Page 19

After a restful Sunday, Lark woke the following morning earlier than usual to take her morning wander about the gardens, managing to record three more birds for her list—an alert linnet, a puffy bullfinch, and an adorable pied flycatcher—before returning to the house.

After a quick breakfast, she met with Aunt and Uncle and the others as they loaded into the readied carriages and set off toward a nearby farm.

Mr. Chumley had shared with them last night after dinner that the farmer who occupied the land east of Deryn Park had spotted two Redstarts tending to their nest in the stone wall at the edge of his property.

Not one in the group had seen the bird before—not even Mr. Branok—so all were willing to awaken early in the best chance to observe the bird who was aptly nicknamed firetail , due to its fiery orange chest and tail feathers.

Lark, Aunt, Uncle, and Mr. Branok enjoyed a pleasant carriage ride in the beginning.

Together, they attempted to mimic the call of a blackbird, that ultimately ended in fits of laughter from Lark—who had accomplished the call perfectly —and barely restrained humor from Uncle Francis and Aunt Harriet as Mr. Branok simulated a wounded animal, despite his best attempts otherwise.

Lark was relieved that Aunt hadn’t mentioned Mr. Branok’s attention the night before, though she did cast curious glances at them throughout the duration of the carriage ride.

Still, the journey progressed enjoyably as Lark and Mr. Branok shared facts about the redstart with Aunt and Uncle, specifically how the more colorful male helped contribute to the nest building before the female would sit on her eggs for nearly a fortnight.

Before long, however, Aunt fell ill due to the winding roads, followed shortly by Uncle, and the two grew silent—which in turn caused Lark and Mr. Branok to follow suit—until they finally reached their destination at half past seven.

Lark had hoped the beginning joy from that morning would return, but unfortunately, her spirits shifted lower and lower with each passing hour.

Not only did Mr. Chumley whisk Mr. Branok away from the moment they reached the farm to the moment they left, but not a single sighting of a redstart had occurred, despite them being in a position to see the nest tucked securely within the gap of the stone wall.

What made matters worse was that Aunt had not been able to recuperate from the first carriage ride, so the second was far, far worse.

They had to stop twice alongside the road on the return journey for her to settle her stomach either by relieving it or by walking about, and though she expressed her apologies excessively, the others—Mr. Branok more than anyone—helped her be at ease by ensuring her that she was not an imposition to them in the slightest.

Relief filled Lark the greatest, however, when they stopped the carriage in front of the stately house. She delivered a departing curtsy toward Mr. Branok—who bowed politely in response, concern etching his features—then she escorted Aunt to her chamber with Uncle before taking leave herself.

She would have loved to stay to help, but she knew Aunt well enough that the only person Aunt Harriet needed in that moment was her beloved husband to wipe her brow and hold her weakened hand.

Lark stayed in her room for a time, but as guilt continued to eat at her conscience for being the cause of yet another bout of carriage sickness for Aunt Harriet, she left her room to occupy her mind elsewhere.

Unfortunately, nothing worked. She read Mr. Branok’s books in the library—all while being dutifully watchful to ensure he did not spot her—then moved to the conservatory to update her lifelong list of birds.

Shortly after that, she sought more fowl in the trees out of doors, but nothing seemed to pick her mood up from the miserable and dejected depths it had fallen to while being alone with her thoughts.

When she finally meandered her way toward her bedchamber to make ready for dinner that evening, she was stopped by Uncle and was given news that made matters even worse.

“I must stay with your aunt this evening,” he said, speaking in a whisper outside of the bedchamber.

“She is so very ill from the turns in the road this afternoon, I daren’t leave her.

Not while she feels so miserable. You must go to dinner yourself.

I’ve already asked Mrs. Chumley to serve as your chaperone. ”

Lark frowned. The last thing she wished to do in that moment was sit with the others without aunt and Uncle.

Unless Mr. Branok entertained her.

She gave her head a little shake. There would be no secret conversations with Mrs. Chumley as chaperone. Aunt certainly had a more lenient eye.

“Thank you, Uncle Francis,” she replied. “But I will take my meal in my room. I’m feeling a little tired anyway.”

Uncle pulled his brows together. “Please, Lark. Your aunt feels terrible about all of this. She feels she has prevented you from enjoying your time here due to her constant illnesses.”

Lark pulled back. “Heavens above. That is not how I feel at all. If anything, I feel terribly to have pulled you both through such misery.”

