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“You do that, dear,” Aunt Millward said. “I shall entertain this dilatory gentleman until you return.”

Chapter 21

Accepting a cup of tea from Aunt Millward with her newly cleaned hands, Emily listened to Henry and his aunt banter back and forth and smiled. It seemed ridiculous that her happiness over Henry’s arrival was even greater than her relief that Lord Culham was gone, but she rather thought that Aunt Millward felt similarly.

“You are wearing yourself out, putting in such long hours at the museum, Henry,” Aunt Millward said. “It really must stop.”

“I am touched that you care so deeply for my wellbeing, Aunt.”

“Nonsense. I am simply concerned for those guests who have waited weeks to visit the museum only to walk through the rooms with a curator who is too tired to remember his own name let alone the names of anything on display.”

“My name is Horacio Blackguard.” He raised an amused eyebrow. “Are you content now?”

Aunt Millward shook her head. “You are impossible.”

“True. But I am glad you feed me tea and cake regardless.”

Emily smiled behind her teacup. The tension that had filled the room when Lord Culham had been here was gone. Henry made her heart feel lighter. “Did the large delivery you expected at the museum arrive?” she asked.

“It did.” He put down his teacup, suddenly serious. “Seven crates from the museum’s director in the South Seas.”

“Good gracious.” Aunt Millward was suitably startled.

Henry pulled a face. “The accessions room may never recover.”

He paused, and Emily received the distinct impression that there was something else—something significant—that was weighing on him. Would he share it? She waited, sensing his indecision.

“I don’t suppose tidying up was ever your strong suit,” Aunt Millward said.

“Unfortunately, you are correct.”

It was a trivial comment, but it had the power to shift his attention. His moment of vacillation was gone, and Emily desperately wanted it back. Whatever was bothering Henry had nothing to do with sorting clutter. Of that, she was sure.

She glanced at the french doors. Twilight was falling, but the evening chill had yet to arrive. “Aunt Millward,” she said, “if Henry and I promise not to dig anything up, would you allow me to show him the lily of the valley that bloomed this week?”

Aunt Millward appeared surprisingly pleased by her request. Emily did not dare look at Henry. She hoped he would be happy to go outside with her. Or, at the very least, be willing to do so.

“With pleasure,” Aunt Millward said. “Although, for the sake of my gardener’s nerves, I think his satchel and its contents should remain indoors.”

Emily hazarded a quick look at Henry. He was already on his feet.

“A walk in the garden sans trowel would be welcome,” he said.

Emily smiled and rose to stand beside him. He offered her his arm, and she took it, distractingly aware of how strong it felt beneath her fingers.

“Shall we?” he asked, pointing to the french doors.

She nodded, and he led her outside.

A robin was singing on a nearby branch and took off in a flurry of feathers as they stepped onto the stone path that circled the small lawn. Higher up the tree, a crow issued a mocking caw at the fleeing robin and remained firmly on its perch, watching them as they walked past.

The distant rumble of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves reached them from beyond the terraced houses and garden wall, but the enclosed area of greenery contained a welcome tranquility.

“Henry?”

He slowed his footsteps and looked at her questioningly. “Yes?”

Emily wavered. Had she imagined the anxiety in his expression earlier? Out here, with the late afternoon sun behind him and the steady drone of bees circling the pear tree blossoms above their heads, her concern seemed fanciful.