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“And the others are likely to be in Italian too?”

“They usually are,” Aunt Millward replied.

“Right, then.” Henry wadded up the first piece of fabric and pressed it into his ear. “You have my sincere thanks, Aunt.”

She smiled. “You are most welcome.”

By Henry’s pocket watch—which, contrary to Aunt Millward’s belief, kept extremely good time—Miss Ledbetter sang for one hour and twenty-three minutes. As far as Henry was concerned, it was about an hour and twenty minutes too long. He may not have been the only one to feel that way, but when the audience rose to its feet and gave the singer a rousing applause, he had to concede that he appeared to be in the minority. He waited until the applause died down and then pulled out his earplugs.

His doing so was a timely reminder for Aunt Millward, who withdrew hers and tucked the fabric back into her reticule. “I rather enjoy living in a world of faded sounds for a little while,” she said. “People are altogether too loud most of the time.”

“I think that’s one reason why Benedict enjoys being in the country so much,” Henry said. “The peace and quiet certainly has its appeal.”

“It does. But at this precise moment, I am glad you are here.” She inclined her head toward the front of the room. “I rather think Emily might be glad to know it too.”

In the short time since the concert had ended, Emily had moved from the chair where she’d been sitting toward the aisle on the far side of the room. Eastberry remained beside her, and Henry saw her turn and exchange a few words with the colonel before greeting the white-wigged gentleman dressed in black standing alone at the end of the row. Townsend? Two ladies walked by, temporarily blocking Henry’s view. He leaned to the right in time to see his colleague bow and say something to Emily.

“You’re quite right, Aunt Millward,” Henry said. “And if you’ll excuse me, I shall make my presence known to her right away.”

Aunt Millward nodded her agreement, and Henry stepped out from between the chairs.

It seemed that all the Southbecks’ guests were attempting to move at the same time. Civility dictated that Henry not barge through the line of people vacating their chairs nor cut through the chatting clusters of ladies and gentlemen in the aisles, but after waiting so long to speak with Emily, his patience was wearing thin, and when he caught sight of the Dowager Lady Pendleton bearing down on him, he threw courtesy to the wind.

“Excuse me,” he said, stepping between Mr. and Mrs. Grisham and narrowly missing running into Mr. Dryden before darting behind the nearest Grecian urn. No matter what the Dowager Lady Pendleton thought, a grilling regarding the current location of his brother was not going to happen.

He looked to the spot where he’d last seen Emily. Townsend stood alone once more. A few feet farther away, Fernsby was talking to a couple of members of the board of trustees, but there was no sign of Emily. Releasing an exasperated breath, Henry scoured the room again. Emily’s petite stature made her difficult to find, but he caught the flash of a pale-green gown behind Lord Southbeck. Notwithstanding his difficulty in discerning reds, pinks, and purples, he had little difficulty with green, and he’d been staring at the back of her gown long enough to know it when he saw it. Taking three swift steps to the left, he bypassed those gathering to express thanks to their hosts and ran directly into Emily.

“Henry!” She stumbled back a couple of paces.

Eastberry reached for her elbow. “I say, Buckland. Have a care. You all but knocked Miss Norton to the ground.”

There was no logical reason why Henry should find Eastberry’s comment so annoying. The man was right, after all, but the fact that he had yet to leave Emily’s side or let go of her arm, even though she now appeared perfectly stable put Henry’s teeth on edge. Pushing aside his frustration, he inclined his head. “I beg your pardon, Emily. I hope you are not hurt.”

“Not at all.” She smiled, and he was instantly reminded of why he had come. “I did not know you were here. Have you seen Aunt Millward?”

The perplexed expression that had formed on Eastberry’s face at Henry’s informal greeting cleared. “But of course,” Eastberry said. “I had forgotten that you are cousins.”

“Not at all.” Henry had known Eastberry for several years and could not ever remember finding him so irksome. “We both claim a relationship to Lady Millward, but that is the extent of our familial ties.”

“I see,” the colonel said, even though the lines on his forehead suggested otherwise. “So you did not arrive with Miss Norton and Lady Millward?”

Given Emily’s surprise at seeing him, Henry considered it an obvious assumption, but it appeared that Eastberry wanted to be sure.

“Unfortunately, no. I arrived just as the concert began.”

Presumably reassured that Henry had no prior arrangement to spend the evening with Emily, Eastberry’s posture relaxed. “Ah. Well, I’m glad you caught it all. Miss Ledbetter was quite marvelous, wasn’t she?”

“Indeed.” Marvelous was not the descriptor Henry would have chosen, but it would do.

“It’s really quite remarkable that she could sing for so long without any loss in volume,” Emily said.

“True.” Henry fingered the earplug fabric in his pocket. “Although it may not have seemed so loud had you been seated on the back row.”

She nodded, and he thought he caught a hint of regret. “I should like to try that next time,” she said.

Eastberry gave her a surprised look. “I fear you would run the risk of not being able to see the performer, Miss Norton.”

“With my short stature, not being able to see over other people’s heads is so common an occurrence, I am well used to it.”