Page 45

H enry was grateful when the small circle disbanded so he no longer had to speak.

His mind was too muddled, too confused. Seeing Miss Fernside in all her scarlet glory was even more unsettling.

He stood on the outskirts of the ballroom, doing his best not to watch as she twirled, spun, and clapped during the dance with her partner. The only knowledge that comforted him in that moment was knowing that the gentleman appeared far happier than Miss Fernside did.

Although, that didn’t surprise him. From what she had said before, he could only imagine how miserable she had to be within the confines of the ballroom instead of freely exploring the world—and birds—around her.

If only he could help her.

He closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath before looking away from her. Such thoughts would not lead to anything productive. He was already confused enough. Wanting to ease her burdens, help her be happier, would only draw them closer together, and that was not what he wanted.

Or was it?

He blew out an aggravated sigh, rubbing his fingers against his temple to dispel the growing ache in his head.

He’d tried to forget about her. He’d tried to convince himself that she was not worth a second of his time. He’d tried to wrap his mind up with India so much he could care about nothing else. He was finally fulfilling his dream, his parents’ dream.

But none of it worked. She was the first thing he thought of when he woke up, the last thing he thought of when he fell asleep. Even then, he did not feel relief, for his dreams were filled with images of her smile and warm eyes.

Thinking of her wasn’t even the worst of it. It was the longing he had not expected. It was as if his very soul yearned to be with hers. To be strengthened by her, comforted by her, even challenged by her.

Even now, he had to fight to keep himself from striding directly toward her, interrupting the set, capturing her hand in his, and begging her to dance with him for all the rest of his days.

He turned away, but it did not help. Nothing ever did.

His eyes trailed to her once again. Her blonde curls were piled high and elegant atop her head as she danced. Rubies dangled from her ears, swinging jovially back and forth as she smiled at the couple dancing down the set.

Her gloved hands tapped in time with the music, and with each clap, Henry’s heart beat against his chest.

His time away from her was supposed to have subdued any attraction he held for her. But all it did was dissipate his hurt and anger. All it did was make him uneasy about the coming days when he would be without her. He could hardly manage two days. How was he to manage one hundred and fifty?

The same panic that had been growing for days sparked again inside his chest, igniting a greater desire to speak with her. If he still had to leave for India, if he still had to be parted from her, could he at the very least speak with her now? Would she allow him that much?

She’d wanted to before, had told him they could speak in Cornwall, but he’d promptly set her aside.

Perhaps…perhaps he could ask her to dance now and tell her he would wait.

Her Mother would allow him the opportunity to dance with her, surely.

She seemed eager enough for her daughter to draw closer to him.

And with Mr. Haskett nowhere in sight, Henry had more of a chance than ever.

He unabashedly observed Lark as she neared the end of the dance, his heart racing at the thought of speaking with her again, telling her he was bound for India, but that he wanted her—needed her—to still be his friend when he returned.

That knowledge would surely be enough to sustain him through their many months apart, would it not?

The music neared its completion. Henry tapped his fingers anxiously against his thighs, waiting for the song to end. However, when he glanced at his left and spotted Mr. Sebastian Drake standing nearby, Mr. Haskett’s words from before flooded his mind.

“Are the two of you merely acquaintances or have you struck a friendship with him?”

Henry had noticed Mr. Haskett becoming visibly agitated when Henry had called Mr. Drake honorable, and Henry had been wanting to decipher the meaning of that conversation since. Perhaps now would be the perfect time to do just that— before he spoke with Miss Fernside.

He glanced at her, her figure still dancing around her ever-smiling partner, then he made for Mr. Drake.

“Branok,” the gentleman greeted. “I hear you are headed to India.”

“News travels fast.”

“When it comes to Lord Blackstone, it certainly does. When do you depart?”

Henry glanced anxiously toward Miss Fernside, the music finally ending as the dancers clapped.

“First week of June.” He hesitated, then, at the risk of being seen as impolite, pushed forward. “Mr. Drake, may I ask you something?”

Mr. Drake faced him more directly. “Of course.”

Henry drew a deep breath. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

Exhausted already, Lark allowed Mr. Taylor to lead her from the floor, but before she could even be returned to Mother’s side, another gentleman, Mr. Jensen, swooped in with a small smile.

