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“As are you, my dear. In fact, as we are so obviously well-suited companions, I think it time that we dispense with formalities. You are like a sister to Phoebe, so I think it only fitting that you address me as Aunt Millward.”

There was nothing Emily would like better, but she had no desire to add presumptuous to her list of oddities in the minds of other members of the ton. “Is . . . is that entirely proper?”

Lady Millward brushed away her concern with a flick of her wrist. “Since Lord Bloxley has designated me an honorary aunt and has no qualms about using that appellation in public, I think we are safe.”

Emily’s smile was immediate. “Then I should be honored to do the same. And I would very much like it if you would call me Emily.”

“With pleasure,” the older lady said. “And now that we have that behind us, let me share my news.” She raised her other hand, and for the first time, Emily noticed that she held several pieces of paper. “A courier from the British Museum arrived not long ago.”

Emily’s heart rate quickened. “The British Museum?”

“Yes. It seems that Henry has managed to procure four tickets to tour the collections this Thursday and has offered them to us.”

“We . . . we can tour the collections this Thursday?” Emily said, her voice catching. “I had thought that it would be impossible to gain admittance during the short time we are to be in London. Adam was told that those wishing to visit the museum were having to wait weeks to obtain tickets.”

“Is that so? Well, there we are. I daresay it pays to have one of the curators for a nephew.”

“Yes,” Emily said with bemusement. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

Aunt Millward smiled. “Am I to assume that you would like to go?”

“Oh, very much!” The words came out in a rush.

“Wonderful. Then, I shall seek out Phoebe and your brother to see if they wish to join us.” Aunt Millward rose, and clutching the book to her chest, Emily also came to her feet.

“I must write to Mr. Buckland to thank him for his kindness.”

“Why don’t you simply tell him in person?” Aunt Millward said.

“Will we see him there?”

“I certainly hope so.” Aunt Millward had already reached the door. “He knows that I will not countenance any other tour guide.”

The chatter of voices penetrated the closed door of Henry's office. He raised his gaze from the paperwork on the table before him and reached for his pocket watch as the voices and footsteps faded down the passage. The museum’s visitors were undoubtedly headed to the gallery of antiquity with Fernsby, which meant that if Henry did not hurry, he would not reach the lobby in time to greet the next group.

Setting down his quill, he reached for the jacket he’d draped across the back of the chair. Conducting guided tours was a mixed blessing. He enjoyed sharing the unique collections with others—especially those who’d never seen the items housed at the British Museum before—but the tours took him away from the work he truly loved. No matter if it was the botanical collections, the ethnographic materials, natural minerals, or other antiquities, he was at his happiest when he was fully immersed in human history and the wonders of the natural world.

He donned his jacket and exited the room. The half dozen fossils he had yet to catalog would have to wait another hour, but he would finish that group today, even if it meant being late for dinner.

Locking the door behind him, he returned his thoughts to his parents’ dinner party the night before. Benedict had survived virtually unscathed. Aunt Millward’s presence had been an unforeseen boon, and Miss Norton’s had been an unanticipated pleasure. His surprise at seeing her in his parents’ drawing room had redoubled when he’d learned of her connection to his aunt. Discovering that it was her love of the outdoors and a natural curiosity for what might lie around the next bend that had drawn Miss Norton down the Berkshire lane unaccompanied had piqued his interest. Both were motivations he could understand—and they were as rare in a well-dressed young lady as they were refreshing.

Eastberry had taken full advantage of her obvious interest in those things. The gentleman had barely stopped talking about his exploits in India long enough to eat his meal. Lingering remnants of Henry’s irritation over Eastberry’s poorly disguised bragging brought Henry’s brows together. Henry did not know Miss Norton well enough to ascertain how much the colonel had turned her head with his stories, but he had a feeling his aunt was right about the young lady’s desire to experience the world around her firsthand. And Henry had an absurdly strong desire to be the one to facilitate her next adventure.

He started down the stairs. Already, people were gathering in the lobby. Henry did not know whether Aunt Millward was truly unaware that tickets for the museum tours were extremely difficult to procure, or if she simply faced that hindrance the same way she out-maneuvered the Dowager Lady Pendleton—with confidence and aplomb. A smile tugged at his lips. Whatever her system, it worked. He had rearranged his schedule to accommodate one more tour on Thursday and had already sent the tickets to her townhouse.

“Buckland!”

At the sound of his name, Henry scanned the floor below. A tall, thin gentleman crossed the lobby, heading for the stairs. The regular click, click, click of his cane hitting the marble tile echoed off the vaulted ceiling, adding a feel of urgency to his brisk pace. Henry hurried down the few remaining stairs. It would not do to keep the chair of the museum’s board of trustees waiting a second time.

“Good afternoon, Lord Claridge.” Henry reached the ground floor and bowed.

“And to you, Buckland.” He pointed toward the manuscript saloon. “A word, if you wouldn’t mind.”

A gust of cold air swirled around their ankles as the front door opened and closed to admit two more people.

“Of course, my lord.” It would appear that Henry was going to be late for his tour group after all. “I apologize that I was not here the last time you visited. My meeting with Lady Grenville took longer than I’d anticipated.”

“So, I imagine.”