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M iss Fernside whirled around to stare at him in surprise, then she glanced at the others who were far enough away to not overhear their conversation.

“Whispering again?” she asked.

“I don’t wish to frighten the birds.” Nor did he wish to draw anyone else toward them. He enjoyed his conversations with Miss Fernside too greatly to share them with others. “But what of my question?”

“What question?”

“Did you find my instruction dull?”

“Oh.” She paused, appearing to think for a moment. “I do not know what could have given you such an assumption.”

“Perhaps it was the lack of eye contact I received,” he returned, holding his hands behind his back and clasping his own observation journal in his hands. “Or perhaps I might have seen you stifle a yawn or two.”

She winced. “I did not sleep well last night. That is all.”

He chose to believe her words rather than the alternative option sifting through his mind. You are as dull as Mr. Dunn, Henry Branok.

“But I will say that I enjoyed your instruction very much despite my lack of sleep. It was very fine.”

Her words were delivered in such a rehearsed manner, Henry nearly laughed, though he daren’t scare the birds away or draw undue attention toward him and Miss Fernside.

Instead, he settled with a smile. “You are too generous with your words. However, might I suggest that they sounded just a touch rehearsed?”

“Forgive me for not being a better actress.”

“Ah, so it was rehearsed.”

She eyed him for a moment, then turned away from him to walk farther down the pathway through the trees, whispering over her shoulder as she did so. “Yes, it was.”

He watched her walk away for a moment, her white overdress fluttering about her ankles. Was she trying to coax him into following behind her like a puppy to his master? More importantly, did he mind an ounce if she was?

Smiling to himself, he followed her straightaway. “You must tell me why you felt the need to deliver a rehearsed answer,” he whispered upon catching up with her.

“Because that is what all gentlemen wish to hear. They only desire words that encourage them to preen.” She pulled on a look of importance with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, yes, your cravat is majestically tied. Well done, sir. Heavens, no. I most certainly would not mind you joining in with my pianoforte performance. Your singing voice is far better than my playing anyway. Oh, you wish for me to stay home all the days of my life while you gallivant across the country? But of course, sir. I?—”

She stopped herself at once, her eyes snapping to Henry with a look that exposed just how much she’d accidentally revealed.

He waited, anxious to hear what else she might say, but she clamped her mouth shut and turned on her heel again, walking deeper into the trees.

Henry once more trailed after her. “Forgive me,” he whispered behind her, “but you appear to have a very poor opinion of gentlemen. But I cannot seem to decipher if you are referring to a single gentleman or all of them collectively.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, simply paused in place to stare at the ground before peering up at the trees, as if her attention belonged with the birds above.

The graceful arch of her neck and the accentuation of the hollow of her throat stole his attention entirely, but he forced himself to focus on her response, instead.

“Only a select few, I suppose,” she finally responded.

That didn’t give him the peace of mind for which he’d been hoping, for he still did not know if she had a poor opinion of him .

“At any rate,” she said, looking back down from the trees to stare at him next. “I should not have said a word. You have distracted me with your charming little smile and made me say something I should not have.”

Her words pushed aside all thoughts of being boring or being put on her list of despicable gentlemen. “Charming?” he repeated. “You think my smile charming?”

She paused, as if only just realizing what she’d said. “I believe you think it is charming. And you use it to your advantage often.”

He couldn’t help himself, smiling down at her with what he hoped was all the charm in the world.

“You see?” she said with a little shake of her head.

“You are smiling now to get away with breaking your own rule of no speaking when we, in fact, ought to be silent in our search for birds.” She narrowed her eyes.

“And I suspect that you are also whispering with me to distract me from adding to my”—she glanced left and right, then whispered softer— “list .”

She was an astute little thing. “Perhaps you are correct in your assumptions. Or perhaps I merely wished to ask how you enjoyed my class.”

She blew out a soft breath. “Very well, since you continue to ask, I shall be honest with you.” She waited for his nod, then continued.

“I thought you did a fine job. I truly appreciated the new observation journal, as I am always running out of pages in mine. I shall certainly make good use of yours soon enough. Overall, I thought you engaging, instructive, and entertaining.”

He had never been more flattered. And yet, he knew she was still holding back. “However…?” he prompted.

She bit her upper lip then continued. “However, I could have done less with hearing from the rest of the party. After all, I joined this excursion to learn from you—not to learn about others.”

