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Henry took a deep breath. He could not fault the man, but Dunsbourne was not making this easy. He took a moment to think of Emily’s sweet face, of her enthusiasm for everything they had done together, whether great or small. “I will escort her out of a crowded ballroom if ever she’s in need of time away from the crowd, I will stand by her side to watch a caterpillar turn into a butterfly, I will dig up flowers with her whenever she wishes, and I will proudly wear any eight-foot-long scarf she makes.”

Dunsbourne’s lips twitched, and his stance relaxed a fraction. “You have come to know Emily well in a relatively short period of time.”

“I look forward to getting to know her even better.”

“Can you financially support her in such a way that she will never want for any essentials?”

“I can.” There was something in the way Dunsbourne phrased the question that led Henry to wonder if the baron had a markedly different view of affluence than the one held by most members of the ton. “I own property in Shropshire: a rather lovely house once owned by my maternal grandfather that sits on almost one thousand acres of forested and arable land. My inherited income is sufficient to keep a family comfortably, but I choose to work at the museum because of my passion for the natural sciences.”

“I enjoy a similar passion, but mine is for my apple orchard and cider production.” Dunsbourne inclined his head as though conceding a point. “I daresay you shall see both before long.”

Hope rose in his chest. “I should like that very much, my lord.”

“Giving Emily away in marriage will be difficult for me, Buckland. I am entrusting you with someone who is very precious to me.”

“I understand, my lord. And although I have not spent nearly as much time with her as you have, she is also extremely precious to me.”

Dunsbourne gave a resigned nod. “I shall speak with Emily. If, as you claim, she reciprocates your feelings for her, I will grant my permission for you to marry.”

Relief, gratitude, and joy washed over Henry in quick succession.

“You have my heartfelt thanks, my lord.”

“I am happy for you, Buckland. And for Emily.” He eyed Henry curiously. “Before we return to the drawing room, however, I do have one more question.”

Henry braced himself. “Yes, my lord.”

“What color is your scarf?”

He fought back a smile. “Green.”

Dunsbourne chuckled. “If it’s any consolation, she is getting better at them.”

Henry completed his fifth circuit of Aunt Millward’s garden, fighting the urge to check his pocket watch again. Emily had been talking to her brother for over twenty-five agonizing minutes already. What could possibly be taking them this long? More to the point, how could Aunt Millward and Lady Dunsbourne contentedly sip tea in the drawing room all this time? Did neither of them entertain the slightest concern about Dunsbourne’s and Emily’s ongoing absence?

He rolled his shoulders and began his sixth lap. A bird flapped overhead, a cat slunk along the top of the garden wall, and a man’s shout reached him from the distant road. He focused on each one, drawing calm from the commonplace occurrences.

The click of the french door’s latch sent the cat leaping off the wall. Henry swung around. It was Emily.

She ran to him in a rustle of silk skirts. He wrapped her in his arms and drew her close. She pressed the palms of her hands to his chest, raised her beautiful dark eyes to his, and smiled. His breath caught in his throat.

“Adam has given us his blessing,” she said.

It was all he had longed to hear. But there was one more thing he must tell her.

“Claridge offered me the position of museum director,” he said, “but I turned it down.”

She tilted her head back a little farther so she could see him better. “You chose happiness over social standing,” she said.

“Yes.”

She smiled. “I’m glad.”

He had refused a prestigious position, and she was glad. Heaven help him. Dunsbourne was right. He did not deserve her. But, oh, how he needed her.

“As a second son and a museum curator, I cannot offer you a title or an elevated position in Society, my darling, but I can offer you my whole heart, a secure home, and ready access to all the collections at the British Museum.”

Her radiant smile was almost his undoing. “May I occasionally join you when you go hunting for plants? And perhaps even wield your trowel every once in a while?”