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Henry had serious reservations about the assignment, but this was obviously not the time to say so. “Very well, my lord.”

That, it seemed, was all Claridge needed to hear. He started toward the door. “Until next week, then.”

His clipped footsteps faded along the landing, and Henry turned to Fernsby. He was staring at the open door with an odd look on his face.

“Any idea what that was all about?” Henry asked.

Fernsby’s expression cleared. “Wish I could help you, old fellow.”

“Almost as much as I wish you could. It’s ridiculous to not bring Townsend in on this donation.”

“I daresay Townsend would offer you a stronger word than ridiculous. Continued avoidance is likely your best strategy.”

The knot in Henry’s stomach tightened further. Townsend could act the role of curmudgeon, but Henry had always had a respectful working relationship with the man. He’d hoped that a new week would enable them to put their recent discord behind them. Claridge’s injunction had all but ensured that it would increase. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You might be right.”

“I usually am,” Fernsby said. He pulled out his pocket watch. “The next tour starts in five minutes, so I’d better go. I’ll bypass the Montagu room until you have the new display ready.”

“I appreciate it.”

Henry walked with him onto the landing and pulled the door closed behind them. The sign swung noisily back and forth, a patent reminder that Henry had no time to waste.

Chapter 15

The Southbecks’ drawing room was at least twice the size of the one at Dunsbourne Manor, and it was decorated in a Grecian theme. Large urns stood on either side of the doorway, and marble busts of sightless gentlemen wearing laurel wreaths upon their heads sat on shelves in recessed archways around the room. Candles flickered from sconces on the wall and from a magnificent candelabra atop a marble stand beside a pianoforte. Chairs had been arranged in half a dozen tidy rows, facing the pianoforte, and behind the chairs, the gathering guests mingled.

Lord and Lady Southbeck greeted Aunt Millward warmly and expressed their pleasure in meeting Emily and their regret that Lord and Lady Dunsbourne were unable to join them. No one wished Adam and Phoebe were there more than Emily, but she understood Adam’s decision to stay behind. Not wanting to abandon his wife was a valid excuse for opting out of an event he had never really wanted to attend anyway.

Emily allowed her gaze to traverse the room’s occupants. Would Henry overcome his reluctance to sit through opera music to be here tonight? She could not deny that her hope that she would see him again had caused her to have Hannah spend a little longer on her hair and had influenced her choice of gown.

“Do you know the opera singer, Aunt Millward?” she asked.

“I have heard her sing before, but I have never been introduced,” Aunt Millward said. “She is standing beside the pianoforte in a silver gown.”

Emily directed her attention that way and saw the lady in question. She was a little older than Emily had imagined, but she held herself with assurance and gestured with her hands as she spoke to a lady whose gray hair was ratted to the extreme.

“Is that the Dowager Lady Pendleton with her?”

“I believe so,” Aunt Millward said. “Which undoubtedly means that her granddaughter is also in attendance.”

“Lady Aurelia is speaking to the gentleman from the museum,” Emily said, spotting her bright-yellow gown almost immediately. “The one from the manuscript saloon.”

“Mr. Townsend,” Aunt Millward said. “Well, I don’t suppose that will last long.”

“Because he has no title?” Emily guessed.

Aunt Millward opened her fan. “Have I told you recently how uncommonly bright you are?”

Emily knew full well that whatever intelligence she could claim rarely helped her in social settings such as this. This was a situation in which the likes of Lady Aurelia shone and she sputtered. “What of the other gentleman who has just joined them?” she asked.

Mr. Townsend’s somber black attire and white wig faded into obscurity when juxtaposed with the flamboyant green-and-white-striped breeches, floral waistcoat, and burgundy jacket of the gentleman who had joined him.

“That colorful peacock is Mr. Fernsby,” Aunt Millward said. “He is the other curator at the museum, along with Mr. Townsend and Henry. Not only is he title-less, but I also believe the Dowager Lady Pendleton would consider his artistic background even less desirable than Mr. Townsend’s devotion to literature. I fear he will be banished along with his colleague once she catches sight of him with Lady Aurelia.”

The words were barely out of Aunt Millward’s mouth when the sound of the Dowager Lady Pendleton’s cane clicking across the polished wood floor announced her speedy passage across the room.

“Good evening, Miss Norton. How delightful to see you again.”

Emily started. She’d been so consumed with Lady Aurelia’s situation that she’d not noticed Lord Culham’s approach.