The Unassuming Curator, page 25
Adam frowned, clearly uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “That she would find a gentleman worthy of her, who would love her as deeply as I love you.”
“Yes.” With a gentle smile, she set her hands atop her swollen abdomen. “Your first hope was always destined to fail, my love, and your second hope seemed almost inconceivable. And yet, I believe we all have reason to celebrate that the latter was not, after all, a complete impossibility.”
Adam’s frown deepened. Emily did not dare look at Henry, so she kept her eyes on Phoebe, silently willing her to say no more.
Henry, however, seemed to have decided that there was no time like the present. He cleared his throat. “Might I have a word with you in private, my lord?”
Adam’s jaw tightened, shock temporarily stealing his tongue.
“The answer is yes,” Phoebe prompted.
Straightening his shoulders, Adam turned to face Henry. “You may.”
“Use the library,” Aunt Millward said, reaching for the bell. “I shall order tea.”
Henry followed Dunsbourne out of the drawing room. This was not how he had imagined orchestrating the conversation he must have with the gentleman. Allowing him a day or two to recover from his journey or, at the very least, waiting until he’d eaten a solid meal had seemed a wiser course. But the longer he’d stood in the drawing room separated from Emily by protocol, the less inclined he’d been to wait for either of those things.
Lady Dunsbourne’s prompting had, in fact, been an unforeseen gift. Especially after witnessing the obvious affection she and her husband shared. Henry wanted the same thing. He wanted to walk into a room knowing that he could rightfully sit beside Emily, hold her hand, or even place a gentle kiss on her cheek. And he could only pray that her brother would grant him the permission he so desperately desired.
Dunsbourne entered the library and walked to the fireplace. The gentleman’s rigid posture spoke volumes. There was to be no sitting and discussing niceties, it appeared. So much the better. Henry had endured a sufficiently long preamble during Claridge’s visit to be more than happy to cut to the chase this time.
“What are your intentions toward my sister, Buckland?”
No preamble whatsoever.
Henry met the baron’s steely eyes without flinching. “I wish to marry her.”
“Why?”
Why? Lud, how was he to verbalize the way he felt about Emily? His overwhelming desire to always be with her, to support her in her every endeavor, to protect her, to work together to create a home filled with happiness?
“I love her, my lord. Her goodness and intelligence are all the more remarkable because she does not recognize them in herself. She is the most genuine, lovely young lady I have ever had the good fortune to meet.”
“No one deserves her.”
Henry suspected Dunsbourne’s gruffness masked how difficult this was for him. “I agree,” he said. “That Emily has singled me out to be the recipient of her particular affection is almost beyond my comprehension, but I can promise you this: I will strive to be worthy of her love every single day of my life.”
“Exactly how would you do that?”
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?”
“Whenever you wish.”
“Yes,” she said. “To everything. But most especially to being your wife.”
With love for this remarkable young woman filling him to overflowing, he cupped her cheek in his hand and ran his thumb gently across her lips. They were soft and warm, and he ached for more. He lowered his head. “I love you, Emily.”
“I love you too.” Emily’s whispered words barely escaped before his lips met hers.
Her arms encircled his neck, her fingers finding his hair. A tremor coursed through him, and he deepened the kiss, surrendering himself to the pure joy of being with her and sharing this moment together.
A blackbird sang, its persistent call gradually penetrating Henry’s consciousness. Slowly, he raised his head. Aunt Millward’s garden came into focus, and with it, the realization that no matter their new status, they must not be gone from the house too long. Emily shifted in his arms, and reluctantly, he loosened his hold on her.
“Perhaps we could take a turn around the garden before we go back in,” he said.
She slipped her arm through his. “I would like that.”
They started walking, passing the blooming lily of the valley and foxgloves and the tightly budded roses.
“Look, Henry.” Emily pointed to a small plant growing in the shadow of one of the rosebushes. “Is that red campion?”
Releasing her arm, Henry crouched down to examine the delicate flowers. “It is indeed, and I shall never begrudge it for its misnomer again.”
“Nor shall I,” Emily said. “Coming across a gentleman digging red campion out of the hedgerow remains one of the most intriguing things I have ever seen.”
Rising to his full height, he lifted an amused eyebrow. “More intriguing than Indian elephants?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Or hats bedecked with rare ostrich feathers?”
“Definitely.”
He chuckled. “It seems to me that a regular delivery of red campion bouquets may be in order so that you might continue to remember the event with such fondness.”
With a smile that warmed his heart, she tucked her arm securely through his again. “That would be most welcome,” she said. “But if red campion is unavailable, a bunch of ribwort plantain would do almost as well.”
