Page 54

“Are you certain you’re ready?” Henry asked.

Lark held her book behind her back, her finger holding the right location in the pages. “Yes,” she breathed. “I’m ready.”

She faced her betrothed— her betrothed —who held his own book behind his back as they stood upon Tregalwen Beach. They’d already lagged behind the others, the rest of the party following common sandpipers and charming dunlins seeking mollusks in the sand.

Days before, the party had congratulated them as a whole upon their return to Gwynnrudh, though some were more enthusiastic than others. Mr. Dunn had given a grunt of approval, and Mr. Chumley, well, his wife very clearly pressed him to speak at all.

“What shall we gift them for their engagement?” Mrs. Chumley had said at once. “Oh, it must be something related to birds.”

“Perhaps Mr. Chumley would consider returning the cost of my extra entry to the excursion,” Lark had whispered into Henry’s ear.

He’d responded with a questioning look.

“I shall tell you later,” she’d said, smiling to herself.

Uncle had remained in the background, excusing himself without saying a word. Lark had spoken to him in private often since then, and Henry, too. While Uncle was still unsure, fearful, and rather stiff, Lark had every confidence that he would most certainly come around one day.

Even now, he wasn’t watching them like a kestrel as he’d been apt to do the last few weeks. Instead, he focused harder on the gulls circling above.

A storm was blowing in, dark clouds looming ever closer to the tanned lighthouse in the distance, Golowduyn already shining its beacon out at sea.

But none of them could resist being outside one last time in search of birds.

Today was their final night in Cornwall, and tomorrow, they would be headed back to London, their excursion finally completed.

That meant one thing. She and Henry needed to see who had won their challenge.

“On the count of three, we reveal our number,” he said.

She nodded with approval.

“And whoever wins receives the title,” he continued. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Lark said.

Henry narrowed his eyes, facing her as if they were about to duel. “Right. Three, two, one.”

At the same time, they revealed their books, opened to the correct page, and showed each other their number. Lark stared in stunned silence.

“Congratulations, Miss Fernside,” Henry said, a smile on his voice. “Or should I say, Congratulations, Best Bird Observer in All of England?”

There had to be some mistake. Lark could not have won. But as she read the numbers again, there was no denying it.

Henry: 175

Lark: 211

Her eyes snapped to Henry’s. “Did you follow Rule Six?”

“Which one was that?”

“Agreeing to do our best.”

Henry dipped his chin. “Do you truly think I would do you the dishonor of not trying? One hundred and seventy-five is a formidable number for anyone. You were better than I, as simple as that.”

Lark stared at the numbers once again, allowing the truth to sink in. She had done it. She’d beaten Henry Branok at his own game.

Of course, she’d had far more time to explore, for she hadn’t been teaching, speaking with others, and answering as many questions as he had. But then, he’d also been out of doors on average more days than she had, hadn’t he?

They reviewed each other’s lists of the birds they’d seen, and Lark glowed as Henry marveled over the ones she’d observed that he hadn’t.

“Reed bunting, sedge warbler, golden plover,” he recited. “Nuthatch—how did I not manage that one? Oh, a marsh harrier, very nice. Tree pipit. Well, there is one bird on mine you do not have.”

She looked between the lists. “Which one?”

“A lark.”

Lark stared at the birds’ names. “I don’t see that on yours.”

“I’m looking at her right now. You can add that to your list, if you’d like.”

She met his gaze, his eyes on her, and she laughed with a shake of her head. “Very clever, Mr. Branok.”

He delivered a proud smile. “Be prepared to hear such comments for the rest of your life, my darling.” He wrapped her in his arms. “You are my favorite bird, after all.”

He pressed a quick peck to the tip of her nose. “Now, what shall you do to celebrate your victory?”

Lark had imagined months ago what this would feel like and what she might do. And yet, now, looking back at the months she’d spent falling in love with Henry, she found she truly wasn’t bothered by her victory in the slightest.

She had already won the best reward of all.

She closed the book and peered up at her husband-to-be, staring into the stunning pools of blue and sighing. “I think I’m more interested in what we agreed to do if we did not win.”

His eyes narrowed. “Surely we had spoken those in jest.”

Swiftly, Lark flipped to the front of her book where the signed agreement rested, and she pointed to the final rule they’d added only last week.

“‘Rule Seven,’” she read aloud with a growing smile.

