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Lark’s mood the next day improved, but her insecurity around the others remained, for she dreaded making further mistakes and frightening off more birds.

Still, knowing Mr. Branok was on her side once again encouraged her to try a little harder and to be a little braver around the rest of the observers.

As such, when the rain let up that afternoon after church and the party meandered around a section of Lake Windermere, observing the birds flying over and drifting upon the water, she made a calculated effort to not disturb the others and to be the type of observer they would wish to be around.

She was polite, kind, and kept her distance.

And most importantly, she didn’t sneeze, yelp, or fall into nettle.

However, after an hour or two, she grew weary once again of holding her tongue and attempting to be the perfect companion. Did she truly have to be mute to be accepted by others? And if that was the case, did she truly wish to be around the others.

Mr. Branok kept her spirits up, which she was more than grateful for.

Even if they didn’t speak as much as she would have preferred, he kept her on her toes by sneaking glances and sending hidden smiles in her direction as he taught the moving class more about the birds they spied—great crested grebes, cormorants, and terns—and the hungry ducks that circled around them, including goldeneyes, tufted ducks, and red-breasted mergansers.

After a quarter of an hour, the group discovered a few mute swans across the lake, and they shared spyglasses to observe them from their viewpoint at the top of a raised bluff overlooking the water.

Lark joined them in silence, but the edge of the steep-sided bank was narrow, allowing only a few of them at a time to observe the swans. Giving up her position to Mr. Dunn—who grumbled a begrudging “Thank you”—Lark awaited her turn again by peering down the bluff at the opposite side.

Mud filled the bank below, webbed footprints scattered here and there, and Lark narrowed her eyes at the sight of large droppings near the thick bushes that overhung much of the bank.

As improper as it was, she recognized the deposits as those of mute swans, due to their size, shape, and color, as she had observed them from time to time in Suffolk.

With a quick glance at the others who remained preoccupied with the swans in the distance, Lark made her way off the bluff, then down and around to the bank below. Sidestepping mud and droppings, she cast her eyes about the space.

Just as she’d suspected, though still to her delight, through the thick leaves of the bushes at her left, two swans with glorious white feathers floated in the calm water at the edge of the bank, completely hidden from the upper bluff.

Lark smiled at the sight, then softly gasped as one of the swans shifted round to reveal three fuzzy cygnets tucked safely within their mother’s wings atop her back.

Grey-haired and black-beaked, the baby swans peeped and chirped contentedly at their parents as they enjoyed their moseying on the water.

Lark marveled at the view for a moment, sketching the serene scene and taking avid notes before glancing at the bluff.

No one else had peered down to where she was, so no one else knew of the swans and cygnets.

She would not wish to disturb the small family by bringing the entire party to see them, but one or two others would not hurt.

Especially if Mr. Branok was one of them.

Anxious to share with the gentleman her discovery, Lark walked back up the muddy pathway, but as she neared the top, she heard Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd instead.

“I’m certain we will have the opportunity to see them again another time, my dear,” Mr. Shepherd said softly.

“Yes, I know,” his wife returned. “I am merely disappointed, that is all. They were so very far away, I could hardly make them out at all. And…” She dropped her voice further. “And Mr. Dunn is so very large, I feared he might push me over the edge accidentally with his swinging elbows.”

Lark stifled a smile as she met them on the pathway.

“Oh, Miss Fernside,” Mrs. Shepherd said with a genuine smile. “I wondered where you had got to.”

Lark did not hesitate a moment. “Were you hoping to see the swans?”

“We were,” Mr. Shepherd said. “My wife has always had a particular affinity for them, but I’m afraid there was not much room for us.”

Lark could only smile. “Follow me.”

The Shepherds exchanged looks of intrigue as they followed Lark down the muddy pathway to see her findings, and the expression of joy on each of their faces—Mrs. Shepherd as she admired the swans and Mr. Shepherd as he watched his wife—was worth everything to Lark.

Before long, the three of them made their way back up the pathway, discovering the others had already carried on with their walk along the lake.

“It is unfortunate they were too impatient to wait,” Mr. Shepherd said.

“Too impatient and not as skilled as Miss Fernside here,” Mrs. Shepherd agreed. “I’m certain you could find any bird you set your mind to.”

Lark smiled with humility, and the discomfort she’d felt before shifted off her shoulders.

“Were you able to hear much of Mr. Branok’s teachings about the swans earlier?” Lark asked, braving to be herself even more.

“Only a little, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Shepherd said. “Do share with us your own knowledge.”

Lark was happy to oblige, sharing information about the mute swans mating for life—“Quite like the puffins”—how they ate aquatic vegetation, and how predatorial they become during breeding season.

By the time they caught up with the others, the Shepherds were marveling at Lark’s knowledge and about the birds themselves, thanking Lark profusely for sharing the spot with them.

“It was my pleasure,” Lark assured them. “Bird observing is far better when shared with others.”

She, more than anyone, knew the truth in those words.

They joined the rest of the party, and Aunt and Uncle asked after Lark’s location until Mr. Branok spoke about the mallards nearby.

“I’ve a few of these in my collection,” Mr. Gibbon said, motioning to the ducks as they stood together in a half-circle, facing the water licking the shoreline.

