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“Oh my.” The words were little more than a whispered breath.

Aunt Millward offered her an understanding look. “It does tend to take one’s breath away, doesn’t it? I believe that when Ralph Montagu commissioned Robert Hooke to design the house, he wished it to be the finest in all of London.” She studied it through the window. “It suffered some severe water damage before it was purchased for the museum, and from what I’ve been told, significant remodeling work was done to make it what you see today.”

“I look forward to viewing the inside,” Phoebe said, her eyes alight with interest.

Emily nodded. Phoebe would likely focus her attention on the building’s design and ornamentation. For herself, Emily wished to see the items it housed.

The carriage came to a stop, and Adam alighted first. After assisting Phoebe and Aunt Millward, he reached for Emily’s hand.

“Are you feeling up for this, Em?” he asked softly. “You don’t have you go if you are ill.”

“I would not miss it,” she said. “I’ve been counting the days ever since Mr. Buckland sent the tickets.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” He gave her a teasing look. “If we lose you at one of the exhibits, I shall come back for you tomorrow.”

“That’s very good of you. Although, I wish I’d put a bread roll in my reticule to hold me over.”

Adam chuckled. “Come,” he said. “I daresay Mr. Buckland is waiting.”

A porter stood beneath the portico, and as they ascended the stairs, he pushed opened the heavy door. “Welcome to the British Museum, Lady Millward,” he said with a bow. “Lord and Lady Dunsbourne. Miss Norton.” He bowed once more.

“Thank you, Rutherford,” Aunt Millward said. “I assume my nephew is expecting us.”

“Yes, my lady. I believe you will find him inside.”

She gave a crisp nod and led them into the lobby.

Why Aunt Millward continued to wear the peacock feather monstrosity she fondly called her favorite hat, Henry had no idea. But it did have the advantage of making her easily recognizable. He spotted the damp plumage waving above the heads of the other guests the moment she entered the lobby. From his position near the base of the stairs, he watched Lord and Lady Dunsbourne follow after her. The elegantly dressed lady with her hand on the arm of the dark-haired gentleman turned heads as she walked by, but Henry found himself searching for someone else.

A portly gentleman wearing a tall hat moved aside, and then Henry saw her. Dark ringlets hung below her simple bonnet, and a pale-colored shawl covered her shoulders and part of her floral gown. He watched as she turned her head, a look of wonder on her face as she gazed around the vast lobby. And then her eyes met his. Her smile was hesitant at first, but when he responded with a smile of his own, hers blossomed, and his heart stuttered.

“Ah, there you are, Henry!” Aunt Millward’s voice cut through the milling visitors.

Shaking off his bewildering response to Miss Norton, he stepped forward.

“Good afternoon, Aunt Millward.” He bowed. “Lord and Lady Dunsbourne. Miss Norton. Welcome to the British Museum.”

Dunsbourne inclined his head, and the ladies curtsied.

“We are glad to be here,” Dunsbourne said. “It was good of you to send us tickets, Buckland.”

“My pleasure.”

“What are we to see first?” It appeared that Aunt Millward had not come to the museum to exchange small talk.

“Do you have a preference?” he asked.

She looked to her guests, her eyebrows raised in question. “Do we?”

“I should like to see everything,” Miss Norton said.

“Well then.” Aunt Millward’s voice rang with approval. “It sounds like we’d best get started.”

“Might I suggest beginning with the manuscript saloon,” Henry said. “After that, we can work our way upstairs to the other rooms.” Miss Norton’s enthusiastic nod was all the encouragement he needed. He pointed to his left. “This way.”

He pulled open the door and glanced inside. A handful of people were wandering around the large room. Townsend stood beside a nearby bookshelf, his hands behind his back, surveying the visitors with unmistakable vigilance. Henry had not spoken to the older curator since Claridge’s visit. Given the expression on the man’s face when the chair of the board had left, it had seemed wise to keep his distance. But there could be no avoiding the curator now.

Henry waited until his guests had entered the room before following them in and gesturing toward the closest display. Lord and Lady Dunsbourne and Miss Norton obediently stepped toward it; his aunt, however, hung back.