Chapter 2
S tanding in the Chumleys’ grand parlor, Lark Fernside bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, shifting her leather-bound journal from her left hand to her right, then back again.
“Nervous, my dear?” Aunt Harriet whispered to her right, an amused smile playing on her lips.
Lark stopped her bouncing at once and looked over at her aunt with a sheepish grin. “More anxious than nervous.”
Aunt Harriet faced forward with another smile. “We will be on our way soon, I’m certain of it.”
As she and Aunt fell silent again, Lark took up the less conspicuous activity of wiggling her toes in her half-boots. She knew she ought to be still, but she couldn’t manage her excitement.
She’d awaited this moment for so long—more than seven months—but now that the time to depart had nearly arrived, she found herself swiftly losing patience.
The two of them—along with Uncle Francis who stood on Aunt’s other side—had arrived at the Chumleys’ only moments before, having been ushered into the parlor where the rest of the attendees stood to await the beginning of the bird observing excursion.
The parlor was adorned in a soft blue floral wallpaper reminiscent of the sea, though the windows at the far side of the room revealed the bustling London streets below.
At least a half a dozen paintings of English landscapes were scattered about the walls, and a large crystal chandelier hung down from the ceiling ornamented with gilded paint.
The room was magnificent, but what drew Lark’s attention more than anything were the other attendees scattered about the space.
All eleven of them stood by in near silence, their bags and trunks already loaded onto the private carriages by the help.
Lark’s own lady’s maid, Penelope, would be riding with the rest of the servants in their own carriages.
For now, however, they awaited out of doors for the guests, who in turn awaited further instruction from the Chumleys, their hosts.
The handsome couple—who appeared to be in their forties—stood at the front of the room, speaking with their butler in whispered tones.
Lark shifted her leather journal to her other hand again as she stared at the Chumleys, willing them to begin, but they continued their whispers. They were still smoothing out the last-minute details for the two-month-long excursion, no doubt.
“So which one is Mr. Branok?” Aunt whispered, leaning close to Lark again.
At the mention of the name, excitement and nerves simmered together at the base of Lark’s stomach, making it difficult to breathe.
Mr. Henry Branok.
She couldn’t believe she was finally going to meet the man whose work she’d admired for five years now.
Lark had read each book by the esteemed naturalist so often—had effectively memorized most of them—that his works had become a permanent fixture in any conversation she held with her aunt and uncle.
In truth, Mr. Branok was the reason Lark had wanted to join the excursion in the first place, but she had yet to meet or even see a likeness of the gentleman.
As such, the moment she’d entered the room, she’d inconspicuously examined each individual to decipher which one he could be.
The Chumleys were not candidates. And the dark-haired man nearby who stood next to his wife—the two of them like preening peacocks with an apparent knowledge of just how very handsome they were—was too young to be Mr. Branok.
The red-headed gentlemen at the far side of the room were no doubt brothers, but Lark had never heard word of Mr. Branok’s family, so she doubted that one of those men would be him either.
Between the remaining individuals—a younger gentleman with a small patch of hair above his lip and a middle-aged gentleman with a head free of any hair at all—Lark had deduced Mr. Branok to be the latter.
He appeared the eldest and wisest of them all, as if he had sailed around the world a time or two, which was essentially what Mr. Branok had done.
Settling once more on her decision, Lark leaned toward Aunt Harriet. “I admit, I do not know for certain. But I do believe it is the gentleman closest to us.”
She motioned toward him, his head as bald as the King of the Vultures she’d seen in Mr. Branok’s book, A Compilation of Birds Observed, Vol. IV, Containing the Description of Birds as Found in the Americas.
Light shone off his empty scalp as bright as the sconces on the walls, and he held himself in a commanding sort of way. No nonsense, quite like Uncle. Quite like someone who knew how to find a bird or two.
Aunt Harriet nodded. “We shall have your uncle make his acquaintance directly, so that he might introduce the two of you.”
Lark smiled her gratitude. How blessed she was to have Aunt and Uncle as her chaperones on this new adventure. She would not be on the excursion at all, were it not for them.
