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He stood, helping her up, as well, before pulling on his jacket. “Perhaps you can try to best me with your lifelong list.”

“Oh, you’ve far succeeded in that regard. I don’t think there’s any catching up to you.”

He held his book in one hand, then grasped her fingers with his other. “All in good time, my love,” he said, then he placed a lingering kiss atop her brow and led her down the beach.

The wind whipped Lark’s skirts against her legs and pulled Henry’s hair across his brow in an unwieldy manner that made her want to kiss him senseless right there.

“I cannot wait until we are on our own excursions,” Henry mused. “I can only imagine the birds you’ll be able to spot.”

“The birds we’ll be able to spot together ,” she corrected.

He smiled down at her, lifting her hand to kiss the back of it. “Just so.”

India – April 9, 1818

Ten Months Later

Sweat dripped down the center of Lark’s back, tickling her skin where the moisture pooled at the small of it. She dared not rub it away, though, for any movement might frighten away the Indian paradise flycatcher whistling just a few feet above them.

They’d been tracking the bird for days—Henry, herself, and their enthusiastic local guide—and now they were enjoying the fruits of their labors as the black-headed bird fluffed up its wings and preened as he sang.

The blue ring around his eyes and his cinnamon-colored wings glinted in the hot, Indian sun, but what stole attention more than anything was the foot-long feathers of the bird, producing a streamer-like tail dangling down from its short body.

“The long feathers are used to attract mates,” their guide whispered.

“Glad I didn’t need some of those to capture your attention,” Henry whispered into Lark’s ear. “Only a certain dance.”

She nudged him softly, if only to stop herself from laughing. Her husband was insufferable, charming, and the love of her life all at once.

Their trip to India together had been a perfect dream come true—as had the months leading up to it. But then, what else could be expected when she’d finally married the man who made her feel worth more than gold?

They continued to watch the bird in silence, writing down their observations and scribbling a few sketches before the bird eventually flapped away, his feathers streaming out behind him in a fluttering that seemed to wave goodbye.

Then, the three of them wandered through the hot, thick forest, in search of the next bird—whatever that would be.

Lark had quickly come to realize that the most thrilling part of excursions was the unexpected occurring.

They never knew what they were going to discover, and each new step, each new location, each new breath, brought another adventure—which was exactly how she preferred it.

“We must write to your mother tonight,” Henry said as they traipsed through the thick trees. “Tell her we’ve spotted another unique bird.”

“Oh, yes. But perhaps you can do most of the writing. I think she treasures your letters more than mine now.” She shared a knowing smile with him, having spoken the words out of delight rather than envy.

Mother—who still watched over Brackenmore Hall—had taken the foremost seat at their wedding, sobbing tears of joy.

She’d also invited half of London to the ceremony, but Lark hadn’t minded.

She was happy to share her joy with any and all who wished.

And the way Mother loved Henry had filled any gap in Lark’s relationship with her.

“You are just exactly who my daughter needed,” she continually told Henry. “I am thrilled to see the two of you so happily settled. Now…I do not mean to pry…but when shall I have a grandchild?”

Lark smiled . “As soon as the stars align, Mother,” she’d always replied.

In truth, she and Henry couldn’t wait to have children of their own, but first, they needed to get back to England. Lark had little desire to travel across the sea again when she was already nauseated doing so.

“We must respond to Mrs. Chumley, as well,” Lark continued. “And the Shepherds.”

They’d kept in contact with both couples since the excursion. Mr. Chumley, who had slowly come around to Lark due to her keeping silent about his charging her extra for his expedition, had even come to thank her for her collection of birds she’d written down for him.

“This will come in great use,” he’d said with strain, then told her she would be more than welcome on any of his future excursions.

Lark had certainly taken that for a victory, even if he’d invited her simply because she and Henry were now married.

“Yes,” Henry responded. “And Lord Blackstone, as well.”

“Oh, he will no doubt be wondering if you are working on your next volume out here or if you have been too thoroughly distracted by your wife.”

Henry wrapped his arm around Lark’s shoulder. “Little does he know I have not even started it yet.”

Lark laughed. Last year, when they had returned from Cornwall, Lord Blackstone had met with them both.

Upon learning that Lady Blackstone was friends with Lark’s mother, Lord Blackstone had been coerced into granting Henry’s alternate agreement, that of Henry being in control of when to go—and with whom.

The viscount was reluctant to agree, but after some charm on Lark’s part—particularly the compliments she paid to Lord Blackstone and his “animal collection” she’d heard of, though she would happily never see—the man had seemed to come around to the idea of Lark joining the excursions with Henry.

Matters had been fully settled, however, when Henry had vouched for her keen ability to find birds.

“If she’s better than you, perhaps I’ll simply pay for her to go instead of you, Branok,” Lord Blackstone had joked.

Fortunately, however, they’d both been allowed to come together.

She and Henry ducked below a low-hanging branch. “You will be in for a world of hurt if you are late turning in the book,” Lark advised.

“Well, if you would stop kissing me so often,” Henry whispered down to her to avoid being heard by their guide, “I might have time to do other things. You are like those alluring mallards you complimented last year. You simply must breathe, and I cannot help but flock to you.”

She laughed. “I’ve not heard such a complaint until now. But you may rest assured that I will stop?—”

“Now do not be hasty, Mrs. Branok,” Henry said, whirling around in the middle of her path and wrapping her in his arms. “I was not complaining about your kisses. If anything, I would complain that they are not frequent enough.”

“Is that so?” she asked, wrapping her own arms around him.

They were a hot, sticky mess together, sweat beading on each of their tanned brows, but Lark hardly cared. She stood on the tips of her toes and placed a lingering kiss to his lips.

Pulling back, she smiled. “How was that for a kiss?”

He licked his lips. “It was a bit salty.”

She laughed, playfully swatting him on his chest. “Fine. We shall wait until I have bathed, then.”

“If you insist,” he said with a wink.

She gave him another shake of her head, then they walked through the trees, still hand-in-hand, and though their eyes were focused on the trees up above, their hearts remained ever with each other.

Lark supposed she’d been wrong all those months ago.

Love wasn’t just for the birds.

THE END