Page 52

H enry slowed his horse to an easy walk as he faced the sun sinking lower in the sky.

Petite sea pinks dotted the golden-green grass across the cliffside, disappearing over the edge as if they made up a flowering waterfall pouring into the glistening sea below.

Beyond, the sun slowly lowered in between a hazy yellow sky and the blue-grey waves drifting toward the Cornish shores.

Herring gulls cried overhead with their signature calls, and black-headed gulls swooped closer to the water below, hoping to snatch a quick treat before tucking in for the night.

Henry couldn’t deny the appeal of the serene setting. Any other night, he would have stopped to breathe it all in, to relish in his blessed life and good fortune.

But right now, he had somewhere he needed to be. Posting that letter had been his first task. Next would…be…

His thoughts trailed off as rumbling wheels and a rattling carriage sounded ahead of him. Directing his horse off the small road—that was more an impression in the grass than anything—he waited for the coach to pass, eyeing the charging, black horses.

Horses that looked quite like the one he now rode.

He narrowed his eyes. That was the coach they used during the excursion, was it not? And certainly they were Mr. Chumley’s horses.

Who was within the coach, though? And why did they travel with such haste?

The wheels slowed only a degree as the carriage passed him by, but Henry felt as if time stood still as he peered into the window and fixed on a pair of almond-shaped, hazel eyes.

“Lark,” he breathed.

Where was she going? Was she fleeing to London to be rid of him earlier? Or had something happened—an illness or injury, perhaps?

She noticed him in the last second, her eyes widening and mouth dropping open. But in a flash, the carriage charged past him.

His horse stamped his hooves in protest, snorting as Henry reined him in for half a second before allowing the gelding to charge after the carriage. To his relief, however, the coach was already pulling to a stop.

He pulled in the black steed just as the door swung open and Lark leapt forth in a single motion, the footman having no chance to open the door for her first.

“Lark,” he said, dismounting at once and facing her with concern, “are you well? Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, breathless, the footman moving to the door to prop it open for her. “No. No, all is well. I am well.”

“You are certain?” He perused her up and down, ensuring no injury had befallen her as he stood a few feet away from her, clutching the reins in his left hand.

“Yes.”

Relief overcame him, and he took a moment to take in her appearance.

She wore no bonnet, her soft dress was wrinkled across the front, and her piled hair drifted slightly to the side, the strands about her features no longer curled but hanging limply near her cheekbones.

Her eyes were slightly reddened and weary, as if she hadn’t slept the night before, and her cheeks were pink, no doubt from the heat of the carriage.

Henry had never seen her so beautiful.

“Where are you—” he began.

“What are you—” she said at the same time.

Both stopped their words, and Henry motioned for her to continue, but she fell silent.

“Go on,” a whisper sounded from within the carriage, a hand slinking forth to push Lark forward.

She took two steps, allowing just enough space for the footman to move behind her and lean toward the door, clearly beckoned by whoever was inside.

He nodded, closed the door, then moved to Henry’s horse. “Sir,” he said, bowing as he took the reins, tied them to the carriage, and tapped for the coach to move ahead.

All the while, Lark didn’t drop her gaze from Henry’s, not even when the carriage rode forward, leaving the two of them alone.

Obviously, whoever was within the coach—Mrs. Haskett, perhaps?—had requested the coach to be pulled ahead, but then…why?

Lark spoke before he could concoct an answer. “Where are you going?”

Henry paused. She didn’t know already? “Why, back to Gwynnrudh.”

Her brow pursed. “You are not going to London?”

“London? No, I was not to leave until Friday.”

“But my uncle said…”

Realization dawned. Henry should have known Mr. Haskett would have muddled this.

“We spoke after dinner,” he explained. “He assumed I was headed to London, and I, in my pettiness, chose not to correct him.” He dropped his gaze.

“You must forgive me for arguing with him. He did see me leave, but I was merely on my way to post a letter.”

“A letter,” she repeated.

So she wasn’t concerned with the argument, then. He couldn’t deny his relief.

The carriage’s departing wheels quieted, and he looked beyond Lark to see the coach stopped at the bend in the road, allowing them privacy.

A shadow moved across the back window of the carriage, then another, and he narrowed his eyes. “Who has accompanied you?”

