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Between the remaining individuals—a younger gentleman with a small patch of hair above his lip and a middle-aged gentleman with a head free of any hair at all—Lark had deduced Mr. Branok to be the latter.

He appeared the eldest and wisest of them all, as if he had sailed around the world a time or two, which was essentially what Mr. Branok had done.

Settling once more on her decision, Lark leaned toward Aunt Harriet. “I admit, I do not know for certain. But I do believe it is the gentleman closest to us.”

She motioned toward him, his head as bald as the King of the Vultures she’d seen in Mr. Branok’s book, A Compilation of Birds Observed, Vol. IV, Containing the Description of Birds as Found in the Americas.

Light shone off his empty scalp as bright as the sconces on the walls, and he held himself in a commanding sort of way. No nonsense, quite like Uncle. Quite like someone who knew how to find a bird or two.

Aunt Harriet nodded. “We shall have your uncle make his acquaintance directly, so that he might introduce the two of you.”

Lark smiled her gratitude. How blessed she was to have Aunt and Uncle as her chaperones on this new adventure. She would not be on the excursion at all, were it not for them.

Months before, in September of last year, she’d seen advertisements for the excursion around England. She’d spotted many similar announcements before, but all of them had the same stipulation:

“For gentlemen only.”

Or, on the rare occasion,

“For gentlemen and their wives, if applicable.”

Lark understood the reticence. Single females were often seen as unnecessary distractions for gentlemen who wished to remain focused on nature. More than that, they were considered to be most burdensome, unable to withstand rigorous traveling circumstances and incapable of braving the elements to remain out of doors long enough to spot birds at all.

Lark did not agree in the slightest with either accusation, but she’d resigned herself to their prejudice. That is, until she’d heard news that Mr. Branok would be joining this particular venture. Not only would he be sharing with them the marvelous creations he’d witnessed over the years, but he would also be instructing them on how to best observe birds.

Naturally, Lark could not pass such an opportunity, and though Mr. Chumley resisted, he finally allowed her to join only after she promised that her presence would go by veritably unnoticed—and after she’d agreed to pay for four retainers of six hundred pounds each, instead of the three for which she had planned.

Mr. Chumley had written to her that if he allowed her as a single female to join, he would be potentially missing out on filling a whole other entry for another couple.

Lark was not stupid. She knew full well the man was taking advantage of her determination to join, but she allowed it anyway. She’d also kept the true costs hidden from her aunt and uncle, paying for their entries, as well, despite their protests.

They were perfectly capable of paying the sum themselves, but Lark had insisted. Aunt and Uncle were not great admirers of birds, but they were great admirers of Lark and would do anything for her. Paying for them was a simple way to express her gratitude.

At any rate, no matter the cost, Lark was simply happy to be there—and to be allowed the opportunity to prove her worth as a valuable member of the bird observing community, female and single, or not.

And if Mr. Branok just so happened to see how much value she brought to an excursion, she would certainly not be upset about that either.

She stared once more at the back of the man’s pale scalp. She’d brought each of her copies of his books with her. Would it be too much for her to request that he sign them? How she wished she could abandon all sense of propriety by marching up to him and expressing how much his work had meant to her over the years.

But she would maintain her dignity, if only to prove to Mr. Chumley that she would keep her word and remain relatively invisible—which was how she preferred to live life anyway.

“They are running behind schedule,” Uncle Francis whispered, leaning forward to address both Lark and his wife. “This does not bode well for the rest of the journey.”

Lark glanced toward him, noting the worry creasing his brow.

“I’m certain we shall leave soon, my dear,” Aunt soothed.

He nodded, though he glanced at his pocket watch again.

“Would you care for me to tell them to make haste?” Lark teased.

Uncle Francis cracked a smile. “Thank you, but I don’t believe that will be necessary this morning, niece. Anyway, did you not promise to hold your tongue on the journey? As impossible a notion as that is.” He winked, and Lark smiled in return.

He was not wrong. Lark was not an unkind person by any means, but when her peace was threatened, she was not afraid to speak her mind.

She’d told Aunt and Uncle of her promise to remain unseen, and though they hadn’t liked the idea at all—loving her and accepting her the way she was—they’d agreed to support her, just as they always did, for they loved her as the child they never had.

Ever since Father had died eighteen years ago, and Mother had spent each subsequent Season in London, Uncle and Aunt had remained behind to be her protectors, her chaperones, and her advisors. Lark hadn’t minded Mother leaving. She got along better with her aunt and uncle anyway.