Page 23

L ark removed her gloves as she exited another corridor and climbed the stairs toward her bedchamber, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

She was thoroughly exhausted. Yes, she’d finally been able to be herself—to defend her skills and be unafraid of Mr. Chumley expelling her from the excursion.

But it had taken its toll on her. As had not speaking with Mr. Branok.

She had attempted to not even look at him—to make him long for her attention so he might know what it felt like to be flirted with and then ignored.

But the second she’d seen him, his look of admiration, the laughter he’d stifled at her words, and the clear approval of her standing up for herself, she’d realized that the rumors Penelope had heard were just that—rumors. Rumors that were complete and utter nonsense.

Mr. Branok was a gentleman, through and through.

He was respectful, encouraging, and kind.

And she had made a terrible mistake wearing this dress tonight.

It had given her more confidence than she needed.

With that and her aunt and uncle’s decided lack of presence, she’d unleashed her tongue fully and would now pay for it.

Mrs. Chumley had been an utter delight that evening, so Lark could not regret her actions entirely.

But still, she had noticed Mr. Branok’s attention, and that more than anything, made her regret her choice.

For she’d led him on. Pulled him in. Like a moth to a flame, she’d lured him closer until he had stolen glances with looks of admiration far more than she’d ever seen.

She’d done the very thing to him that he’d been accused of doing to another woman. And she’d done it on purpose .

She wouldn’t have felt so badly had he been a terrible person, but Mr. Branok was good.

He didn’t deserve this. That was why she’d left before the men had come through.

She knew he would have spoken with her, tried to get to know her better, perhaps be encouraged to even like her.

But she could not, in good conscience, allow that to happen.

Both of them wished to remain single, and she would do nothing to persuade them to wish otherwise.

She wouldn’t talk to him alone any longer. She would have a chaperone from this point forward. Otherwise?—

“Miss Fernside?”

Lark jumped, whirling around to face the very man occupying her thoughts.

She stood on the step second from the top, staring down at Mr. Branok, who stood just at the side of the stairs.

“Mr. Branok?” she breathed, holding a hand to her throat to quell her racing heart. “I did not hear you coming.”

“My apologies,” he said, his neck craned to see her easier. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

He said nothing more, merely watched her in silence.

“Are you in need of something?” she began, eying the empty space behind him. They were a good deal away from the drawing room, with no chance of being overheard. “Why are you not with the others?”

“I wanted to see…if you were well.”

She observed him for a moment—saw the sincerity in his eyes—and her heart attempted to stretch out toward him.

“That is very kind of you,” she said. “But I assure you, I am well.”

His eyes did not shift from her, so she looked away from him . She would not follow through with her previous plan—coaxing him along and dropping him—no matter the softness in his eyes as he peered up at her.

He drew closer, reaching the bottom step and resting his hand on the railing, his voice soft as he spoke. “Are you quite certain?”

She tipped her head to the side as she peered down at him.

He looked markedly handsome tonight with his blond hair pomaded into the latest fashion and the light blue of his waistcoat reflecting deeply in his eyes.

Instead of the amusement and charm he typically exhibited, his expression was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Was he hesitant? Unsure, perhaps? But about what, exactly?

“I am certain, yes,” she finally replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Due to your early departure. I thought, perhaps, you left due to Mr. Chumley’s and Mr. Dunn’s shameful behavior this evening.”

Once again, the gossip she’d heard from Penelope slipped through her thoughts, and once again , she could have laughed at the idea. Looking at Mr. Branok now, his thoughtfulness in seeking her out, his taking her side over the other gentlemen, the truth was clear to her even more.

He was as good a gentleman as she had ever known.

“I did not leave due to being offended,” she assured him. “I left due to my exhaustion. I fear I have held my tongue for so long, it was rather strenuous allowing myself to stretch my wings for the first time this evening.”

A small smile curved the right side of his lips. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Are you no longer concerned about what Mr. Chumley might do to you?”

She smoothed her hand along the banister to her right, her fingers following the grooves of the dark wood shining in the candlelight. “No. I no longer have to worry about him.”