Henry paused. Had that been another slip of the tongue? “You…joined the excursion to learn from me?”

She started, her mouth opening slightly as a blush emblazoned across her features as bright as a sunbird. “No, I-I told you, I came to see the birds. I was simply under the impression that your class would be more instructive, that is all.”

Henry did not believe her for a second. Was that why she’d blushed when he’d asked the group their reasonings for being on the excursion? Could that have truly been hers?

Instead of pressing her for more information, he allowed her to keep her secrets. At least until he managed to coax them out of her.

“At any rate,” she said with revived composure, “your instruction was fine. For beginners.”

Henry grinned. He was beginning to notice each time she had a critique about him, it was most often after she’d mistakenly revealed something about herself. But that proved to make whatever she had to say that much more amusing.

“And you do not consider yourself a beginner,” he guessed.

She took a few steps away from him, her eyes focused upward again. “I suppose some might consider me a beginner.”

“And what do you consider yourself?”

She pulled in her lips. “I thought you came to ask me how I felt about your instruction, not to inspect me as you would a new specimen.”

“Forgive me,” he said at once. “I did not intend to upset you. I am merely curious, that is all. If my lessons are not instructive enough for you, please share with me your level, and I shall do my best to accommodate.”

“That is very generous, but I could not ask you to do such a thing.”

“Whyever not? I would be?—”

She held her forefinger in the air between them, silencing his words with the action. Was this the second time in less than a week that the woman was shushing him?

“You did promise you wouldn’t do that again, Miss Fernside,” he said with amusement.

But she shook her head again. “Shh. Listen.”

He watched her, her eyes sweeping across the trees above. What had she heard?

Footsteps sounded nearby as the others rushed toward Henry.

“What was that bird call?” Mr. Gibbon asked in a vehement whisper, his small mustache sticking on his upper lip.

Henry paused. Bird call? He hadn’t heard any bird call. Blast. Miss Fernside had truly caused him to take leave of his senses—and quite literally so.

“I’m uncertain,” he responded, straining to hear what the rest of them had.

A moment or two passed, and the women joined them, having seen the commotion from beyond.

“What are we looking at?” Mrs. Chumley asked.

Her husband didn’t respond as a song rang out around them, a high-pitched chirping that wasn’t unsimilar to a cricket’s.

“What is it?” the eldest Kay brother asked.

Guesses were made around, but not even Henry was certain without being able to see the bird.

Although, Miss Fernside…

He looked at her, seeing her lips parted, as if on the verge of speaking. “You know what it is, do you not?” he whispered.

She hesitated, then whispered, “It…it is a common kingfisher.”

“What is it, dear girl?” Mr. Haskett asked, coming up to stand before her, having not heard her soft voice. “You must recognize the sound, yes?”

She nodded, responding with more certainty that time. “A kingfisher, Uncle.”

But Mr. Dunn shook his head. “No, kingfishers frequently visit the lake on my estate in Bedfordshire, and that is not their song. It is no doubt a wren.”

Miss Fernside’s brow lowered a degree, but she kept her mouth pressed firmly shut.

Henry believed her over Mr. Dunn without hesitation, but when a fluttering of vibrant blue wings and a long, black beak caught their attention, all eyes fell onto the bird in question, everyone eager to see which observer was correct.

But of course it was a kingfisher.

With its large head, orange-rusted belly, and wings the color of the sea, the bird swooped into a clearing long enough for gasps of approval to sound around them, then he flittered beyond their sight once again.

Pride swelled in Henry’s chest for Miss Fernside as all eyes fell on her with marked surprise.

“It was a kingfisher,” Mr. Shepherd said with an impressed look.

“Marvelous, Miss Fernside,” his wife agreed.

“My niece,” Mr. Haskett began with a puffed chest, “she does know her bird calls.”

Mr. Dunn walked away without a word, and Mr. Chumley looked rather perturbed, as well.

Miss Fernside’s expression, however, was unreadable. She smiled at her uncle in gratitude, then looked at Henry.

“It is time for you to acknowledge the truth of the matter,” he whispered. “You are no beginner.”

The smile she tried to hide on her pink lips grew ever wider before she turned away and followed her uncle deeper into the trees.

Henry couldn’t help but stare after her as he considered the very real possibility that he had been fooled.

He hadn’t made a deal with a novice at all.