“May I have the pleasure, Miss Fernside?”

Lark graciously nodded, though her insides screamed in protest. She couldn’t take another dance with another polite gentleman. Not unless that gentleman was Mr. Branok.

But he had already no doubt left the ball, having had no desire to occupy the same room as Lark, let alone the same set.

“I have so looked forward to this moment, Miss Fernside,” Mr. Jensen continued. “I truly?—”

“Lark, I must speak with you.”

Lark stood back at Uncle’s sudden presence, his eyes wide and figure cutting off Mr. Jensen entirely.

“Can it wait, Uncle?” she whispered, motioning to the gentleman who looked positively affronted. “I was just about to dance with Mr. Jensen here.”

Uncle dropped his voice. “Is Mr. Branok here this evening?”

“I believe he was,” she replied as passively as possible.

“Then no, it cannot wait. Mr. Jensen, do excuse us.”

Lark gave the man an apologetic look, though she could not feel any regret herself, as she had just been rescued from at least one dance this evening.

She followed Uncle through the crowds. He moved to the outskirts before facing her with a look of urgency.

“I am sorry for the interruption, Lark, but this could not wait.” He drew a deep breath, his eyes focused. “I have discovered the truth about Mr. Branok just now in the card room. No one talks like a man filled with brandy.”

Lark grimaced, her stomach unsettled, as if she were being tossed about by a rowboat. She hadn’t received enough sleep or rest in the last few days to be able to manage this right now. “Uncle, I’m not sure…”

But he stopped her with a shake of his head. “I know this is difficult, but it must be known, Lark.”

Lark looked away, knowing Uncle would tell her even if she begged him not to. She knew he was simply trying to protect her, but listening to this felt like a betrayal.

“As I was playing,” Uncle began, “I overheard an older gentleman from Blackstone’s sharing that Mr. Branok has just recently agreed to a new excursion. This time to India. He will leave a week before our own expedition ends.”

Lark’s heart instantly lifted. India. He was finally going to India. She couldn’t imagine the joy he must be feeling. And yet, her own spirits slowly lowered as she realized what that meant for her—losing out on an entire week with Mr. Branok.

It shouldn’t have upset her as much as it did, seeing as how Uncle was attempting even now to sever her relationship with Mr. Branok. But still, she’d thought she’d have longer to prepare before her time with him completely ended.

“I heard this news and instantly sought the man out,” Uncle continued, oblivious to the torrent within Lark.

“From him, I discovered that Mr. Branok was blackballed because…” He glanced around them, ensuring they were unheard as he whispered.

“Because he published a series of articles criticizing every club owner within London, spreading false rumors, and tearing them apart—all anonymously.”

Lark hesitated, the information settling over her as slowly as a sparrow-hawk coming in for a leisurely landing. The information certainly wasn’t as heinous as Uncle had first led her to believe.

“What sort of things were written?” she asked.

“The older gentleman said they were so horrible, he dared not repeat the phrases. But the club owners were deeply injured. Years later, they are still dealing with the aftermath of the rumors.”

Lark frowned. To think of Mr. Branok spreading rumors and injuring other people simply didn’t suit.

“If they were done anonymously,” she questioned next, “how could they know it was him?”

“I asked the very same question,” Uncle said. “Apparently, Mr. Branok slipped in small hints within each article for the men to know exactly who was writing such things. Furthermore, Mr. Branok did not deny his part in writing them when asked.”

Was no denial the same as a confession now? Or had Uncle’s source simply been exaggerating? “Uncle, I am unsure of all of this. Mr. Branok hardly seems the type to do such a thing.”

“Did we not both think the very same about Mr. Yates and Mr. Drake?” Uncle asked with a wince, his words softening further as he continued. “Who’s to say we are not doing the very same with Mr. Branok?”

Lark turned away. She had known from the start that Mr. Yates was hiding something. And she was still convinced that Mr. Drake was truly a good man inside.

As for Mr. Branok…

“In what way has Mr. Branok revealed himself to be untrustworthy?” she asked.

Uncle leaned forward. “The very fact that he is friends with Mr. Drake,” he whispered. “When a man keeps company with a fortune hunter, there is no telling what his limits are.”

“How do you even know they are friends?”

