Page 43

Since her arrival in London two days prior, Lark had been to more social events than she wanted to for the rest of her days. Granted, there had been a single dinner party, two promenades through Hyde Park, and only one ball, which she was attending currently, but still, she was utterly spent.

Apparently, she had grown far too accustomed to being around like-minded individuals whose first love was a bird. The people she was forced to associate with now were as drab as dry dirt, going on and on about “this hairstyle” and “that cravat” and always the latest gossip.

Even so, Lark would do her duty and play the part of the amiable female in search of a husband to fulfill her agreement with Mother—even if it was all for pretend.

“Stunning, is it not?” Mother commented as they entered the ballroom.

The grand space was as bright as day with countless candles flickering above the room and about the walls.

“Quite breathtaking,” Lark said, though her eyes were on the hordes of people already filling the dance floor.

She dreaded the number of times she would be asked to dance tonight—and all by acquaintances of Mother who’d heard tell of her stunning, wealthy daughter.

Mother had been thrilled to welcome back Lark after her travels.

To her credit, she’d listened to Lark’s full account of the expedition thus far—omitting a few happenings, of course.

But after that, Mother had not wasted a single moment making up for lost time, pulling Lark from person to person at each event they attended.

“My friend puts on quite a show,” Mother continued, commanding the space she walked.

She looked as regal as ever in her white gown that draped flatteringly over her figure.

“He does, indeed,” Lark agreed.

The ball tonight was put on by the Duke of Rockwood, yet another of Mother’s many friends. Her connections truly knew no bounds—which was unfortunate for Lark and her desire to remain unnoticed by all.

Well, not all. But the one person she wished to be noticed by was the one person she hadn’t seen for two days.

It was just as well. She couldn’t speak with Mr. Branok anyway. Nor would he wish to speak with her. She’d burned that bridge to cinders, and her charred heart was proof enough of the fact.

Soon enough, Mother and Lark found Aunt and Uncle, the former joining them as they walked about the room, and the latter retreating to the card rooms almost instantly.

Lark wouldn’t mind hiding away with no responsibilities for an evening. Oh, to be a gentleman.

Instead, she remained at the forefront of attention with Mother introducing her to more faces and individuals than she could ever hope to remember.

After a quarter of an hour, Mother was whisked away by a group of women who strikingly resembled a gaggle of Roman geese as they walked about the room in unison, their heads held high, ready to cast judgments on all who dared approach them.

For the moment, Lark was left to her own devices. She joined Aunt at the edge of the room, observing the dancers on the floor, and Lark stifled a yawn.

“Tired already?” Aunt asked.

“I’ve been tired since we left the Lake District.”

Aunt Harriet smiled encouragingly. “You’ll need to rally your energy this evening. This may be the last dance you have without a partner.”

Lark’s shoulders dipped. Aunt was right. It was only a matter of time before Mother returned to her side with a row of gentlemen behind her for Lark—goslings behind the mother goose.

“Would I could be a wallflower,” Lark muttered, longingly eying the young girls sitting demurely at the sides of the room, anxiously staring at each gentleman who passed them by without notice.

Her heart reached out to the ladies. They were pretty, but nowhere near fine enough to be noticed by the pompous ton .

Lark would know. Mother had dressed her in her finest gown this evening—the deep red gown with pearls sewn down the center and around her waist and neckline was even more grand than the blue dress she’d worn on the expedition.

The blue dress that had caused so much trouble between her and…

Her heart twisted, but she ignored it as best she could—just as she’d done from the moment she’d sworn to Uncle she would not speak with Mr. Branok.

The days since had been the most difficult of her life. She’d hoped, upon her return to London, that Uncle would have good news concerning Mr. Branok, but his words had been bleak.

“I still have yet to discover a single person who is aware of what he did to be blackballed,” Uncle had told her upon her return.

“This can mean only one thing. Mr. Branok must have hidden his actions due to their egregious nature. I can only imagine what heinous behavior he must have exuded. I can hardly bear the thought of meeting up with him again in Cornwall in two weeks’ time. ”

Once again, Lark had soothed her uncle’s anxiousness, for she still felt the same about abandoning the expedition too early—there was no chance she would.

