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He was still waiting for her to speak.

She met his gaze, the kindness in his eyes giving her courage. “Is there something weighing on you? In the house, I sensed . . .” She shook her head. This was harder than she’d thought it would be. “You . . . you seemed troubled.”

Surprise lit his hazel eyes. “You took the Dowager Lady Pendleton’s measure within minutes of meeting her, saw through Lord Culham’s facade without prompting, and now this. Such discernment is a rare thing.”

“I would never claim that gift,” Emily said, “but I have always been more comfortable observing others than being the center of attention.”

“And you observed something in me today.”

“I thought so.” She wrinkled her nose. “Was I wrong?”

He looked away and sighed. “No, you were not wrong.”

The heaviness in his voice caused her heart to ache. “Would it help to talk about it? You can count on my discretion.”

“True.” His smile was strained. “We are the holders of each other’s secrets, after all.”

“Yes, we are.”

They walked a little farther in silence. Up ahead, the robin that had been so recently displaced from the tree swooped down to land on the edge of a stone birdbath. He bent his head to take a drink, noticed Henry and Emily’s approach, and took to the sky again.

Raising his head, Henry watched it go until it disappeared over the garden wall. “I had thought I enjoyed a good friendship with Mr. Fernsby, my colleague at the museum,” he said. “Today, I came to realize that I may not know him at all.”

Emily tightened her grip on his arm. The loss of a friendship, no matter how it occurred, was a painful thing. “Tell me,” she encouraged.

He took a deep breath. “This afternoon, I learned that the museum director, Mr. Watts, did not return to England with the items he collected in the South Seas, and the board of trustees have decided to appoint a new director from amongst the curators.”

Emily bit her lip to prevent an exclamation. For Henry to have avoided mentioning something so monumental—something that might place him in so prestigious a position—gave reason to believe that the situation was more complicated than it initially appeared.

“The museum has three curators,” he continued. “Townsend, Fernsby, and me. Soon before I arrived here, I learned that Townsend has taken himself out of contention. He does not want the position. Fernsby, on the other hand, seems to want it above all else.” He tightened his jaw. “I noticed a change in his behavior about a fortnight ago, but I did not know what to attribute it to. I learned today that he caught wind of the director stepping down and has been attempting to position himself as Watts’s replacement by actively undermining the chair’s confidence in me and Townsend.”

“He shall not succeed,” Emily said. “How could he? Your work and character speak for themselves.”

Henry smiled. “As much as I appreciate your sentiments, the members of the board are unlikely to perceive Fernsby’s maneuvering for what it is. Flattery goes a long way amongst members of Society.”

“That is ridiculous! Can they not see that you are clearly the best person for the job?”

Henry’s smile widened. “A gentleman could not ask for a more valiant champion.”

“I am useless,” she countered. “I can do nothing more than express my frustration.”

“On the contrary.” He stopped walking and met her eyes. “Your listening ear and support make a huge difference to me.”

“But, Henry—”

“I mean it, Emily. Up until a few hours ago, I had never even considered becoming director of the British Museum. Even now, I am not sure that it is what I want. I recognize the honor and prestige that come with the position, but I am fully aware that such things often come at the cost of one’s freedom. Mr. Watts’s decision to step down and remain in the South Seas is proof of that.” He set his hand over hers on his other arm. “Regardless of what happens, I am truly touched that you believe me so capable.”

Emily could not fully identify the emotion in Henry’s eyes, but surely, discussing his position at the museum should not make the simple act of breathing so difficult. She needed a distraction. Something safer than Henry’s eyes. “We have almost reached the lily of the valley.” With her free hand, she pointed to the end of the garden. “It’s beneath the wall over there. Do you see it?”

“I do.” He smiled, but she did not miss the resignation in his tone. “It helps that they’re white.”

She winced at the reminder of his difficulty with colors. “How did you manage with the butterflies?”

“Townsend helped,” he said. “He was in the accessions room with me most of the time, so it was easy enough to casually ask for his opinion when I needed it.”

“I’m glad.” Her concern suddenly felt foolish. Of course he would know how to overcome the obstacle. He’d been doing it all his life.

“You are kind to ask. And I’m doubly grateful for this chance to speak with you alone.” He slipped his free hand into his pocket, withdrew a piece of paper, and offered it to her. “Along with the crates and their attendant issues, this letter arrived today.”