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H enry gathered with the others in the drawing room, awaiting the entrance of Miss Fernside—the last to arrive before the evening would begin.

“Terribly rude to have her make us wait all this time,” Mr. Chumley muttered beside him. “I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Branok.”

“Not at all,” Henry responded. “It has not been more than but a few minutes since the Kay brothers arrived. And Heaven knows how often I am late to matters.”

Mr. Chumley gave an unresponsive, “hmm,” clearly unhappy with Henry not engaging in slandering Miss Fernside.

The gentleman’s issue with the woman was beginning to wear on Henry’s patience. Each one of them had been far later other evenings than Miss Fernside was this evening, and Mr. Chumley hadn’t felt the need to issue a complaint about any of them .

“It is all rather thoughtless,” Mr. Chumley continued before lowering his voice. “Furthermore, my wife has now been appointed to be her chaperone this evening, as the Hasketts have fallen ill. Again.”

Henry’s eyes darted to Mr. Chumley’s. Miss Fernside would have a different chaperone that evening? He tried not to feel too disappointed, but he could only assume that when someone who was not typically a chaperone became one, she was far more dedicated than a seasoned and more lenient caretaker.

Did that mean Henry would not have the opportunity to speak with Miss Fernside at all? That certainly would put a damper on this evening. He’d been looking forward to speaking with her since departing from the sick-filled carriage hours before.

“I do hope Mr. and Mrs. Haskett feel well soon,” Henry said. “The poor couple have certainly been through it all.”

“Yes,” Mr. Chumley mumbled. “So much so that it makes one wonder if one should not have relented and brought them and their niece along at all.” He shook his head. “I simply cannot?—”

Mr. Chumley broke off mid-sentence as footsteps sounded near the doorway, and Miss Fernside entered the room.

All eyes fell on her in an instant, but none faster than Henry’s.

And once he found her, he could not look away.

Miss Fernside was always stunning. But tonight?

She was regal. Her soft blue gown was the shade of a blue tit’s wings and accentuated her blonde curls with an almost angelic effect.

Her figure shown so flawlessly—her soft brow and smiling lips so delicately feminine—that a masculine instinct arose with him to protect her, to admire her, and to respect her even more than he already did.

When her eyes met his, lingering a moment longer than anywhere else, he could have sworn he’d seen satisfaction in her smile.

“Miss Fernside,” Mrs. Chumley greeted, moving toward her. “What a picture you look this evening.”

“You are too kind, Mrs. Chumley,” Miss Fernside responded with all the humility in the world, though confidence still shown in her expression. She looked at the others about the room. “You must forgive my tardiness. I stopped first to wish my aunt well before coming down myself.”

“I hope she is feeling better,” Mrs. Shepherd said, her arched eyebrows pulled together.

“That is very kind of you,” Miss Fernside responded. “I’m certain she will be by morning.” She turned next to Mrs. Chumley. “I must thank you for agreeing to chaperone.”

“It is my absolute pleasure. I was just telling my husband how very glad I am to assist in any way I can. Was I not, Mr. Chumley?”

Mr. Chumley nodded with a tight smile. Miss Fernside met his gaze, but instead of shrinking as she normally did around the man’s condemning eyes, she met his stare without reluctance, remaining silent and confident.

Henry couldn’t help but stare himself at the woman, startled at the change that had come over her.

There was something more certain in the way she held herself, in the way she spoke.

Had the gown miraculously given her more confidence?

That wouldn’t surprise him. She typically wore standard colors with high necklines and simple hems. The blue she wore now was in no way extravagant, but it was elegant in every way—as were the sapphires decorating her pale throat and dangling from her dainty ears.

But then, would a simple change in wardrobe alter the way she behaved around Mr. Chumley, even eliminate her fears of being expelled early from the excursion?

Before he could answer his own question, the party moved to the dining room, and despite his best efforts, Henry was pressed to take a seat beside Mr. Chumley two seats down and across from Miss Fernside, who sat beside Mrs. Chumley near the head of the table.

At least being across from her, he could subtly watch her, but the thought was only a mild balm to his irritated soul as the meal progressed, for not only did Mr. Chumley speak nearly the entirety of the first few courses, but Miss Fernside seemed determined to not meet Henry’s gaze for even one moment.

What was this game she was playing at? Or was she simply taken with Mrs. Chumley’s conversation?