They did not raise their voices. Despite the steps between them, their words drifted up and down in an easy manner about the open space.

“May I ask what has changed?”

Lark would not betray the words Penelope had shared with her in confidence, so she simply said, “My knowledge.”

The intrigue in his eyes grew, but he did not press her for more information. The silence grew between them, but his scrutiny of her increased.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I merely…” He paused again, taking two steps up the stairs.

The candlelight flickered against his jawline, more of his tanned throat visible as he craned his neck to see her.

“I am merely attempting to understand you again. Specifically why you are unapologetically yourself around me and not around others.”

She thought for a moment. “Have I offended you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

She tipped her head in his direction. “That is why. No matter what I have said to you, no matter how I behave around you, you will not be offended.”

He smiled. “So you try to offend me, then?”

“At times,” she teased. “But I believe you already know what sort of person I am, so my causing offense is getting trickier by the moment.”

He drew a step higher. “And what sort of person are you?”

“Difficult. That’s what most gentlemen say.”

He took another step, and the voice inside her told her to excuse herself at that moment, for the light in Mr. Branok’s eyes grew increasingly brighter—and increasingly more mischievous.

But her body refused to retreat.

“One man’s ‘difficult’ is another man’s ‘dream,’” he stated. Then he shrugged. “Or so at least I’ve been told.”

“Who on earth has told you that?”

He delivered a charming smile. “Do not call my bluff now, Miss Fernside.”

He paused on the middle step, but she no longer fought to leave. Her desire to be near the man, to speak with him and have his attention on her, was too great to leave now.

“I fear I must call your bluff, though,” he continued. “I had no knowledge of how many birds you have seen in your life, and I fear I am now concerned over our competition.”

He flattered her, that much was clear. He had such an advantage over her, what with more than half a dozen exhibitions under his belt, but he was kind to even suggest she might win.

“Why did you not tell me you’d seen so many?” he asked.

“You have never asked me.”

“I…” He paused. “Have I not?”

She smiled. “No, you have. Our first time in the carriage, I believe. I simply refused to answer you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I do recall now.”

“You see? You are not offended even when I tell you a falsehood.”

He grinned. “Well, despite my inability to take offense at your actions, I do hope you will continue to be yourself around me—and the others. I quite enjoyed seeing Mr. Chumley’s and Mr. Dunn’s usually sheen feathers fluffing around the table.”

“I did, as well,” she said with a smile. “Though I fear Mrs. Shepherd might have nightmares about shrikes this evening.”

Mr. Branok chuckled, and Lark beamed.

His eyes remained on her, a quick sweeping gaze over her gown before settling on her features once more, and the humor in his expression softened.

“I do truly hope you were not offended by their words,” he said. “Specifically, Mr. Dunn’s disbelief and Mr. Chumley’s slight about your needing a husband.”

Lark thought for a moment. “No, I was not offended by them. In truth, I know they, like most people, do not truly intend to cause offense. Even if they do, I would never wish to allow their actions to cause me such futile anger that my own joy becomes at risk. Life is far better when one forgives, even if— especially if—no apology is extended.”

It was a truth she’d lived by for years now. Finding forgiveness for Mr. Yates’s actions had been difficult and was still something she strived for today. But whenever she put effort forth, her life improved drastically.

She’d had so much practice with forgiveness that she’d managed to do so with Mr. Sebastian Drake after a matter of hours—if not minutes—of his proposal. Though, that did not mean there was not the occasional bitterness that sporadically sprouted from long-forgotten roots of hurt.

“You are truly wise, Miss Fernside,” Mr. Branok said, drawing her mind to the present.

The admiration in his eyes was sincere, but she could hardly accept the word. She gave a little scoff. “I do believe that is the first time I have ever been called that.”

“Then no one knows who you really are.”

How true his words rang. Lark very rarely revealed who she was inside to anyone apart from Aunt and Uncle. At least not in the last ten years. She may have worked hard to forgive, but she had yet to break down the walls she’d fashioned round her heart.

And yet, somehow, Mr. Branok had made his way into that small circle of individuals.