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“Now,” he continued, “if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to share a bit more about my history with bird observing.”

Henry dove in, sharing about his love for nature and birds that flourished after his parents died five years before. “They were great lovers of nature, instilling in me that same love and desire to see the world. They had dreamt of traveling to India as I do, but before they could, they passed swiftly one after another, which led me to seek out a newer life than the one I’d lived before.”

He kept his words brief, having no desire to share how truly lost he had become after his mother’s and father’s deaths—how he’d tried to numb his pain in just about every way. Drinking, avoiding his friends, ignoring his duties, and at one point, pretending he’d had no parents at all.

But when he saw Miss Fernside’s eyes focused on him with something akin to understanding, he found himself wanting to share more with her and her alone—if only to decipher how exactly she did understand.

But now was not the time nor the place.

“Fortunately,” he continued, “I found comfort and purpose when I was approached to join an excursion and rediscovered my love of birds. From that point forward, I found myself in the wilds of Norway, Greenland, South Africa, Hudson’s Bay, Gibraltar, the East Indies, Europe, the West Indies, and finally, here.” He paused, smiling at each person in attendance. “My parents had a favorite phrase to say. Nothing helps a lost soul discover solace more than when spending time with Mother Nature. My primary goal for this excursion is to help each of you discover the truth of that sentence as I have in the last five years.”

The group smiled again, but Miss Fernside had taken to ducking her head once more, and then, to his astonishment, she yawned.

Was he so entirely unengaging? The knowledge threatened to disrupt his confidence, but he drew a steady breath continuing. “Now, I should like to first ask you all a question. Who might know just how many species of birds there are in England?”

A few guesses were given, but each time, his response was, “Higher,” until he motioned to the back. “I know there is one person who knows the number.”

Miss Fernside didn’t move a muscle until her aunt bumped her subtly with an elbow. Only then did Miss Fernside look up from her book, blinking mutely at Mrs. Haskett, who motioned toward Henry.

Miss Fernside finally met his gaze. “Yes?”

She hadn’t even been listening, then. He probably should have been even more offended, but suddenly, he was overcome with amusement. The woman certainly was unabashedly herself.

He smiled. “I merely asked the group how many known species of birds there are in our fair country.”

She glanced first at Mr. Chumley, then replied. “Over four hundred, at least.”

“Very good,” he praised.

She responded by dropping her gaze once more.

“Can that be true?” Mr. Dunn asked suspiciously, seated in the front row. “Sounds like an outrageous estimation, if you ask me.”

Miss Fernside looked at him from beneath a lowered brow, clearly bristling.

“What source do you claim, Miss Fernside?” Mr. Dunn continued, his bald head glistening in the warmth of the conservatory.

She once more glanced at Mr. Chumley, clearly attempting to decide whether or not this was worth speaking for. But Henry gave her an encouraging nod before she finally replied.

“Thomas Bewick’s books from a number of years ago,” she began. “He recorded nearly three hundred alone, and that is one man. George Edwards also outlined a number of birds around the world, with more being discovered daily. Why should we not assume there are even more in England? Furthermore, recent articles suggest that perhaps six hundred is closer to a more plausible number.”

Mr. Dunn, who’d been watching her over his shoulder, frowned, then faced forward without another word.

Miss Fernside appeared more than satisfied that her words had silenced him, and Henry did his best not to smile triumphantly for her in turn.

“Well,” he said, “I might just sit down and have Miss Fernside here share more of her knowledge with us.”

The Hasketts and the Shepherds smiled.

Mr. Chumley and Mr. Dunn did not.

What he’d really wished for was a reaction from Miss Fernside herself, but she merely ducked her head again and did not look up the rest of the meeting.

After a short lecture about the different birds they might find in Yorkshire, Henry led the party out of doors, sharing more about his experiences as they traipsed across the sunshine-filled grounds of the estate.

“The most important thing we must remember when observing birds,” he said, “is to be as silent as possible. I’ve been told by other naturalists that some owls can even hear the heartbeat of a mouse underground.”

“Heavens,” Mrs. Chumley breathed with a hand to her chest. “Perhaps I ought to stay indoors. I’d hate to have my own heartbeat confused for a rodent’s.”