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L ark remained indoors over the next several days, keeping to her room or Aunt Harriet’s while using the excuse of recuperating from the rash the stinging nettle had caused. In reality, she was attempting to recover from her humiliation instead.

She took her meals in her bedchamber, accomplished her observations in the early hours of the morning, and ducked down random corridors to avoid any passersby when returning.

She skipped Mr. Branok’s classes, receiving a review from Uncle Francis about what she missed each time, and had promptly tucked away her list for her competition with Mr. Branok at the bottom of her drawer beneath blank papers and jars of ink.

If he was going to pretend nothing happened between them—not even a friendship—then she would do the very same with their agreement.

Four days after the mishap, her wounds no longer stung, and the unbearable itch had mercifully subsided, as had the angry red welts and spots. As such, Aunt Harriet managed to convince Lark to join the other women for tea and biscuits one afternoon while the gentlemen traversed across the moors.

In the drawing room, Mrs. Chumley was kind enough to reassure Lark that, while the redstart had been frightened off, the bird had promptly returned not a quarter of an hour later, and each gentleman had been fortunate enough to observe him for longer.

“Mr. Chumley said it was marvelous,” Mrs. Chumley continued.

“The female made a showing, too. Although, Mr. Branok disappeared before he had the chance to see them. No one knows why he left, though he ended up walking the great distance back to the house instead of waiting for one of the carriages.”

Lark didn’t care a lick about what the gentleman did or did not do, but she smiled at Mrs. Chumley nonetheless and merely sipped her tea before returning to her room to avoid any sight of the man.

On Thursday, Lark was back to full health, which caused both Aunt and Uncle to press her to join them at Bempton Cliffs to see the seabirds nesting on the precipices.

“It is a journey I can actually manage with relative ease,” Aunt said. “The roads are far less winding.”

So, Lark relented.

At any rate, there was only one bird that could convince Lark to join them, however, and that was the puffin.

So, with great reluctance, she joined the others, swallowing her pride with every greeting and every look of curiosity—or in Mr. Chumley’s and Mr. Dunn’s case, every look of intolerance—before loading into the carriage with Aunt, Uncle, and Mr. Branok.

To her eternal frustration, Mr. Branok had the audacity to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them, behaving as he had before their moment on the stairs.

“I’m so pleased to have my carriage companions again,” he said with a smile that swept about the coach.

Lark smiled politely but kept her eyes focused on the horizon, refusing to give him an inch of generosity.

“And you, Miss Fernside,” Mr. Branok pressed, as if he hadn’t been unthinkably cold with her over the last week.

“It is lovely to see you out and about this morning. We’ve all been wondering when you would feel well enough again to make your return.

To be back in time to see the puffins is providential. ”

Insufferable man.

“Yes, I am quite pleased,” she responded.

“I see your rash has subsided,” he continued. “I trust your discomfort has, as well?”

Apart from experiencing this conversation? “It has, thank you.”

“And I am certain you are anxious to find more birds for your… list .”

He ended the word heavily, and Lark turned to see his knowing expression. His blue eyes were hope-filled, as if he were trying to mend the gap between them. Lark almost gave in until she reminded herself of all that had occurred between them.

“You know,” she began, “I quite forgot about the list while I was convalescing. I was more focused on how to better recognize stinging nettle and poison ivy so I might prove I’m capable of walking sensibly again.”

She smiled sweetly at him, and he shifted his gaze away with a discomfited clearing of his throat.

She’d hoped perhaps she had heard the last from him, but he spoke once again.

“Your knowledge was greatly missed in my classes,” he attempted. “I would be happy to share with you all that you have missed.”

He really was trying now. But it was too late. Their fate had been sealed, no matter how her conscience begged her to reconsider.

“Thank you, but my uncle has kindly already done so.”

Aunt and Uncle watched her carefully from across the coach, no doubt wondering why she was behaving so unkindly, so she added a smile in Mr. Branok’s direction, then shifted her body closer to the window.

To her relief, Mr. Branok finally took her not-so-subtle hinting and redirected his attention to Uncle Francis and Aunt Harriet instead until the carriage finally rolled to a stop.

As they joined the others at the cliffs, Lark finally allowed herself to anticipate being out of doors again—and especially seeing the puffins.

“I’m so happy you joined us,” Aunt said, looping her arm through Lark’s as they stood at the cliff’s edge, watching the puffins on the next cliff over.

“I am, too,” she replied.

And she was. Observing these birds was another experience entirely. The sunshine had disappeared, replaced with overcast skies, and the wind held a chill as it blew in from the North Sea, but in that muted lighting, the puffins themselves were striking in every sense of the word.