“Collection?” the younger Mr. Kay asked.

“Indeed. I’ve a room dedicated to the several birds I’ve had stuffed. Unique ones, too. Parrots. Buzzards. Even flamingos.”

Lark hid her look of disgust. Taxidermy. She could never understand such a thing—especially done by those who claimed to love birds.

“You know,” Uncle Francis interrupted, “I went to an exotic animal shop once. Cutler’s Emporium of Curious Creatures. I went there to speak with…Well, never mind whom. I did, indeed, see the most curious of creatures, though, while there. All living, too. Iguanas, snakes, even a marmoset.”

“Mr. Branok,” Mr. Chumley said thoughtfully, ignoring Uncle’s words, “the owner of your club has a particular affinity for mounting, does he not?”

Mr. Branok’s jaw visibly stiffened. “He does.”

Lark watched him carefully. Just like before when his club had been mentioned, Mr. Branok grew silent, as if closing off to avoid any mention of it. She still had yet to decipher why, though—and more importantly, what sort of misfit he was to have joined such a club.

“Does he have a large collection?” Mr. Gibbon asked, intrigued.

“Yes. Quite a number of rare animals.”

“Marvelous,” Mr. Gibbon breathed. “I’d love to see.”

“You’ll have to get past Lord Blackstone first,” Mr. Chumley said with a chuckle.

“Blackstone?” Uncle Francis’s blurted question ended the conversation between the others. “As in… Blackstone’s ?”

Lark stared, wondering at his sudden exclamation.

“Yes,” Mr. Chumley replied stiffly. “I believe that is what I said.”

The lines in Uncle’s forehead increased tenfold as he faced Mr. Branok. “You belong to said club?”

Mr. Branok shifted his footing. “I do.”

“For how many years?”

“Five, sir.”

Uncle didn’t respond. Lark stared between him and Mr. Branok, anxious to decipher what was occurring, but neither man would look at her—and now avoided each other.

The conversation shifted to the ducks once again as Mr. Gibbon asked a clarifying question about which was male and female, but Lark didn’t hear Mr. Branok’s response, for Uncle pulled Lark behind the group, shifting away to speak in a whisper.

“Did you know Mr. Branok belonged to Blackstone’s?” he asked.

Lark shrugged. “He has mentioned it a time or two to the other gentlemen, but I quite forgot until now. I believe Lord Blackstone funds his excursions.”

Uncle didn’t respond, merely looked away, deep in thought.

Lark had been tempted to ask him about the club long ago, but ever since she’d fallen into the nettle, she’d been determined to forget any thought or care about anything related to Mr. Branok.

Now that things had changed, however, perhaps she could ask him.

“You seem distressed, Uncle. What is the significance of Blackstone’s? Is this the club you belong to?”

Uncle straightened. “Certainly not. White’s cannot be compared to…Blackstone’s is known for …” He shook his head with a sigh and cast a sidelong glance at Mr. Branok. “Never you mind. Come. Let us rejoin the others.”

Lark hesitated, an unsettled feeling burgeoning in the pit of her stomach as concerning thoughts swirled round her mind.

Why did Uncle appear so uneasy with Mr. Branok being a part of Blackstone’s?

Was it simply due to the stigma of those who belonged being misfits?

Or was there something else that frightened Uncle? Something that should frighten Lark?

Though she longed for answers to her questions, she did as she was told and rejoined the half-circled party.

“Do tell us, Mr. Branok,” Mr. Dunn was saying, “why are females always the uglier of the birds?”

Lark pulled a face. This was one surefire way to ensure she focused on the present—listening to Mr. Dunn’s thoughtless words. Only an ignorant, unobservant simpleton would call female birds ugly .

Mr. Branok caught her eye. Before, he’d averted his gaze with discomfort due to the conversation. Now, he watched Lark unabashedly, amusement alight in his features, no doubt at the disdain clearly written across her own—especially as Mr. Dunn continued.

“One would think the females would put in a little more effort to be more eye-catching,” he said.

Mr. Branok sent Lark a subtle nod of encouragement as if to say, “Go on, Miss Fernside. Tell him what you truly think.”

She did not have to be told twice.

“One would think so,” she said, stepping forward to face the entire party.

“However, I find that female birds, while unattractive to the untrained eye, are some of the most striking creatures on earth. Yet, even if the females were dull and ordinary, the male birds would still do whatever they could to attract—nay, beg for attention.” She paused, looking to the women around her who were already smiling at her response.

“At any rate, no matter the creature, human or bird, the men always do whatever they can to attract attention. All we women must do is simply breathe and they come flocking, do they not?”

Mrs. Chumley, Mrs. Shepherd, and Aunt Harriet laughed in unison. Uncle Francis, though clearly distracted, still smiled, and Mr. Shepherd cried out a, “Hear, hear,” with another loving look at his wife.

Mr. Dunn was the furthest thing from being impressed, and Mr. Chumley looked as angry and red as a robin’s breast.

Mr. Branok’s reaction was what she was most interested in, however, so when admiration shone in his blue eyes that matched the sparkling water nearby, her heart spread its wings and took flight.

“Right you are, Miss Fernside,” he said. “Right you are.”