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Henry awoke the next morning, not ready to face the day. Of course his lack of sleep and the discouraging thoughts that plagued his mind hadn’t helped matters, but more than anything, he was crushed due to the simple fact that Miss Fernside loved him, but she still would not be with him.

He didn’t blame her for her refusal. The proposal had been too sudden.

There had been no notice, no romantic words, no promises or plans for their future—even though he had them all.

Instead, he’d been caught up in the moment, unwilling to wait a single second longer to begin their life together. But how he regretted his hastiness.

He’d prayed a good night’s rest would have helped to change Miss Fernside’s mind, but when she didn’t appear for breakfast nor at one of his final morning classes, he knew she was avoiding him again.

“Can we expect your niece to be down soon?” he asked Mrs. Haskett as the group gathered in the gardens, a large tent and chairs having been set up for their comfort. “I am happy to wait for her.”

“She is feeling excessively tired this morning, I fear,” Mrs. Haskett responded quietly with a fleeting glance at her husband, who stood across the grass speaking with Mr. Dunn. “I do wonder if she’s merely resting now to be ready to find that nightjar this evening.”

Henry forced an innocent smile.

“At any rate,” Mrs. Haskett continued with another glance at her husband, “she sent me a note this morning, giving her excuses, so you needn’t wait for her.”

Henry nodded, though the disappointment stung.

His lesson—timely focused on how to find birds in the dark of the night—was painful to teach with the constant reminder of the previous evening, so once he finished, Henry escaped from the others and retreated to his bedchamber. He’d hoped to see Lark along the way, but she was nowhere in sight.

The rest of the day progressed in the same insipid manner—Henry moving from space to space, praying to catch Lark, becoming disappointed when he didn’t, and always fighting his desire to appear outside her door and beg her forgiveness—until dinner finally arrived.

But once again, Lark made no appearance, and the Hasketts gave their excuses for her a second time, all while Mr. Haskett looked condemningly at Henry.

Had Lark told her uncle what Henry had done? Or was he simply blaming Henry for something else? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

The meal was served earlier than normal to allow the party more time out of doors to spy the nightjar later that evening. For obvious reasons, Henry couldn’t get himself to join in the buzz of excitement around the table, nor could he focus on the conversations around him.

He was defeated. Exhausted. And more than anything, depleted of all hope.

As such, he slipped out of the drawing room after dinner without notice by the others, asking a passing footman to call for a horse. After scribbling out a quick letter in his bedchamber, Henry tucked the correspondence inside his waistcoat pocket, then left Gwynnrudh House without a sound.

He pulled on his gloves and made ready to leave as the groom delivered a black horse. Henry thanked him and grasped the reins. Just as he was about to mount, the door opened behind him.

“So, you’re leaving, then?”

Henry turned to face Mr. Haskett, the man’s features tight and rigid as he stared at Henry.

“Off to London without even a goodbye to anyone?” Mr. Haskett continued.

Henry was about to respond, then thought better of it. Whatever he said in defense of himself, Mr. Haskett was not going to believe him.

True to form, the gentleman sniffed with derision at Henry’s sustained silence. “It is just as well. At least this way, you will stop injuring my niece even more than you already have.”

His niece.

Henry looked away with a shake of his head. “You are aware that Miss Fernside does not belong to you, are you not?”

Mr. Haskett narrowed his eyes. “Are you aware she does not belong to you ?”

“Keenly.”

This placed a look of satisfaction on Mr. Haskett’s face. “It would appear that she has finally taken my advice, then, and dropped her acquaintance with you.”

Acquaintance. If only Mr. Haskett knew how acquainted Henry and Lark actually were.

“Well, this can only be for the best,” the man continued. “You have been nothing but trouble for her from the start.”

Those words, coming from the gentleman who’d bled Henry dry for information about his travels and gushed over his knowledge about birds? Henry couldn’t help but scoff.

He should have walked away right then. But his pride securely rooted his boots to the gravel drive. “I’m sorry you think that, Mr. Haskett. Because I have been nothing but kind and respectful to you, your wife, and Miss Fernside from the beginning of this excursion.”

Mr. Haskett opened his mouth to protest, but Henry drew to his full height, commanding silence as he continued.

“My membership in Blackstone’s may have sullied your opinion of me forever, as well as the rumors surrounding my name.

But I would have assumed, knowing what you do about Miss Fernside’s own suffering, that it is far better to judge a person off his or her own actions than what others say.

Otherwise, it speaks much more about a person willing to believe in tittle tattle than it does about the man or woman whose name has been tarnished by brazen deception. ”

Mr. Haskett’s stiff look faltered only a degree, but it was enough for Henry.

“As for Miss Fernside,” Henry finished, “you ought to trust her more than you do. Perhaps then you would be able to learn more about honor and respectability.”

He tipped his head in departure, then mounted the black horse.

“You will not tell Lark you are leaving?” Mr. Haskett snapped back at him. “Where is the honor in that?”

Henry merely cast the gentleman a look of long-suffering then trotted away on his horse without a word or a single glance back.

Lark jerked awake at the sound of soft tapping against her door. She sat up straight in the chair before her desk, slightly disoriented.

Light still shone through her window, though it appeared more golden than before. Had dinner passed already? She’d been staring mutely at her field journal before she had fallen asleep upright at the desk. Her lack of sleep last night must have finally caught up with her.

Rising from the desk, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, smoothed out the fabric of her light blue dress, and answered the door.

She wasn’t surprised to find her aunt and uncle standing before her, though she was taken aback by the concerned look in Aunt Harriet’s eyes and the anger in Uncle Francis’s.

“What’s the matter?” she asked at once, opening the door wider to allow them within.

They moved through the doorway, neither of them speaking as she closed the door behind them.

