, yes. I know you’d rather be in a library reading a book or outside hunting down plants, but one cannot spend all of one’s time doing those things.”

“More’s the pity,” Emily whispered.

The rumble of the carriage wheels prevented Aunt Millward from hearing her comment, but if his unexpectedly mischievous look was any indication, it had not escaped Henry.

“Tell me, Aunt Millward,” he said, “do you intend to attend? And more to the point, do you intend to drag Emily there too?”

Aunt Millward surely noticed Henry’s use of her given name, but she chose to make no mention of it.

“We shall both be there,” Aunt Millward said. This was the first Emily had heard of the event, which made it seem as though Henry was not the only person whose presence was assumed. “And there will be no dragging involved. I have learned from years of experience that such events are far more enjoyable if one uses a little fabric to plug one’s ears before the singing commences. I will provide Emily with ear plugs, and we shall both have a very pleasant evening.”

Henry’s laughter filled the carriage, and Emily could not help but join in. If Saturday’s entertainment was to be as painful as Henry suggested, Aunt Millward’s third life lesson may well save them all.

Henry jotted down the final entry in his ledger, set his quill aside, and reached for the blotting paper. Finally. Every piece in the Egyptian pottery collection was accounted for.

Rolling his shoulders, he rose from the chair and walked to the window. Another day of sunshine. After all the rain they’d experienced earlier in the week, everyone was glad for the warmer temperatures and drier weather. His only complaint was that for today, at least, his work demanded that he be indoors at the museum. He wished he could be outside. Preferably with Emily at his side.

A smile played across his lips as he pictured her triumphant expression when she’d handed him the perfect lesser periwinkle specimen she’d dug up after having successfully wrapped the ribwort plantain. He shook his head slightly. Was there another high-born young lady in all of England who’d be so eager to dig in the mud and handle earthworms? He did not think so. Neither did he think there was another so charming.

He moved back to the table and glanced at the calendar beside his ledger. His current commitments may prevent him from enjoying another outing with Emily right away, but at least he would see her at the Southbecks’ musical evening on Saturday. His position at the museum notwithstanding, she was the only reason he had sent an acceptance to the invitation.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings.

“Enter,” he called.

The door opened, and Rutherford appeared.

“My apologies for disturbing you, Mr. Buckland,” he said. “I just came up to tell you that the display case you ordered some weeks back is here. The men are wondering where you’d like to have it put.”

“Their timing couldn’t be better,” Henry said. “I have the pottery ready. Direct them to the Montagu room, would you? I shall meet them there.”

“Very good, sir.”

As soon as the porter left to deliver the message, Henry opened a desk drawer and withdrew a sign. Tucking it under his arm, he headed across the landing to the Montagu room. The door was open. Slowing his steps, he entered, experiencing—as he always did—a sense of wonder for lives once lived and creatures never before seen.

Cases filled with Roman artifacts and Viking relics lined one long wall. Against the other three, the skeletal remains of over thirty mammals and reptiles from around the world were displayed beneath a vast collection of animal skins. In the far corner, a space had been cleared, and if the carpenters had heeded the measurements he’d given them, it would be just the right size for the new display case.

Grateful that no one from the last tour had lingered in the room, Henry attached the sign he’d brought with him to the door. The displays in this room are currently unavailable. It was an unpopular sign, and whoever led the next tour group through would undoubtedly hear complaints, but it couldn’t be helped. If he did his job correctly, visitors would find the new Egyptian pottery display worth the wait.

Henry heard the men before he saw them. Their grunts of exertion and called directions echoed off the high ceiling as they made their way up the wide staircase. Henry pushed the door open wide and stood back as two workmen carried a long table down the landing toward him.

“You have my thanks, gentlemen,” he said. “Set it in the corner, if you would.”

“Righ’ you are, sir.” The older of the two men tilted the table to the left to navigate the doorway. “Lift it up a bit, Tommy.”