“‘The individual who is not the victor shall either, one,’”—she raised her finger—“‘eat a full pheasant for dinner, two, ask Mr. Dunn for a recitation of his lifelong list thus far, or three, mimic the ritualistic mating dance of a sandhill crane.’” She pointed to his name next to the list. “And I will remind you that these were your ideas that were absolutely not suggested lightly.”

He sighed, pulling his lips to the side. “Hmm. Not a great selection to choose from.”

“You only have yourself to blame for that,” she said. “You didn’t like the suggestion I offered.”

“I can’t imagine why. Falling into a patch of nettles seems appealing now.”

She grinned. “Stop putting this off. Which do you choose?”

He rubbed at his jaw, peering out at the sea. “I can’t stomach eating a full pheasant. I’d be as sick as your aunt on a carriage ride. And listening to Mr. Dunn is even more unappealing than that.” He sighed. “Very well, I have made my choice.” He faced Lark. “Prepare to be wooed , my love.”

Lark stared, trying to hold in her laughter. “What? No, you’re not supposed to do the mating dance for me , just in general.”

“No, no,” he said, removing his jacket and laying it on the sand, dropping his journal on it next.

“This is for your pleasure. I’ve seen this very dance performed by the cranes while I was in the Americas, and it was remarkable.

You shall certainly fall more in love with me than ever before after this. ”

Lark was already laughing as Henry secured his footing, then splayed out his arms to the side of him.

“Stop laughing,” he said, pulling on a look of extreme concentration. “This is serious.”

But Lark couldn’t help it.

He continued, dipping his head up and down before jumping in the air and spinning in a complete circle.

Another laugh blasted forth from Lark. “Oh, heavens,” she said, covering her face with a hand. “Stop, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Rules are rules, my love.”

He made the motion again, kicking up an errant leg every so often which made her laugh even harder.

“Now this is the best part,” he said, a look of excitement on his boyish face. “The sound they make.”

He made a noise akin to a monkey’s chatter at the back of his throat, and it echoed around them.

Lark laughed, glancing at the others, though Aunt Harriet was the only one who’d turned at the noise. She smiled in amusement, then continued her walk with the rest of the party.

Lark watched Henry again as he kicked up his leg again, sand flying into the air with his movements.

“Stop!” she cried out, her side beginning to ache due to her laughter. “You look utterly ridiculous!”

“Utterly ridiculous? I can assure you, I am putting every sandhill crane to shame right now due to my fluid movements.”

He ducked his head back and forth again, smiling as he used her embarrassment to his advantage. “Now, the dance mustn’t end until the other crane joins in.”

He looked at her with a waggle of his eyebrows, but she shook her head. “There is no chance. I didn’t lose the challenge.”

He walked toward her, stalking her like she was his prey.

“No, Henry,” she said, holding up her hands between laughs.

But he seized her, securing her hands in his and pulling her arms up in the same flapping motion he’d done before.

“There you go,” he said, laughing now in return. “I tell you, I’d take this sort of dance over the ones at the balls in London any day.”

“Perhaps you can start a movement next time we’re there. Mother will be thrilled.”

He laughed, still flapping his arms madly. “Now the spin!”

He released her, spinning around again, but this time, his boot caught in the sand, and he fell on his backside with a grunt.

Lark could no longer stand up straight. She doubled over, gasping for breath in between her laughs.

“Are you all right?” she asked, rushing over to him and kneeling at his side.

Henry laid back in the sand with another laugh, shaking his head as grit stuck against his tanned skin and dark blond hair. “Better than ever,” he said, though clearly winded.

She brushed aside the sand from across his features, peering down at him with a grin.

“How was that?” he asked, still lying down. “Are you officially wooed?”

She shook her head. “I am officially something right now.”

He looked up at her from the sand, then slid his hand round the nape of her neck and pulled her toward him. She leaned over him, returning his kiss in between their labored breaths.

After a moment, he abruptly pulled back and laid deeper into the sand, splaying out his hands at the side of him. “I’m ready to sleep now, I think. That dance was exhausting.”

She smiled. “It certainly looked it.”

“Are you glad you won now,” he asked, sitting up to better face her, “so you could witness that?”

“It was an utter treat for my eyes, I assure you. Although, in hindsight, I think I prefer the ending.”

“When I fell?”

Once again, she laughed. “No, our kiss.”

His eyes dropped to her lips. “Perhaps that’s what we do for our next challenge, then.”

“And what challenge will that be?” she asked.