“What is it?” Lark asked again, looking between them both, her stomach churning with nerves.

Had they heard that she’d snuck out last night? That…that she’d denied a proposal from the only man she’d ever loved?

Aunt Harriet spoke first, her brows pointed up. “Mr. Branok is gone.”

Lark blinked, a cold wave of shock rushing over her. “Gone?” she breathed. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Your uncle saw him leave just after dinner.”

Still, Lark couldn’t understand their words. “Well, where is he going?”

“London,” Uncle stated gruffly.

“No,” Lark said at once, her mouth parted in stunned disbelief. “You must be mistaken.”

“I am not. I asked, and he did not deny it.”

Lark still shook her head. “He does not leave for another three days.”

Another three days would allow her time to process his request. To rally her defenses. To beg his forgiveness. And to…to reconsider.

After all, that was what she’d been doing all day in her bedchamber on her own.

Seeking out an answer to their problem. Praying for a solution to ease her concerns, to provide a resolution where they could both receive what they wished.

Where Henry could still travel the world, could still publish his findings, and she could be with the man she loved.

But if he was leaving for London—leaving for India—she had already lost her chance to beg him to propose again.

“What have I done?” she asked aloud, shaking her head in dismay.

“What do you mean?” Aunt asked, her brow now furrowed. “You’ve done nothing to warrant…”

She trailed off when Lark shook her head again. “He proposed last night.”

Aunt gasped, and Uncle frowned all the deeper.

“The scoundrel,” Uncle growled out, but Lark hardly noticed, continuing as if she were the only one in the room.

“But I said no,” she said, a hopelessness filling her soul to near drowning. “I said no.”

“That is a fine thing, Lark,” Uncle’s voice said, echoing in the recesses of her empty heart. “You will heal from the wounds he has caused, and you will be far better without him.”

The words were just another shovel of dirt into the grave that was her hope.

“You’re certain he left?” she asked him again.

“Quite,” he stated firmly. “Really, Lark, this is for the best. You?—”

His words were cut short when Aunt placed a soft hand on his arm. He looked at her questioningly, but Aunt gave a subtle shake of her head.

“Do you…” she began gently. “Lark, darling, do you regret your refusal?”

Lark looked between her aunt and uncle, fearful of their response, but when she hooked onto Aunt’s gentle gaze, she could no longer deny the words aloud.

“Yes. Very much,” she breathed.

Aunt’s eyes glistened. “You mean to say you wish to accept him?”

Lark’s heart overflowed at the very notion. “Yes, very much,” she repeated. “I have to tell him. I have to let him know.”

Aunt’s smile spread across her lips as she turned to Uncle. “You said he only left an hour ago?”

“Well, yes, but I?—”

“Call for a carriage, Francis.”

“Now see here, she cannot?—”

Aunt turned to face him with a tight-lipped expression Lark had never before seen. “No, you see here, my dear,” she stated firmly. “Lark is old enough and of a sound mind. If she says she wishes to accept an amiable gentleman’s proposal, there is no reason for us not to lend our undying support.”

Uncle’s face grew red. “If he were amiable, that would be fine, but he is not. He is a member of?—”

“Oh,” Aunt Harriet broke off, casting an impatient look to the ceiling. “If I hear one more word about ‘Blackstone’s this’ and ‘White’s that,’ I shall go mad.”

“It matters!” Uncle exclaimed. “He is not a good man, he?—”

“Uncle?”

This time, Lark interrupted, her voice soft through their argument. They faced her, both falling silent at her words.

“I know you wish to protect me, and you always have,” she began, “But I am older now than I was with Mr. Yates. Older and wiser. I have learned much. And I can say assuredly that Henry Branok is a good man. He is the best of men. And I will accept his proposal and marry him, if he will still have me.”

Uncle grew more and more flustered, huffing unintelligible words as fear shone in his eyes.

Lark’s heart reached out to him, and she placed a soothing hand on his arm. “I cannot thank you enough for always being there for me, Uncle Francis. Though, I assure you, I know what I am doing. You will see in time. But right now, I must find him.” Then she looked to Aunt. “Will you help me?”

Aunt beamed. “What are we waiting for?”

Together, the two of them ran from the room, Uncle following closely behind them, still red in the face, though silent as they reached the entryway and Mrs. Chumley and Mrs. Shepherd walked in at that same moment.

“Heavens, what is all this about?” Mrs. Chumley asked, looking from person to person.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Mrs. Shepherd asked next.

Lark met her eyes. Mrs. Shepherd would never know what Lark had overheard the other night, but Lark felt a kinship with her she’d never experienced with anyone other than Aunt.

As such, she smiled at her knowingly. “I’m going after Mr. Branok.”

Mrs. Shepherd’s eyes lit with joy.

“He left?” Mrs. Chumley asked, glancing between the others again.

Lark caught them up to speed while Uncle steamed silently in the background, and moments later, Mrs. Chumley herself called for a carriage.

“We’re coming with you,” she stated. “This is far more appealing than making ready to find some bird in the cold tonight.”

Mrs. Shepherd nodded, and Aunt happily agreed. “Any amount of carriage sickness is worth this.”

Lark could only smile.

“And what am I to do?” Uncle stated from the background as the women spilled out of the front door as soon as the carriage rolled up.

“Join the men back in the drawing room,” Lark said, “and tell Mr. Chumley thank you.”

She ran down the stairs, the women already piling into the carriage.

“Tell him thank you for what?” Uncle called after her.

She climbed into the carriage, then popped her head out of the door. “For his attempts to keep me from joining the excursion! Were it not for his efforts, I never would have had the pride to keep fighting to join!”

And with a grin, she backed into the carriage and leaned into her seat, her heart and mind racing in time as she contemplated what she’d say to Mr. Branok and if she truly had another chance at happiness.