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It was magic, but more. It was pure healing, right down to the core of life, where only truth existed. Among the crowd below, a plethora of broken words, strained silences, and simple everyday distresses melted away into peaceful resolution. People began turning to embrace each other, weeping tears of joy; making protestations of love, apologies, promises; signing university enrollment forms. Beth noticed the PRESS agents kissing each other with such passion, their bowler hats fell off. Even the IOS committee were in paroxysms of emotion: shaking one another by the hand, even going so far as to pat a shoulder or two. And within the crowd—

Smack.

“This is all your fault, Oberhufter!” boomed Hippolyta’s voice. “That bird should have been mine!”

Laughing, Beth turned back to Devon.

He was gone.

Looking around confusedly, she was bewildered to discover him on one knee before her. “Oh,” she said. The confusion tipped and spun until her thoughts became a blur. All she knew then was the rush of her pulse and the safe, heavy darkness of Devon’s eyes gazing up at her.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” he said as he took one of her hands in both of his and held it gently, loosely, so that she could slip away from him at any second, should she want. “Nothing like being forced down on one knee in front of crowd by the magic of a tiny bird.”

“Sorry,” Beth whispered.

He smiled. “No need for an apology, my angel. I don’t need magic to know I love you. And I always intended to do this, just perhaps a little more privately. With, you know, flowers and champagne, and a prettier view. Then again, I’m grateful the caladrius is giving me the courage it might have otherwise taken a while to gather.”

“You need courage?” she asked, amazed.

His smile wavered. “More than you know.”

Indeed, his hands were trembling around hers. Beth wanted to take them, hold them against her heart, so he might know how it beat for him. She could not move, however, mesmerized as she was by the enchantment he was weaving, had been weaving this past week, with his good cheer (and his even better kisses).

“You’re allowed to say no,” he assured her. “You’re allowed to turn away and leave, never mind all the people watching right now.”

Beth glanced around, swallowing heavily as she realized the entire crowd had already forgotten about the caladrius in the face of the far more interesting spectacle Devon was making of himself. She glimpsed Rose Marin, the hijacking professor from Edinburgh, grinning brightly; and Hippolyta, wide-eyed; and the magnificent mustache of Monsieur Chevrolet…and was that the Chaucer Inn landlord and his daughter, waving to her from beside a hydrangea bush?

“But should you wish to stay,” Devon continued—then paused to brush the hair away from his eyes with uncharacteristic nervousness. Several onlookers shuffled impatiently; “get on with it, man” could be heard within the ranks of the IOS committee. “If you do stay, um, then I’d like to propose that we marriage. Er, get married. We could travel—um, wherever you want. Psychic territories of the giant moa. Eyries of American eagles. We could have fun, rescue a lot of birds, make a lot of—um. Yes. Well. There you have it. Never mind. Goodbye.”

He began to rise, but Beth hastily set a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. Devon looked up at her with a vulnerability, and yet a love, that made her think of the first moment a bird took flight from a tree branch into the peril and promise of the sky. She smiled back at him, entirely certain, and just a little smoldering.

“It requires very little analysis,” she said, “for me to conclude that your proposal has copious merits, and that acceptance would be the most profitable response on my part; therefore, please do take remittance of it.”

His expression emptied. “What?”

Urgently seeking a translation from within the wreckage of her overwhelmed brain, she received one instead from her heart.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Devon echoed, his own intellect apparently having disappeared somewhere up among the clouds with the caladrius.

Beth grinned. “Yes, please. I love you, Devon. I will most definitely marry you.”

Instantly, he was on his feet, grasping her head and manhandling her into a fierce kiss. Beth wrapped her arms around him, clutching his coat, not letting him go.

The crowd screamed with excitement. Banners flew out of raised hands to flap free, like vast wings, in the glimmering air. And a voice shouted out from the general melee.

“By Jove! Good catch, Elizabeth!”

Laughter broke their kiss. Still hugging, they smiled at each other before lifting their gazes skyward with the irrepressible instinct of ornithologists, seeking wings.

Far above, the caladrius circled the scene, peeping cheerfully, then flew away into mystery.

And a cool breeze began to drift in, promising fresher days to come.

Acknowledgments

Writing this book was like chasing a wild, magical bird. My warm thanks to Beth and Devon for always knowing what route we should take—and to all the birds who sang outside my window while I worked, providing beautiful inspiration!

This is a historical fantasy, as may be obvious from the magical birds, not to mention the female professor. While every effort was made to accurately depict the various details of life in 1890, I took considerable artistic licence with the big picture; for example, making ornithology a separate department at English universities (in my defense, the widespread existence of deadly magical birds does perhaps justify it!). Thanks to all the real ornithologists over the years whose work brings us nearer to understanding, as poet William Blake called it, “an immense world of delight, clos’d by [our] senses five.”

I’m grateful as ever to all the people who were part of this book’s journey. Kristine Swartz, I appreciate so much your wisdom and the way you can always find the heart of my stories. Taylor Haggerty, thank you for your kindness, calm guidance, and for never failing to make me smile. Jasmine Brown and Mary Baker, I really value all that you do. Thanks also to Heather Baror-Shapiro and Alice Lawson; Rebecca Hilsdon, Jorgie Bain, and everyone at Michael Joseph Books; and my foreign-language publishers.

My heartfelt gratitude to Stephanie Felty, Anika Bates, Christine Legon, Stacy Edwards, Katy Riegel, Eileen Chetti, and everyone at Penguin Random House. Immense thanks to Katie Anderson for the glorious cover!

Hugs to all my readers; it’s such a delight to write for you.

And love, as always and forever, to Amaya, Julie, Simon, Anya, and Myla.

I also want to send thanks to all those who have been in touch about the neurodivergent representation in my books. I don’t use diagnostic terms within the context of the stories, because it wouldn’t be historically accurate. That neurodivergent people have nevertheless seen something of their own experience in several of my characters means a great deal to me as an autistic writer.

Since I finished writing The Ornithologist’s Field Guide to Love, I’ve continued telling myself tales of Beth and Devon’s ongoing adventures, such as fighting smugglers and visiting the great moa. So, as a kind of miniature epilogue, I invite you to see them as I so often do: lying hand in hand on the sunlit ground of an American prairie, watching eagles dance.