Whatever it was, he found himself growing—embarrassingly enough— jealous of the attention Mrs. Chumley was receiving from Miss Fernside.

This was a feeling he was not accustomed to experiencing at all, and to be frank, he did not care for it.

He did not care for it at all.

Instead of pining for her attention any longer, however, Henry put forth effort, initiating conversations around the table in the hope that Miss Fernside would take the bait—just as the little brown and white creeper had in the East Indies when he’d laid out food for him.

And yet, with each conversation, she continued speaking with Mrs. Chumley—ignoring all mention of the redstart they’d hoped to see that morning, the birds they wished to see in Cumbria and Cornwall, and the facts they’d discussed that morning in class about the woodcock.

However, when the conversation naturally shifted to lifelong lists—including the birds the party had seen on their own and throughout the excursion—Miss Fernside’s eyes were finally drawn to the others around the table.

Of course, Henry had them all beaten with his list of just over a thousand unique birds, though he insisted on not being included in this particular comparison.

After that, the others shared theirs—the Kay brothers’ one hundred and eleven and one hundred and six, Mr. Gibbon’s ninety-three, Mrs. Chumley’s twenty-seven, and Mr. Chumley’s eighty-nine—before the Shepherds joked about their combined thirteen.

Finally, Mr. Dunn mentioned his one hundred and forty-two, which he then proceeded to list off one-by-one.

Henry anxiously awaited a break in his words so Miss Fernside might have the chance to share her number, as his curiosity about that very fact had steadily grown since he’d first met her.

But Mr. Chumley broke through Mr. Dunn’s droning words instead. “Now, I must know next how you all…”

His words faded as he met his wife’s gaze. Mrs. Chumley raised a subtle finger in the air to signal for him to stop. “Yes, my dear?” he asked.

“Forgive my interruption, Mr. Chumley,” she began, “but I’m afraid we did not hear from Miss Fernside what her number is.”

Henry could have cheered for the woman.

“Ah, yes,” Mr. Chumley began, clearing his voice with another strained smile. “Do share with us, Miss Fernside, what your little number might be.”

Henry fully expected the woman to cower beneath his gaze once again, to hide her talent for fear of being met with retribution.

But apparently, the man’s belittling words lit a fire within her. Miss Fernside lowered her fork carefully onto her plate, then faced the man directly. No hint of hesitation sounded in her tone, and no inkling of insecurity shone in her eyes.

“As of this morning,” she stated calmly, “one hundred and seventy-three.”

Mr. Dunn and Mr. Chumley did not react, but the others shared their surprise with open mouths and eyebrows raised in surprise. Henry, on the other hand, was not surprised. He had expected a large number from her from the moment she’d recognized the call of the kingfisher.

Instead, he was impressed. Impressed and even more aware of how he’d been swindled by their competition. Had he any chance of beating her?

“One hundred and seventy-three,” Mrs. Shepherd breathed. “That is remarkable.”

“And you only remain in Suffolk?” Mr. Gibbon questioned.

“Suffolk and London,” she responded.

“Makes me wonder how many more birds we are missing in our own little county,” the elder Mr. Kay said as the younger agreed.

“It truly is remarkable,” Mr. Shepherd added.

Miss Fernside smiled her gratitude, then glanced at Henry. He gave her an impressed look, and she responded with a simple little shrug—which made him smile all the more.

Until Mr. Dunn spoke.

“Hmm,” the gentleman mused. “That number seems a little farfetched to me.”

Silence fell around the table, and Miss Fernside’s smile stiffened. “Not for one who pays attention to migratory and breeding patterns.”

“Yes, but in only the east of England?” Mr. Dunn continued. “I hardly think that’s possible.”

“I assure you. It is,” she stated carefully.

He narrowed his eyes. “Are they unique birds? Or have you counted the same more than once?”

She gave a mirthless smile that showed just how much she was willing to tolerate his words. “They are all unique, sir. Considering there are over three hundred in Suffolk alone, my number is not beyond comprehension.”

“Birds that you have seen or heard?” he continued questioning, ignoring her defense.

Miss Fernside’s eyes flicked to Henry’s as she no doubt recalled the similarity to Henry’s own questioning at the beginning of the expedition—questioning he was beginning to slightly regret.

“Not that it matters,” she began, “but I have seen each individual bird with my own eyes. I do keep a field journal, if you care to check my work.”

She’d obviously meant it as a slight, but the man didn’t pick up on it. “I think I might.”