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M iss Analise Peregrine straightened the battered leather satchel hanging from her shoulder.

Peering inside, she did a quick inventory of the contents.

Magnifying glass. Tweezers. Notebook. Pencil.

Patting the worn leather, comforted by the familiar weight, she walked through the grass still damp with morning dew, ready to begin.

Gaze fixed on the small speck of land in the middle of the lake before her, Analise silently cursed the Duke of Ware.

The duke had assured her that the entire area was filled with coccinellidae , or ladybirds, Analise’s primary area of study and the purpose of today’s expedition.

He had also been kind enough to invite her to his vast estate in the country, Orchard Park, to collect specimens of psyllobora vigintiduopunctata , a particular sort of coccinellidae .

The small beetles, Ware insisted, flourished outside of London.

There was a rather large pond at Orchard Park, a short walk from the main house, where he had personally witnessed large groups of psyllobora vigintiduopunctata , easy to spot with their distinct color and twenty-two spots.

Few things excited Analise more than an entire colony of psyllobora vigintiduopunctata. Likely why she remained unwed as she approached the ancient age of thirty, at least according to her older sister Martha.

Analise tapped her lip looking out at the lake. “Yes, but Martha presses flowers as a hobby.”

The Duke of Ware was not only a fellow entomologist who encouraged Analise’s research.

He was also highly regarded in the Entomological Society of London, a group of which Analise had recently become a member.

So there was absolutely no chance, despite the disapproval of Martha, that Analise would refuse Ware’s most generous offer.

Martha’s objection was not only to the study of insecta , something that was rather off-putting to a future husband; she also questioned Ware’s interest in Analise. His intentions might not be honorable. Analise could not possibly journey to Orchard Park without a proper chaperone.

A titled gentleman would jump at the chance to take advantage of an innocent girl of good family.

Laughable. Hilarious. Not only was Analise not a girl any longer, but Ware was wed to one of the most beautiful women in London. And their union was a love match. The duke was merely a colleague. A fellow entomologist. As was Analise.

A fancy name for bug collecting spinster, Martha had said. You’ve not even been formally educated in such a discipline.

Well, that much was true. No university in England would allow a woman to study entomology or rarely anything else. Fortunately, the Entomological Society of London did not share that opinion. They had started admitting ladies as members a few years ago.

Analise took in the expanse of water before her once more, clutching the note from Ware in one hand. That was not a pond , as he had previously indicated to her, but a lake .

“And Ware failed to mention I would have to travel to the island until I arrived.” Analise said out loud as she walked carefully along the edge of the lake. The sight of all that water was…daunting.

I might not have come had I known I must cross a lake.

Ware was acquainted with Analise’s aversion to large bodies of water. She’d mentioned it a handful of times. She didn’t care for anything larger than a puddle. Streams were also fine. But the ocean terrified her. And the lake before her was so… enormous it might as well have been the sea.

Which is likely why Ware only made mention of a pond while inviting her here and in the note his butler, Pickwick, handed Analise upon her arrival after informing her the duke was not in residence.

Ware hadn’t mentioned his absence either.

Once you see the pond, you will notice a small strip of land, an island if you will. Easily accessible by boat. I witnessed scores of psyllobora vigintiduopunctata on my last visit there.

She looked up from rereading Ware’s note once more to small island sitting amidst all that water, turning her attention to the rowboat pulled up along the shore a few steps away. She’d never been in a boat in her life.

I share the pond with the Marquess of Tenburgh. His estate is on the other side, just over the hill. But Tenburgh is rarely in residence and prefers London. He won’t mind if you visit the islet and collect samples. But I’ll have Pickwick send a note to his staff to avoid any misunderstandings.

Misunderstandings in this case meant Tenburgh’s staff firing off shots at Analise for trespassing. She did hope Pickwick had informed Ware’s neighbor. Martha would be most upset if she were shot while doing research.

Can you not choose a more ladylike way to occupy your time, Analise?

No, she could not.

Ever since she was a child, Analise had been fascinated by insects.

She would lay in the garden for hours on her stomach, watching a small army of ants working.

Or follow a dragonfly about, making notes on how often the creature stopped and where.

But ladybirds, coccinellidae, the small, delicate beetles covered in spots, had always been her favorite.