Months before, in September of last year, she’d seen advertisements for the excursion around England. She’d spotted many similar announcements before, but all of them had the same stipulation:
“For gentlemen only.”
Or, on the rare occasion,
“For gentlemen and their wives, if applicable.”
Lark understood the reticence. Single females were often seen as unnecessary distractions for gentlemen who wished to remain focused on nature.
More than that, they were considered to be most burdensome, unable to withstand rigorous traveling circumstances and incapable of braving the elements to remain out of doors long enough to spot birds at all.
Lark did not agree in the slightest with either accusation, but she’d resigned herself to their prejudice.
That is, until she’d heard news that Mr. Branok would be joining this particular venture.
Not only would he be sharing with them the marvelous creations he’d witnessed over the years, but he would also be instructing them on how to best observe birds.
Naturally, Lark could not pass such an opportunity, and though Mr. Chumley resisted, he finally allowed her to join only after she promised that her presence would go by veritably unnoticed—and after she’d agreed to pay for four retainers of six hundred pounds each, instead of the three for which she had planned.
Mr. Chumley had written to her that if he allowed her as a single female to join, he would be potentially missing out on filling a whole other entry for another couple.
Lark was not stupid. She knew full well the man was taking advantage of her determination to join, but she allowed it anyway. She’d also kept the true costs hidden from her aunt and uncle, paying for their entries, as well, despite their protests.
They were perfectly capable of paying the sum themselves, but Lark had insisted. Aunt and Uncle were not great admirers of birds, but they were great admirers of Lark and would do anything for her. Paying for them was a simple way to express her gratitude.
At any rate, no matter the cost, Lark was simply happy to be there—and to be allowed the opportunity to prove her worth as a valuable member of the bird observing community, female and single, or not.
And if Mr. Branok just so happened to see how much value she brought to an excursion, she would certainly not be upset about that either.
She stared once more at the back of the man’s pale scalp.
She’d brought each of her copies of his books with her.
Would it be too much for her to request that he sign them?
How she wished she could abandon all sense of propriety by marching up to him and expressing how much his work had meant to her over the years.
But she would maintain her dignity, if only to prove to Mr. Chumley that she would keep her word and remain relatively invisible—which was how she preferred to live life anyway.
“They are running behind schedule,” Uncle Francis whispered, leaning forward to address both Lark and his wife. “This does not bode well for the rest of the journey.”
Lark glanced toward him, noting the worry creasing his brow.
“I’m certain we shall leave soon, my dear,” Aunt soothed.
He nodded, though he glanced at his pocket watch again.
“Would you care for me to tell them to make haste?” Lark teased.
Uncle Francis cracked a smile. “Thank you, but I don’t believe that will be necessary this morning, niece. Anyway, did you not promise to hold your tongue on the journey? As impossible a notion as that is.” He winked, and Lark smiled in return.
He was not wrong. Lark was not an unkind person by any means, but when her peace was threatened, she was not afraid to speak her mind.
She’d told Aunt and Uncle of her promise to remain unseen, and though they hadn’t liked the idea at all—loving her and accepting her the way she was—they’d agreed to support her, just as they always did, for they loved her as the child they never had.
Ever since Father had died eighteen years ago, and Mother had spent each subsequent Season in London, Uncle and Aunt had remained behind to be her protectors, her chaperones, and her advisors. Lark hadn’t minded Mother leaving. She got along better with her aunt and uncle anyway.
But even though she appreciated them and their presence in her life to no end, she could not help but long for an existence where she could move beyond her twenty-six years and lead a life without chaperones.
She wanted to go where she wished, when she wished. She dreamt of traveling across England and Europe. Of exploring birds in the East Indies. Discovering more in India, perhaps even in the Americas, like Mr. Branok.
She glanced again at the hairless man in front of her. What a life he must have led. What adventures he must have been on, and what birds he must have seen. She would have that life one day. It was only a matter of time.
Lark looked over her shoulder at the light pouring in from the windows and was half-tempted to move closer to the glass to spot a few birds as she waited.