Author’s Note
Over the course of his lifetime, Sir Hans Sloane gathered over 80,000 objects from around the world, amassed a library of over 40,000 books and manuscripts (including hundreds of volumes of dried plants), and collected 32,000 coins and medals. Upon his death in 1753, he bequeathed them all to the British public, and his collection became the founding exhibit of the British Museum. The museum’s board of trustees purchased Montagu House in 1759, and the building functioned as the home of the museum until the 1840s when it was demolished to make way for a new structure.
The British Museum was the first of a new kind of museum—one not owned by the church or the crown but that was open to the community. Visitors had to apply for a limited supply of tickets and were given tours of the exhibits by the curators. The number of exhibits continued to increase as well-connected families donated collections and as items were acquired from regions within the British Commonwealth.
Over the years, the British Museum’s wide-ranging collections have grown to about eight million objects and cover over two million years of human history. Tickets are no longer necessary to enter the museum, and it now welcomes approximately six million visitors annually.
Although it has always housed priceless works of art, the British Museum has never displayed the oil painting Basket of Fruit by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio. That particular masterpiece, created in approximately 1599, is housed in the Biblioteca Ambrosiana in Milan.
John Dalton was born on September 6, 1766, in Cumberland, England. He was a chemist, physicist, and meteorologist and is best known for introducing atomic theory to the scientific world. Remarkably, he is also the first person to study color blindness. Both he and his brother suffered from color vision deficiency, and he conducted many rudimentary tests on others, attempting to determine their color visualization.
In 1794, Dalton published a paper entitled “Extraordinary Facts Relating to the Vision of Colors with Observations.” He believed that his color blindness was caused by a blue discoloration of his aqueous humour filtering color incorrectly. This theory was eventually proven wrong, but at the time, nothing was known about genetics or genetic mutations.
Even now, color blindness is sometimes referred to as “Daltonism” in honor of John Dalton’s groundbreaking work, and International Color Blind Awareness Day is celebrated on his birthday.
Acknowledgments
There are so many remarkable people who work behind the scenes at Covenant with very little public recognition. Thank you—each of you—for all you do to help me and my books succeed.
My editor, Samantha Millburn, is incomparable. I’m so thankful for her. The marketing and sales teams, particularly Amy Parker and Jessica Bybee, work tirelessly to share my books with readers. I’m grateful for their friendship and support.
Special thanks also to Lara Abramson for using her extraordinary proofing skills to help make this story more accurate, to Tyler Sommer for sharing his professional and personal experience with color blindness, and to my family members for offering me so much encouragement.
I’m very grateful for my wonderful readers who write to tell me how much they enjoy my books. I hope Emily and Henry’s story brings you much pleasure and that those of you who have come to love the characters featured in earlier Georgian Gentlemen books relish another moment with Aunt Millward.
About the Author
Copyright © 2021 Melea Nelson Photography
Sian Ann Bessey was born in Cambridge, England, and grew up on the island of Anglesey off the coast of North Wales. She left her homeland to attend university in the U.S., where she earned a bachelor’s degree in communications, with a minor in English.
She began her writing career as a student, publishing several articles in magazines while still in college. Since then, she has published historical romance and romantic suspense novels, along with a variety of children’s books. She is a USA Today best-selling author, a Foreword Reviews Book of the Year finalist, and a Whitney Award finalist.
Sian and her husband, Kent, are the parents of five children and the grandparents of three beautiful girls and two handsome boys. They currently live in southeast Idaho, and although Sian doesn’t have the opportunity to speak Welsh very often anymore, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch still rolls off her tongue.
Traveling, reading, cooking, and being with her grandchildren are some of Sian’s favorite activities. She also loves hearing from her readers. If you would like to contact her, she can be reached through her website at www.sianannbessey.com, her Facebook group, Author Sian Ann Bessey’s Corner, and on Instagram, @sian_bessey.
Other Books by Sian Ann Bessey
Georgian Gentlemen Series
The Noble Smuggler
An Uncommon Earl
An Alleged Rogue
An Unfamiliar Duke
The Unassuming Curator
Contemporary
Forgotten Notes
Cover of Darkness
Deception
You Came for Me
The Insider
The Gem Thief
Historical
Within the Dark Hills
One Last Spring
To Win a Lady’s Heart
For Castle and Crown
The Heart of the Rebellion
The Call of the Sea
Falcon Point Series
Heirs of Falcon Point
The Danger with Diamonds
Kids on a Mission Series
Escape from Germany
Uprising in Samoa
Ambushed in Africa
Children’s
A Family Is Forever
Teddy Bear, Blankie, and a Prayer
Anthologies and Booklets
The Perfect Gift
A Hopeful Christmas
No Strangers at Christmas
Sian Ann Bessey, The Unassuming Curator
