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He leaned back with a sigh. “I always loved being out of doors and observing birds, but I admit, I did not begin seriously until I was eighteen or so.”

She pulled back. “Truly? That is even more surprising, what with your list of accomplishments. And you cannot be above the age of…”

“Eight and twenty,” he finished.

Just a couple of years older than her six and twenty. And what had she accomplished? Nothing, short of inheriting a small fortune and deciding never to marry.

“I fear I neglect everything else to achieve that list of accomplishments,” he said. “But once one has seen more of the world, one cannot stop until one has seen it all.”

Lark had no experience with such matters and therefore fell silent, but Mr. Branok continued, his eyes distant.

“There is nothing that quite compares to observing a bird in the wilds of Africa or the Americas,” he said. “Should the opportunity ever present itself to you, I would highly recommend traveling beyond England.”

Lark pursed her lips with a silent nod. Had she not just explained why that would never happen? Not only was she not of age to make such decisions herself or without the approval of her mother, she also did not have the companionship of one who wished to travel with her. She had resigned herself to being old and grey before she could explore the world, and she was attempting to be patient with that fact.

Yet, when other bird observers discovered her lack of exploration, she felt as if she had to prove that she still held value in the community—that she was still worthy of being a part of gatherings, excursions, conversations, and sightings. More often than not, however, when she met with the local bird observing groups or she managed to find gatherings in London, she was ignored, passed over, and very clearly humored if anyone did chance to look at her or speak with her. The fact that they did not accept her—simply because she had not seen as much as they had—always left her feeling jaded and regretfully cynical.

Mr. Branok had been nothing but kind to her and would have no notion that his words had stirred this turmoil within her. As such, she attempted to set her defenses aside, but the pride within her refused to be satiated, and her compulsive need to prove that she was more than happy with her circumstances strengthened—even if, truth be told, she was not pleased with them at all.

“Have you any desire to travel beyond England?” Mr. Branok asked next, apparently unaware of why she remained silent.

“I suppose,” she said stiffly. “But I am quite content with what I have already seen in the east of England.”

“Truly? I consider it a shame you haven’t been able to see more.”

Lark’s lips parted, but she snapped them closed once again. He was merely expressing an opinion, that was all. At any rate, he spoke the truth. It was a shame she hadn’t seen more.

“Observing the sketches in books and articles certainly satisfies my desire to see other birds,” she lied. Pulling her lips to the side, she continued, wishing to end on the truth instead. “The written word has allowed me to see far more than I ever would have dreamed, and I will be forever grateful for the books I have read that have provided me with literary trips around the world.”

Including Mr. Branok’s books. But she wasn’t about to admit to that now.

“Books are worth their weight in gold,” he agreed, his eyes on her again. “After all, I have written seven volumes—now eight—in an effort to share my experiences with others so that they might know of the vast number of birds there are of all colors and sizes. Reading about the creatures certainly helps those less fortunate than I. But nothing could ever compare to seeing birds in person. Surely you agree.”

Of course she did. She was not a simpleton. But she did not like this superior tone he had assumed. Not one bit.

Eight books…Vast number of birds…Those less fortunate.

She longed to scoff at his putting himself above others—including herself. She doubted he was attempting to sound as pretentious as he did. But his pressuring her to agree with him prickled her pride further. He was accurate in his description of himself before—he had clearly lacked the influence of fine Society for the better part of five years.

Still, she needed to manage decorum. Anything she said to Mr. Branok might get back to Mr. Chumley, despite the former seeming trustworthy enough. Still, better to be safe than sorry.

“I suppose,” she replied simply.

His eyes burned a hole in her temple, but she refused to meet his gaze. Instead, she observed Aunt and Uncle for a moment, willing them to awaken so that she might extricate herself from the conversation, but of course, they remained asleep.

Just as she suspected, Mr. Branok spoke again. “You mean to say you believe seeing sketches of birds in a book is the same as seeing birds in reality?”

Lark needed to retreat before she said something she regretted. But once more, she could not bring herself to abandon her pride. “I meant to say that seeing sketches of birds is better than seeing nothing at all.”

Mr. Branok was silent for a moment. “But I was specifically asking if you thought seeing birds in books was better than seeing them alive… with your own two eyes.”

Just be humble for once in your life, Lark Fernside.

Drawing a deep breath, she swallowed her vanity. “Certainly not.”

She’d hoped relinquishing her opinion would have ended the conversation. Unfortunately, Mr. Branok was not quite finished.

“I am happy to hear your stance is the same as mine,” he replied. “After all, if one merely looked at birds in books alone, could he or she call himself or herself a true observer of birds? I think not.”