Page 5

Henry had taken his advisement under careful consideration. He’d attempted to carry out his own excursion six years ago to India, but the costs to travel had been extortionate, and obtaining the proper permissions as well as finding the right guides, accommodations, and crew members, had been impossible.

Not only did the viscount have extensive wealth, but he also had an astonishing amount of connections. From the start, he had been able to consistently provide Henry with knowledgeable locals as guides, a safe and swift passage to each country, permits to travel, and a dependable way to publish his volumes of work.

In short, Henry had seen more birds with Lord Blackstone’s aid than he ever could have on his own. As such, he had decided that he would remain single until he was finished traveling—which would be on his deathbed. So if he found a woman interested in an old, decrepit gentleman with less hair than the lifeless naked mole rat standing at his right, then certainly, he would marry.

Until then, he was quite content to be a bachelor. He had a comfortable living, a fine steward caring for his large estate in Kent, maintained good health, and his parents, God rest their souls, were surely looking down on him in delight for their son was truly living the best life he could.

He was happy, so why would he change a thing?

“Ah ha! I have found her! Come, Drake, come!” Lord Blackstone waved his hands toward him, his eyes fixed on the animal as if he feared the dead creature might scamper away and be lost to him again.

“I am beckoned,” Mr. Drake said, then with a nod in departure to Henry, he walked toward the viscount.

Henry, on the other hand, left directly. He would not have to return to the gallery—or the club itself, for that matter—for over a month, and he wasn’t upset about it in the slightest.

Until he returned, he was determined to enjoy himself around his own country. Even if he was destined to be bored or was truly unqualified to teach about the birds in England, this would be more of a rest than tramping across jungles in sweltering heat or being tossed about for weeks at a time across the Atlantic.

He’d even heard that women had been invited on this excursion. He’d never seen a woman take up bird observing before. That alone would be entertaining.

At least more entertaining than a club full of dead animals.

Chapter 2

Standing in the Chumleys’ grand parlor, Lark Fernside bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, shifting her leather-bound journal from her left hand to her right, then back again.

“Nervous, my dear?” Aunt Harriet whispered to her right, an amused smile playing on her lips.

Lark stopped her bouncing at once and looked over at her aunt with a sheepish grin. “More anxious than nervous.”

Aunt Harriet faced forward with another smile. “We will be on our way soon, I’m certain of it.”

As she and Aunt fell silent again, Lark took up the less conspicuous activity of wiggling her toes in her half-boots. She knew she ought to be still, but she couldn’t manage her excitement.

She’d awaited this moment for so long—more than seven months—but now that the time to depart had nearly arrived, she found herself swiftly losing patience.

The two of them—along with Uncle Francis who stood on Aunt’s other side—had arrived at the Chumleys’ only moments before, having been ushered into the parlor where the rest of the attendees stood to await the beginning of the bird observing excursion.

The parlor was adorned in a soft blue floral wallpaper reminiscent of the sea, though the windows at the far side of the room revealed the bustling London streets below. At least a half a dozen paintings of English landscapes were scattered about the walls, and a large crystal chandelier hung down from the ceiling ornamented with gilded paint.

The room was magnificent, but what drew Lark’s attention more than anything were the other attendees scattered about the space. All eleven of them stood by in near silence, their bags and trunks already loaded onto the private carriages by the help. Lark’s own lady’s maid, Penelope, would be riding with the rest of the servants in their own carriages. For now, however, they awaited out of doors for the guests, who in turn awaited further instruction from the Chumleys, their hosts. The handsome couple—who appeared to be in their forties—stood at the front of the room, speaking with their butler in whispered tones.

Lark shifted her leather journal to her other hand again as she stared at the Chumleys, willing them to begin, but they continued their whispers. They were still smoothing out the last-minute details for the two-month-long excursion, no doubt.

“So which one is Mr. Branok?” Aunt whispered, leaning close to Lark again.

At the mention of the name, excitement and nerves simmered together at the base of Lark’s stomach, making it difficult to breathe.

Mr. Henry Branok.

She couldn’t believe she was finally going to meet the man whose work she’d admired for five years now. Lark had read each book by the esteemed naturalist so often—had effectively memorized most of them—that his works had become a permanent fixture in any conversation she held with her aunt and uncle.

In truth, Mr. Branok was the reason Lark had wanted to join the excursion in the first place, but she had yet to meet or even see a likeness of the gentleman.

As such, the moment she’d entered the room, she’d inconspicuously examined each individual to decipher which one he could be.

The Chumleys were not candidates. And the dark-haired man nearby who stood next to his wife—the two of them like preening peacocks with an apparent knowledge of just how very handsome they were—was too young to be Mr. Branok.

The red-headed gentlemen at the far side of the room were no doubt brothers, but Lark had never heard word of Mr. Branok’s family, so she doubted that one of those men would be him either.