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Henry groaned inwardly. He had a feeling as to where this was headed.

“As such, I made the mistake of asking for Miss Fernside’s hand after only a week of knowing her.”

“That was you?” Henry asked, his jaw slack as he recalled Miss Fernside’s words from before.

Mr. Drake grimaced. “You’ve heard, then. Well, she readily—and laughingly—declined. However, her uncle, Mr. Haskett, discovered my actions and sought to punish me by blackballing me.” He shook his head, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “I regret my actions heartily if I injured her. But I must do this.”

He finished, and Henry blew out a heavy breath. He had never seen the man speak so forcefully. Henry could only guess what Mr. Drake’s motivations were, but the circumstances must be dire, indeed, to push him to wed for money alone.

Now Mr. Haskett’s anger with Henry made sense. It must have sounded as if Henry were defending Mr. Drake’s actions by calling him honorable.

But as for Miss Fernside’s anger…“What was she saying, that I was helping you?”

Mr. Drake shook his head. “As to that matter, I’ve no idea. Unless perhaps Mr. Haskett has heard other rumors to hold against me.”

Henry mulled over the information as the men departed from each other. He needed to find Miss Fernside straightaway to hopefully explain things from his view.

But before long, he discovered from the Chumleys that Miss Fernside, along with her aunt, uncle, and mother had left the ball early due to a “sudden and swift ache in Miss Fernside’s head.”

Henry knew exactly what that meant. Miss Fernside didn’t wish to speak with him. But he would not give up. He’d come too far to give her up now.

Cornwall – June 2, 1817

Lark had never been more relieved to see the last of London. While she would miss Mother and her constant doting, Lark had been pushed and prodded to enough social outings to last her a lifetime, and she was more than ready to spend the next fortnight out of doors with the birds.

She truly had been unknowingly spoiled on the expedition. She couldn’t wait to get back to the world the excursion had created for her, even with all of its many flaws.

With feelings of relief and hope, she stared out of the coach window, taking in the view of Gwynnrudh House, their new place of residence in Cornwall.

“It is pronounced ‘gwin ruth’, I believe,” Mr. Chumley had said at the start of their journey. “But you know these Cornish names are always so difficult to say. Marazion. Fowey. Golowduyn.”

Despite the difficulty in its name, Gwynnrudh was a charming home, three stories tall with a grey, slated roof and nearly pink walls surrounding the entire edifice. Awnings decorated each framed window, and the drive wrapped around a quaint circle of grass in the center of the space in front of the home.

The building quite reminded Lark of a dollhouse she’d had as a child, and for a moment, she was lost in her memories of the past—when she’d acted out a husband and wife always doting on one another, their house full of children who played and laughed all day long.

Lark had always imagined her future would turn out the same. But nothing in life ever did.

A loud snore tore through the small carriage, and Lark jumped in surprise, turning to face Mr. Dunn, who was seated beside her.

Aunt shook her head with a look of long-suffering, but Uncle merely smiled encouragingly at them both. He would never admit to being tired of their new carriage mate, even if he had grown weary of him, for Uncle was the one who had chosen him.

“He will be far better than Mr. Branok,” he’d said at the beginning of their journey.

“I hope you managed the switch with discretion, Francis,” Aunt had said with a frown. “I should hate to offend Mr. Branok, no matter what you believe he did.”

“Of course I was discreet,” Uncle had defended. “I merely told Mr. Chumley that others ought to have the opportunity to ride with Mr. Branok, and he readily agreed.”

They’d loaded into their carriage after that and had subsequently spent three solid days of travel with Mr. Dunn mumbling on about his property, bragging about his list of birds, and snoring so loudly, Lark feared the carriage walls would crumble to pieces due to the noise. The only fortune they had was that Aunt and Uncle were able to fend off much of their carriage illness this time due to another draught prescribed by a fine physician in London.

Even still, the sight of Gwynnrudh House was more than welcome to Lark.

“We should awaken him,” Uncle said, motioning to Mr. Dunn who sprawled out across more than half the seat.

“Must we?” Lark asked. “We can still have half a minute to revel in without his conversation.”

She and Aunt shared a covert smile, though Uncle woke the man, nonetheless.

“Mr. Dunn, we have almost arrived.”