Page 16

H enry didn’t feel as anxious teaching his first class as he probably ought to have. Before the excursion, he’d been rather unsettled at the idea of instructing a group of individuals how to seek birds in a location in which he had never really explored himself.

Now, however, standing before the eleven gathering members of the excursion party in Deryn Park’s conservatory, he felt quite at ease.

The group was split up and seated in three rows of four chairs, with plants, trees, and flowers framing the aisle they stretched down.

The room was two stories high with glass ceilings and ivy crawling up the interior archways, creating the feel of being out of doors.

The eyes of each individual peered up at him as they entered the space, and he smiled in a calm matter. He’d expected a small amount of nerves for his first teaching experience, but his confidence was bright.

None of these people were experts, nor had any of them traveled outside of England before.

The Kay brothers, Mr. Gibbon, and Mr. Chumley were eager to learn, and the Hasketts, Shepherds, and Mrs. Chumley were simply there for entertainment.

Mr. Dunn appeared to be the most knowledgeable out of the group, though even he seemed ready to listen.

And then there was Miss Fernside.

She took a seat in the back row beside her aunt, Miss Fernside’s eyes focused on her book without a glance in his direction. Did she not meet his gaze on purpose? Knowing her, she did everything on purpose. That simply made him like her all the more.

Still, he had yet to decipher if she was as talented an observer as she let on. Today would be as good a day as any to finally discover the truth.

“Welcome,” he said, motioning to the Shepherds who entered the room last. “Please, take a seat for a moment or two. We shall be going out of doors soon, but I thought it might be nice to meet in here first where we may sit on comfortable chairs.”

When everyone settled, Henry drew a deep breath and began. “Good morning. I’m so pleased to finally begin with these instructional classes.”

Smiles reached him at the front of the room, but Miss Fernside did not look up—no doubt intentionally again.

“To begin,” he continued, “I would like to ask Mr. Chumley here to distribute these books to each of you.” Mr. Chumley stood, doing as he was requested.

“These are blank observation journals so that you might begin to record the bird sightings you have. If you haven’t started your own field journals yet, I highly recommend you begin today.

This is the single most crucial part of becoming a true observer, as nothing will help you learn better and understand more than when you write your own observations down about the birds you see.

I know some of you have been doing this for years already. ”

Miss Fernside still scribbled away in her own journal before accepting the book with downcast eyes.

“But one can never have too many available journals, in my opinion. There will be a full class on the best ways to record sightings,” he continued, “as well as a number of other skills and best practices used in observing nature and birds specifically, but for this first instruction, I should like us to simply get to know one another a little better.”

Finally, Miss Fernside’s eyes reached his. If Henry didn’t know any better, he could have sworn he’d seen disappointment in their hazel depths, but she pulled her gaze away before he could be certain.

“So,” he pressed on, “let us go about the room so we may each share the reason we have for joining this excursion. I know we are all here to see the birds, but what I wish to know is the deeper explanation within you—what was the ultimate factor that finally pushed you to come.”

Once again, Miss Fernside’s attention snapped up, and a blush crossed her cheeks, though he hadn’t the faintest idea as to what she could be embarrassed about.

“Let us go row by row,” Henry prompted, motioning for Mr. Chumley to begin.

The group took turns sharing their thoughts with the others, their reasons ranging from wishing for a break from their children to longing to see more of the countryside to simply wishing to grow in a talent they did not possess.

Henry responded to each comment in turn, anxiously awaiting Miss Fernside’s response.

However, when she did, the answer was so rehearsed, Henry in no way believed it to be the truth.

“I have come to simply find rare birds I have not yet had the opportunity to find,” she said.

Her eyes flitted toward Mr. Chumley—who’d turned around in his seat to look at the others as they’d answered—then she immediately focused on her journal again.

Henry hesitated. Was Mr. Chumley the reason behind her rehearsed answer? Would she share the truth with Henry if they were alone? Because he was beginning to notice that he was the only person she was blunt with, and that knowledge, for one reason or another, wrapped his soul in warmth.

“Thank you all,” Henry said after her final response. “It really is such a pleasure to be here with you. All of you. After the countless excursions I’ve been on with only men, I must admit how refreshing it is to have women here, as well.”

Henry had made the comment as much for Miss Fernside’s comfort as for Mr. Chumley’s consideration. He hoped both of them would glean from his words what they needed to.

“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.”

Mrs. Shepherd laughed with her as they reached the section of trees farther from the house.

The group split up, wandering through the oaks and ash trees as they took notes in their journals.

The light was beautiful, muted due to the thick leaves above, and an ethereal pink and yellow tone filled the air around them.

Birds chirped overhead as voices hushed, and more often than not, the members of the party pointed up into the branches as they anxiously shared each new bird they discovered.

Mrs. Shepherd, Mrs. Chumley, and Mrs. Haskett fell behind the group, obviously finding it difficult not to speak, but not Miss Fernside. She left all the others and remained mostly unnoticed as she stared at the ground instead of the trees above.

Henry watched, intrigued. She paused in her progress, then bent down to retrieve a small, blue feather from the ground no one else had seen. Her pink gown and white overdress fluttered in the subtle breeze.

She examined the feather, then wrote in her journal before tucking the plume between the pages and looking to the ground again.

She certainly appeared to be more entertained here than she had been during his class.

Did she find him as dull as Mr. Dunn? He certainly hoped not.

But there really was only one way to discover the truth.

He approached her, setting aside whatever half-hearted warning his bachelor’s heart was obligated to give him.

“Was my class insufferably dull, Miss Fernside?”

She whirled around to face him in surprise.