Taking out a handkerchief, Analise mopped at the moisture gathering on her brow.

The day was already warm, and it wasn’t yet ten o’clock.

Thankfully, she’d dressed a bit lighter given she’d be crawling about on the ground.

An old pair of her father’s trousers, altered to fit her much smaller form.

Boots she’d had made for her research excursions.

And an old shirt she’d found in the mending basket and likely a castoff from Martha’s husband, Ralph.

She did have on a chemise beneath the shirt for modesty, though it was unlikely Analise would see anyone except Ware’s staff.

Pickwick informed her that at times, some of the servants fished at the lake.

But no one ventured to the island but the duke.

Nevertheless, she’d checked her reflection in the mirror before leaving Ware’s home to ensure her unremarkable bosom wasn’t visible beneath the shirt and chemise.

Not that anyone would care to look. Analise, in general, did not attract masculine admiration.

Besides her obsession with insects, she was rather average and unremarkable in every way.

“There isn’t any help for it.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I must go to the island.”

Analise had been at Orchard Park for three days.

Days in which she’d marched over the entire lawn and area surrounding the lake searching for Psyllobora vigintiduopunctata in a desperate bid to avoid rowing across the lake.

She’d been completely unsuccessful. Plenty of nearly every insect imaginable, but not the small, orange-colored ladybirds with exactly twenty-two spots.

“Stop being a coward,” she muttered, pacing down to the water’s edge.

Analise had tolerated mockery, being seen crawling about on her hands and knees at a garden party, and the outright disdain of some of her male colleagues.

This was merely yet another test of her fortitude, though she did wish she’d asked Pickwick to loan her a footman to man the rowboat.

Analise frowned at all that water. Not only had she never been in a boat, but she also did not swim.

Reaching down, she tightened the belt of her trousers, reasoning that at least if the boat tipped over, tossing her into the water, she had a greater chance of survival.

Skirts would sink her faster. The perch, the only thing inhabiting the lake according to Pickwick, would have less time to nibble on her flesh.

Taking a deep breath, she tossed her leather satchel into the boat along with the basket Ware’s cook had filled with provisions for her expedition.

Giving the rowboat a hard push, gratified that it moved into the water even with her slight weight behind it, Analise jumped inside and settled on the seat.

She examined the oars sitting in brackets on either side as the boat drifted slowly towards the island, thinking back to any time she’d observed boats while walking in the park. It couldn’t possibly be that difficult.

She picked up the oars, the wood rubbing against her palms. Heavier than she assumed.

This is why you don’t have a husband, Analise . I despair of you ever having one .

Despair .

Martha had also pretended to have a fit of the vapors when Analise announced she was traveling to Orchard Park.

While her sister had been busy with suitors, Analise liked to sit in the dark, dusty corners of Father’s library with a stack of books, eager to absorb every bit of information on the field of entomology.

Martha would walk in the park, twirling her parasol, while Analise strode off the path and collected specimens.

During her lone Season she’d had only one gentleman ask to call upon her, Mr. Entwistle.

He had pretended great interest in her discussion on earwigs and the migration pattern of butterflies, even expressing his admiration for her interest in entomology.

But Analise had put him off permanently by plucking a lucanus cervus , a stag beetle, off his shoulder during a walk about the garden.

Pulling out the tweezers and tiny glass vial she always kept in a pocket of her gown, she’d collected the lucanus cervus for further study.

Shortly after, Mr. Entwhistle formally withdrew from his pursuit of Analise, claiming her to be a “bluestocking of unwelcome intellectual pursuit.”

“Which was fine, really. I didn’t care for his mustache.” She hissed, struggling a bit with the oars, trying to find a rhythm. Her palms would be covered in blisters.

Glancing over her shoulder, she was pleased to see the island appeared somewhat closer than it had earlier.

She caught a glimpse of a folly hidden behind some trees and a pebble strewn beach.

Perhaps she would enjoy the basket Ware’s cook had packed for her in the folly once her research was completed.

“Plenty for when you take a break, Miss Peregrine. And a little something to celebrate, should you wish to. I do the same for His Grace.”

“Lovely woman.” Analise grunted at the next pull of the oars, refusing to look into the water. “I do hope I get to enjoy the meal she prepared for me.”