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She’d obviously meant it as a slight, but the man didn’t pick up on it. “I think I might.”

She nodded, then the table fell silent as Mr. Dunn continued cutting into the slab of pheasant on his plate.

“Well,” Mrs. Chumley said, breaking through the discomfort, “I should like to see your list, merely because I did not know that many birds existed.” She laughed at her own self-deprecation, and the others smiled in response. “What a marvelous feat. Is it not so, Mr. Chumley?”

Mr. Chumley nodded. “Indeed. Quite a feat. Especially considering Miss Fernside does not have a husband.”

Once more, the table fell silent. Eyes shifted from Miss Fernside to Mr. Chumley. Mrs. Chumley sent a subtle frown to her husband, but he did not see, as his attention was far too innocently focused on his plate.

Miss Fernside, however, merely smiled all the more pleasantly. “It is a shock is it not?” she asked, waiting until Mr. Chumley met her gaze. “Although, perhaps it is because I do not have a husband that I have seen as much as I have.”

Henry had to bite his tongue to avoid laughing out loud. He’d been subject to Miss Fernside’s serrated words himself too many times to count. To see them directed at Mr. Chumley—whose pride needed a good stripping down—was far more satisfying. Especially when Mrs. Chumley and Mrs. Shepherd both smiled, as well, though they ducked their heads before anyone else could see.

Mr. Chumley stared at Miss Fernside tight-lipped, clearly unable to concoct a response. He was no doubt as confused as the others—as confused as Henry—with the change that had come over Miss Fernside. Had she simply found freedom beyond the presence of her aunt and uncle? Or had she discovered something about Mr. Chumley that finally allowed her to be herself regardless of repercussions?

Whatever the reason, he was glad others would now have the chance to enjoy her plucky personality, too.

“Well,” Mr. Shepherd said, clearly ready to break up the silence, “whatever it is you are doing, Miss Fernside, it is clear that it is working. If I were you, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shepherd. I don’t intend to.”

Mrs. Shepherd paused. “You mean to say, you are choosing to remain unmarried?”

Miss Fernside smiled. “Indeed. I have nothing against the institution. But for some, marriage does not suit.”

Mrs. Shepherd and Mrs. Chumley appeared intrigued, but the gentlemen—all but Henry and Mr. Watts—watched her with looks of discomfort before focusing on their food instead.

Miss Fernside did the same, though she looked far less discomfited than the others as she ate.

Henry did his best not to stare, but he found it more and more difficult as the meal progressed. She was unlike anyone he’d ever known before, and she was winning his attention more than he’d ever thought possible.

“Did any of you have any luck with your observations after the return journey this morning?” Mr. Chumley asked next, clearly desperate for a semblance of normalcy to return to the table.

A mumble of assent sounded.

“I did,” Mr. Shepherd said. “I was finally able to find myself a red-backed shrike, which I’ve been desperate to see since learning of them.”

“I’ve seen over fifty,” Mr. Dunn said.

Mr. Shepherd looked slightly disappointed, and Mrs. Shepherd appeared the same for her husband, but Miss Fernside was quick to respond. “I’m so pleased you’ve found one, Mr. Shepherd, And a well done to you, for the little creatures are not always easy to spot.”

Mr. Shepherd’s smile returned, as did his wife’s, though Henry hardly noticed, once again captured by Miss Fernside’s confidence. To see those around the table—most of them, anyway—begin to embrace her for who she was thrilled his soul.

“Do you know,” Mr. Dunn said, apparently unaware of the offense he’d caused, nor the efforts from the others to undo his words, “shrikes impale their food on thorns or wires before eating them? Extraordinary.”

No one said a word. Mrs. Shepherd looked slightly unsettled, as did Mr. Gibbon, his small mustache nearly disappearing as he curled his lip up in disgust.

“Thank you, Mr. Dunn,” Mr. Chumley finally responded, “I should like to discuss the loggerhead in more detail, however, let us withstand speaking of such barbaric matters until it is just us gentlemen, as I fear females find this sort of detail far too unsettling.”

Miss Fernside cleared her throat, and all eyes fell on her again. “Oh, yes,” she began, “we women cannot bear to hear of these things. We simply would not know what to do with ourselves seeing such behavior. Barbaric, surely, eating food off a spike.”

With great theatrical movements, she stabbed her fork into the piece of beefsteak on her plate, held it upright in the air before her, then plunged the food into her mouth. Finally, she peered around the table with an innocent expression at those who now stared unsettled at their own plates.

Then she paused on Henry. He did not bother hiding his grin this time. This woman had no equal. She was simply perfection.

“Well,” Mrs. Chumley said, setting down her own fork with a look of amusement she tried to hide, “I believe that to be the perfect transition to end our meal. Ladies?”

The women departed, Henry’s eyes trailing after Miss Fernside until she disappeared around the corner, and the gentlemen resumed their seats.