Just as there was no chance she would believe that Mr. Branok was capable of doing anything egregious at all. But she’d decided, for now, to allow Uncle Francis time to calm down before she voiced her continued desire to ask Mr. Branok herself what he’d done.

She’d longed to do so during their final days in the Lake District, but true to her promise to Uncle, she’d maintained her distance. And Aunt, true to her word, had not left Lark’s side for a single moment.

Of course, when he’d approached her at the carriage, everything had fallen to pieces.

Lark winced at the memory. How she’d longed to share with him then and there that Uncle had made her promise not to speak with Mr. Branok, that those five days apart had been the longest of her life.

She’d realized that she’d have to wait even longer to speak with him if she had any hope of doing so away from the ever-watchful eyes of Uncle, Aunt, and Mother.

That was why she’d hoped he would have agreed to speak in Cornwall, but she knew why he did not.

She had injured him. And he would not forgive her.

“You see? Your mother is wasting no time collecting your partners for the evening,” Aunt said, motioning across the room.

Sure enough, Mother had surrounded herself with four young men, pointing over at Lark and speaking behind a fluttering fan.

Lark looked away, pretending not to have noticed the men veritably salivating, no doubt at the knowledge of Lark’s wealth.

“Do you know any of them?” Aunt Harriet asked.

Lark focused on the dark-haired gentleman at the front. “Only Mr. Taylor. Mother thinks we would get on splendidly because he enjoys hunting.” She cast Aunt a sidelong glance. “Shared interest in birds, you see.”

“Oh, yes. That is just what you would want in a husband.”

“Indeed. I know Mother means well, but she is so often misguided by her own desire to see me wed. I cannot blame her, though. The poor woman will never get to plan her own daughter’s wedding.”

Aunt eyed her. “Will you be happy if you do not get to plan your own wedding?”

Lark hesitated, focusing on the image in her mind’s eye of her standing in front of a church, a man with blue eyes like the sea at her side…

She blinked the image from her mind. “More than happy. If anything, this expedition has only proven to reinstate my desire to remain single so I will be able to enjoy trips like this forevermore.”

She merely had to simply readjust her dreams. She might not be able to procure passage to other countries now, lacking the expertise and connections of Lord Blackstone, but she could still manage a trip around England every now and again.

Perhaps even Europe. It was all dependent on her hope and efforts. Was it not?

“And yet,” Aunt Harriet continued, “would you not enjoy these experiences better with a husband at your side? I know I do with your uncle. Mrs. Shepherd does with her husband, as well.” She hesitated. “I know Francis does not approve, but Mr. Branok…”

Lark shook her head, praying Aunt wouldn’t finish the sentence. It was too painful to entertain such thoughts, especially knowing Aunt still enjoyed Mr. Branok’s company, even if Uncle did not.

“He appears to be your equal in every way,” Aunt continued, despite Lark’s prayers. “Have you ever considered…”

Once again, Lark shook her head.

Yes, she and Mr. Branok shared similarities.

But one of those similarities—their attachment to remaining single—was to their detriment.

Should he give up his bachelorhood, he would also be relinquishing his frequent expeditions, publications, and essentially, his freedom.

He would never wish to marry her, as he would be gaining nothing from such a relationship—so a marriage between them was out of the question.

She, on the other hand, would be gaining far more. Freedom, protection…love.

She shook her head. The idea was absurd. Mr. Branok did not love her. She wasn’t even certain if he wished to remain friends after last week.

“No,” she replied softly. “He is determined to remain single. And I am quite content with my choice. But thank you for always being so aware of my happiness, Aunt.”

Aunt gave her a saddened smile, then turned to face the dancers. However, her features shifted to surprise when she focused directly ahead of them. “Is that Mr. and Mrs. Chumley just there?”

Lark followed Aunt Harriet’s line of sight, and to her surprise, a flutter of excitement occurred in her chest at the sight of the couple half-hidden by a gentleman in front of them.

She’d missed Mrs. Chumley, and she’d almost been away from Mr. Chumley long enough to consider tolerating his presence again.

“I believe it is them, yes,” Lark replied.

If the Chumleys were here, did that mean other members of their bird observing party were in attendance, as well?

Do not dwell on false hope, Lark.

“Oh, they’ve seen us,” Aunt said.