Please, let it not be Mr. Haskett.

“My aunt, Mrs. Chumley, and Mrs. Shepherd.”

Henry pulled back in surprise, having not expected the trio. They were better than anyone else in the party, however. Had Mr. Haskett come, he would already have challenged Henry to a duel.

But then, why were they there?

Henry had a hope, but he needed to be absolutely certain before he could proceed.

“Where exactly were the four of you headed? And in such a rush, no less.”

Lark chewed on her lower lip. “Well.” She broke off with a sigh and averted her gaze. “To be honest, we were…coming after you.”

His heart thumped against his chest. “And why would you do that?”

She gave a sigh of long-suffering, obviously wishing to end her discomfort. “I’m sure you can decipher that for yourself, Mr. Branok.”

“I’m sure I could. But even still, I should like to hear the words come from your own mouth. Plus, I do enjoy seeing you blush.”

She pulled in her lips to hide a smile, and sure enough, her cheeks pinked.

The breeze from the sea below blew strands of hair across her smooth brow, and the light of the setting sun caused a halo to glow around her golden hair.

“Very well,” she finally said, her voice smooth as she gave in. She drew a deep breath, then continued. “I feared you would leave for London—for India—before I could…before I could tell you that you must still go on the excursion and all future excursions for Lord Blackstone.”

Henry waited with bated breath. This was not what he’d been expecting. He only had his prayers to rely upon now.

“But,” she continued, “this time, you shall have someone waiting for you.”

His chest rose and fell, his lungs tight. “What are you saying, Lark?”

She swallowed. “I am saying that I will wait for you, Henry. For years, if I must. No matter how long it takes for your dreams of traveling and writing to be realized, I will be here for you, supporting and encouraging you from afar until you are ready to come home.”

The words soared through Henry like a peregrine falcon in flight, diving straight to his heart and striking him with such power, such emotion, he nearly had to take a step back. “You would do that for me?”

“Yes. I made a mistake last night. But if it is too late…”

Her words trailed off, her chin quivering, but Henry could no longer keep himself from her. He closed the distance between them, removing his gloves, and cupping her face in his hands.

“My darling Lark,” he said softly, “with you and I, it is never too late.”

And that was the truth. For he had spent his entire life seeking lasting joy in places he could never find it. But with Lark, he knew he’d finally found home. And he would never let it go again.

She drew in a calming breath, closing her eyes and leaning into his hand.

“But I will not be going to India,” he finished.

Lark’s eyes flew open, and she straightened, pulling away. “What?”

He took her fingers with his own, bringing up her hands to hold against his chest. “The letter I sent,” he began, “it was to Lord Blackstone. I told him quite clearly that I would no longer be agreeing to any further excursions unless he allows me to set my own schedule—and bring along my wife and future family.”

Lark stared. She hadn’t heard him clearly. Had she?

“You…you really wrote that?” she asked.

“I did.”

“The…the part about…your wife?”

He grinned.

“And your future family?”

“Yes.”

“But how did you know I would change my mind?”

“I didn’t know. I merely had to hope.”

Lark was certain she would melt into a puddle at his feet. How could she ever thank Heaven enough for blessing her with such a man?

“You would truly wish to take me with you?” she asked, still finding the knowledge hard to believe.

“More than anything,” he returned, pulling her closer. “Now that I have you, why would I ever wish to be parted from you?”

She couldn’t help her growing smile. She must be dreaming. Such magic did not happen in reality—at least not hers.

“But what if Lord Blackstone doesn’t agree?” she asked, trying to diminish any gap in their otherwise perfect ending.

“I expect I’ll be blackballed from his club, too,” he joked. “But worry not. I’ve another article planned. This time…pigeons.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Truthfully, Henry. You cannot give up your excursions, your writing and publishing, your traveling. It’s who you are.

I said before, I cannot have you lose that…

not for me. I will wait years if I must. I will fund the excursions myself.

They might be fewer and farther between, and you might not see as many birds or have the best guides or travel to the best places, but I will be your benefactor. I…”

She trailed off at the sight of tears shimmering in his blue eyes.

“What have I said?” she asked, concerned she’d upset him.

“Your willing to do all of that for me?”

Her heart swarmed with love. “That and more. Whatever you need.”