Uncle took her hand and gave a quick peck to the back of it. “Do not concern yourself over us, my dear. We made our own decision and would do far more to see your joy.”

Lark’s heart warmed. How was she so blessed to have received such a loving aunt and uncle?

“Which is why you must go to dinner this evening,” Uncle finished.

Once again, her heart fell.

“It will bring us much joy knowing you are mingling with like-minded bird observers instead of holed up in your room all alone. Please, Lark.”

She hesitated, but the look of pleading finally caused her to relent with a silent nod.

Uncle smiled with relief.

“Give Aunt my best wishes,” she said.

“I will. And do enjoy yourself this evening.”

That was highly unlikely, especially after the miserable day she’d had. But she nodded nonetheless and retreated down the corridor to her bedchamber, finding her lady’s maid already there, lining up hairpins on the small table near the looking glass.

“Good evenin’, Miss Fernside,” she said with a warm smile.

“Evening, Penelope,” Lark said, closing the door behind her.

“Not a ‘good’ evening, then?” Penelope asked.

Lark sighed. “I’m afraid not. My day has been rather disappointing thus far.”

“Ah, I am sorry to hear that, miss,” Penelope said, straightening a brush next to the hairpins. “But don’t give up yet. Perhaps the evening might surprise you. I’ve a number of dresses for you to choose from.” She gave a little smile. “That always seems to improve your mother’s mood.”

Lark gave a humored smile. It was well known around Brackenmore Hall that Mother loved dresses and jewelry as greatly as Lark loved birds—just as it was well known that Mother despised birds and nature as greatly as Lark despised dressing in fine clothing.

Not only did it draw an undue amount of attention toward her and her wealth, but she also found fine gowns and cumbersome jewelry impossible to wear while attempting to observe nature.

“If only I could be more like her,” Lark mused as she moved to the dresses on the bed.

In reality, she would never want to be like her mother. Lark found far too much joy in simplicity. But she could not deny life would be simpler if she could fit in with Society, as Mother did.

Lark shifted her eyes from the simple pink dress with a higher neckline, to the pea green gown with a bow at the bodice, then finally to the last—an azure blue gown with a sheer overlay and subtly ruched sleeves.

Far too elegant for a dinner with a party of bird observers, but mother had insisted she bring at least a few fine gowns .

“You mustn’t dress like the rabble dear, even if you insist on being amidst them.”

“Let us do this one,” Lark said, smoothing her hand along the modest pink dress.

Penelope didn’t respond. Instead she nodded her head and turned away.

The young woman had been a constant companion over the ten years she had worked for Lark—when Lark was sixteen and Penelope fourteen.

Over those years, their kinship had grown so they could both read each other rather well.

As such, Lark knew there was something Penelope was not saying.

“You disapprove?” Lark asked, curious.

Penelope hesitated. “Not disapprove, per say. I was only hopin’ to try out a certain hairstyle I saw on a fashion plate last week at Campell’s. I believe it will look best with the blue gown, though.”

Lark pulled in her lips, eying the blue ribbon around the bodice and lower neckline, though still modest. It was finer than anything she’d worn thus far on the trip, and the sapphire jewelry Mother insisted she bring along would pair nicely with it.

“The other women dress fine, as well, so you wouldn’t be out o’ place.”

Penelope had a point. Mrs. Shepherd and Mrs. Chumley were very finely dressed each evening. If anything, wearing the gown would help them to know that Lark was at their level in Society—if not technically above it.

She looked at the dress once again. The color did wonders for her complexion, and the cut and style accentuated her figure perfectly. The green in her hazel eyes was brought out, as well. She always noticed a number of gentlemen’s eyes turning when she wore it.

Would Mr. Branok’s do the same?

She started at the thought. Heavens above. There was no chance of Lark wearing the gown now. That pathway of seeking a gentleman’s approval led only to misery.

“Thank you, Penelope. But the pink dress will suit fine enough.”

Penelope accepted the decision at once. “That’s fine, miss. I’ve many other hairstyles to choose from that are just as lovely.”

“Thank you,” Lark returned. “At any rate, it is better this way. I would not wish to attract any attention, even positive. I’ve no idea what Mr. Chumley takes as disruption, so I’d rather not risk it.”

Penelope opened her mouth, looked at Lark, then paused. “Yes, miss.”