Having never seen one in real life, with only the drawing in Bewick’s book to rely upon, Lark was unprepared for how much delight she experienced in seeing the little creatures.

Their colorful beaks and orange, duck-like feet stood out from the mossy white crevices in which they built their nests.

But what struck Lark more than anything was the smoothness of their black and white feathers—and how approachable and kind their eyes were, as if they held a deep innocence about them.

But as she overheard Mr. Branok speaking—though she did her best to ignore him—she was surprised to discover they, perhaps, were not as gentle as they appeared.

“Puffins are carnivores,” he taught, standing near enough to the group to be heard by them all.

“They eat mainly fish and can carry as many as ten at a time. Their beaks are also strong enough to crush mollusks and other crustaceans, while their tongues have spines to hold the fish in place while they eat.”

Lark had read as much in his novels, but she was happy to see he’d gotten his facts right this time.

She sighed at her own condemnations. She was beginning to sound rather petty, and it wasn’t a nice feeling at all.

“And those who are romantics at heart will be happy to hear this,” Mr. Branok continued. “It has been observed that puffins mate for life.”

“Oh, I do like that,” Mrs. Shepherd said, encircling her arms about her husband’s, who responded with a smile of his own.

Lark nearly blushed at the look the couple gave each other, so she turned swiftly away and wandered down the cliffside, anxious to escape their words—and Mr. Branok’s.

Leaning against the stone barrier with a perfect view of the puffins she watched the sea roar below. The puffins called out their low, guttural, croaking cries as they rested in their nesting grounds.

So they mated for life, did they? What nonsense. They were no doubt attached to the location rather than the bird. At least, that’s what Lark’s experience had been. Men were always more interested in her home and the location of it—and by extension her wealth—more than who she was as a person.

“I take it you did not find the notion as romantic as Mrs. Shepherd?”

Lark started, whirling her attention to Mr. Branok, whom she had not heard approaching from her side.

He’d come alone, the others a good distance away so they would not be overheard—as if he’d done so on purpose.

“What notion?” she asked, playing innocent.

He leaned against the barrier, motioning to the birds. “That puffins mate for life.”

“Oh. I suppose it is romantic enough.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

She eyed him, still perturbed that he thought he could treat her as his friend even after ignoring her, rejecting her, and chastising her.

“Why does what not surprise you?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

“That you are not a romantic.”

She frowned. “Why does it not surprise me that you are?”

“On the contrary. I am not.”

“Except for the fact that you just said it was romantic,” she countered.

“I said it for the benefit of the others.”

He motioned to the Shepherds, Mrs. Shepherd clinging to her husband so tightly Lark wondered if Mr. Shepherd was beginning to lose feeling in his left arm. He hardly seemed to mind her grasp on him, though, his smile ever wider.

“In truth,” Mr. Branok continued, “I think it a ruse.”

Lark bit her tongue to prevent herself from conversing further, but her curiosity won out again. “A ruse for what?”

“For others to believe in romance and marriage. In reality, love better suits birds than it does us humans.”

He’d said the words lightly, and though they were bitter, they didn’t sound as such.

He looked over at her, catching her staring, so she put another inch of distance between them. “I suppose we can agree on that, then. Love is for the birds.”

“Certainly.” He studied her still. “I know why I believe so, but may I ask why you feel such a way?”

She didn’t consider his words for a moment. “No.”

He pulled back, obviously surprised. “Why not?”

“Because only true friends ought to speak about such matters.”

“And are we not true friends?”

She looked at him with a focused gaze. “Why do you not rehearse how you treated me before and after I fell into the nettle, then tell me if we are true friends.”

To her relief, he finally shed his confident expression, and a regretful wince crossed his features.

That was enough for her—to simply know that he knew.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, backing away, not wishing to hear what excuses he had to share. “I must return to my aunt.”

He held up a disarming hand, his humble look of pleading stopping her at once. “You will not allow me to explain?” he asked softly.

Her defenses began to slip down from around her heart, but fear gripped her soul. She could not give in to this. She could not welcome him back into her life. She’d grown too used to his friendship before, so much so that no longer having him in her daily life had hurt too greatly.

She was far better off keeping her distance from him indefinitely.

“No, Mr. Branok,” she said softly. “We needn’t pretend any longer to be friends.

You clearly wished to keep your distance before, and I was hurt because of it.

But I assure you now, I understand and agree that we ought to maintain distance from one another.

We shall remain professional acquaintances and nothing more. Good day.”

“No, Miss Fernside?—”

But she shook her head in silence, walked around his outstretched hand, and left him alone.