Uncle pressed his lips together. “My source has told me so. He has also alerted me to the fact that Mr. Branok is fully aware of Mr. Drake’s intent to marry wealthy and has even aided him in his endeavors, finding young women who are inexperienced in the ways of the world to fall for the scoundrel.

” Uncle shook his head, leaning back. “I am sorry, my dear niece, but Mr. Branok is a deceptive scoundrel who has lied from the start.” He dropped his voice further.

“Apparently, both men come to these balls to scope out potential females for Mr. Drake. I would not be surprised if Mr. Branok was the one who pointed Mr. Drake toward you all those weeks ago.”

Lark couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it. The timing simply didn’t align, nor did Mr. Branok’s actions over the last few weeks. “How could Mr. Branok behave so innocently if he was not innocent?” she mused aloud.

Uncle’s voice softened. “Tell me, did you speak with him about Mr. Drake’s proposal?”

Lark hesitated. “I mentioned it without the use of Mr. Drake’s name.”

“And what was Mr. Branok’s response?”

The memory flooded her mind, filling her heart with confusion and despair. “He…he said nothing about him.”

Uncle gave her a sorrowful but knowing expression. “Can’t you see, my dear? Yet another despicable gentleman has managed to convince us of his feigned goodness.”

The weight of the world pressed down upon her shoulders as she stared out across the teeming ballroom.

The heat from the candles produced beads of sweat upon her brow, and the noise from the hundreds of attendees grew louder and louder in her ears.

She couldn’t breathe fully. She couldn’t think clearly.

Mr. Branok wasn’t capable of such deception. It was ludicrous. Preposterous. Unbelievable.

But when her eyes focused across the room, the crowd parted at just the right moment to reveal Mr. Branok himself speaking with none other than Sebastian Drake.

Lark’s stomach curdled. It couldn’t be true. They were not friends. Mr. Branok was not Mr. Drake’s assistant.

Or was he? Were they there together tonight, finding more women to capture in their web of deceit?

“The blackguards,” Uncle spoke from beside her, having spotted the gentlemen, as well. “I’ll confront them myself now.”

But Lark put a settling hand on his arm. “No. Uncle, I will take care of this.”

He pulled back. “You most certainly will not. I?—”

“I will,” she stated firmly.

Without waiting for a response, Lark moved toward the gentlemen, feeling as if the world was speeding up around her, though her footsteps moved slowly, as if through sticking, wet mud.

Finally, she reached them. They both turned to face her in unison, eyes wide with surprise.

Neither of them said a word.

“So, it is true, then,” she stated. “You two are friends. You have been helping him.”

Mr. Branok frowned, while Mr. Drake looked as if he wished to crawl into a very large, very deep hole.

What a fool she’d been. How blind she’d been—just like before.

“This clears up matters perfectly,” she said, though nothing was clear at all.

“What matters?” Mr. Branok questioned, his brow furrowed.

Lark hardly heard him, her mind connecting the dots from here and there as she tried to make sense of Uncle’s accusations and Mr. Branok’s behavior that just didn’t match up.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew him?” she asked in a haze. “And why didn’t you tell me why you were blackballed?”

His look of confusion grew. “Miss Fernside, please…”

But she shook her head. “No, it doesn’t matter any longer.”

And it didn’t. She was past the point of caring. Her anger, her stress, her will to fight slipped through her fingers.

What did it matter if the men were friends? What did it matter how he was blackballed? And what did it matter if she ended her relationship with Mr. Branok? It never would have lasted anyway.

She raised her chin. “I hear you are off to India.”

He hesitated, clearly confused with the shift in her persona. “Who did you…I was hoping to tell you myself.”

Mr. Drake looked between them, appearing more uncomfortable by the second.

“You needn’t tell me anything now.” She took a step away from him. “I truly hope your time there is a success. As for our challenge, we may render it void so you will be under no obligation to finish it.”

His features fell, but she refused to apologize.

She looked between the men. “I hope you both find what you are looking for, though I pray it is not at the expense of another woman. Farewell, to you both.”

Mr. Drake remained silent as Mr. Branok called after her, but Lark marched ahead. She was finished. Finished being whipped from one emotion to the next, and one gentleman to the next.

From now on, she would simply be Miss Lark Fernside.

Forever and always…alone.