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“Miss Norton?” She heard the concern in Mr. Buckland’s voice. “I cannot promise that I will be able to answer your question, but I would not have you be afraid to ask.”
“You are very good.” She shook her head. “I am being ridiculous. It’s just that when you were unable to identify Lady Finchley by the distinctive hue of her gown, I was reminded that you asked about the color of the amethyst when we were at the museum, and I—” She sensed rather than saw him stiffen, and a ball of dread formed in her stomach. What had she done? Was satisfying her curiosity worth risking offending the gentleman who had shown her such kindness? “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. I have nothing more to say other than to thank you for being so gracious to a young lady who has much yet to learn.”
“On the contrary, Miss Norton. I am twice amazed at how educated you are on a wide variety of subjects and am particularly impressed by your observational skills. We have been in each other’s company only four times, but you have detected a disability that I have successfully hidden from people who have known me all my life.”
Emily’s heart pounded. “Truly, sir, I did not mean to have you share something you have not told others.”
His smile was strained. “Unless I am mistaken, I believe we have already entered that territory together.” He took her elbow. “Come. I shall tell you what little I can.”
They walked toward the stone railing. Somewhere to the right, a lady tittered, and footsteps sounded on the stone stairs. Another couple walked past them. The gentlemen exchanged polite nods. Mr. Buckland waited until they were out of earshot.
“During my years at Cambridge, I spent a great deal of time reading, examining plant specimens, and writing about them. At the end of a long day in the laboratory, I often found myself struggling to see the details on a page or sample. One of my professors wore spectacles and suggested that I might benefit from acquiring a pair.”
She had not seen him wear spectacles. “Did they help?”
“Yes. Immeasurably.” This time his smile was more natural. “I do not need to wear them all the time. Only when my eyes are tired. In sunlight, they would help me see each of the freckles on your nose.”
That he had noticed her freckles did not bring her a similar measure of happiness, but she was glad for his success. “Your spectacles must work exceptionally well because Phoebe assures me that my freckles are very small.”
“They are very small indeed,” he said. “They are also most becoming.”
The light evening breeze did nothing to temper the warmth that filled her cheeks. It was high time Mr. Buckland returned to the subject of his eyes rather than her freckles. “I am glad that your spectacles have enabled you to better focus, but am I to assume that they did not make everything right?”
“Yes.”
The finality of that single word told Emily more about how difficult this was for him than any lengthy explanation would have. “I am sorry,” she said.
“As am I.” He shrugged. “It was a fleeting hope.” He leaned against the railing and gazed out onto the darkened garden beyond. “For as long as I can remember, I have been unable to discern between certain colors. From my perspective, reds have a greenish hue, sometimes appearing as a dull brown. Purples and blues, when placed near each other, become indistinguishable.”
As improbable as his claim seemed to be, the regret in the gentleman’s voice attested to its reality. Emily was silent for a moment, allowing the implications of what he described to settle upon her. How would her life be different if she could not differentiate between the vast array of colors in fabric, in paintings, in nature?
She swiveled to face him. “The red campion,” she gasped.
“I still maintain that it is misnamed,” he said.
“I agree. It’s pink.”
“So you told me. And my colleague Mr. Fernsby concurred.” He released a tight breath. “To me, it is gray.”
Emily recognized his frustration and ached for him. “Does it make your work difficult?”
“Sometimes. Mr. Fernsby is an artist and is more than happy to give me the benefit of his expertise. He wears a broad color palate every day. But it is exasperating that I am forced to rely on others for something that should be so simple.”
“There is nothing simple about your work at the museum,” she said. “And that you do it so conscientiously despite your handicap is a credit to you.”
“Is it? Sometimes I wonder if another would be better suited for my job. Someone less likely to make a grievous error in classifying new specimens.”
“I do not believe that.”
His smile was halfhearted. “As much as I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, you hardly know me well enough to be a fair judge.”
“How many gentlemen do you know who can claim such a passion for plant collection that they carry a trowel with them wherever they go?” She hesitated. “You didn’t actually bring one to the ball though, did you?”
This time, she elicited a genuine laugh from him. “Lady Tilson would have my head—or, at least, my standing in Society—if I were to dig up anything from her beloved garden. So, no, I did not bring it with me this evening. While I am in London, I tend to limit my outings with a trowel to the less populated areas of the city.”
“Are there any?” Emily was genuinely surprised. Her experience thus far had been roads lined with rows upon rows of buildings, along with countless pedestrians, mounted horses, and carriages.
“Fewer than I would like, but such places do exist. There are a few wilderness-like spots in some of the parks.”
