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Mr. Dunn grunted, grumbled, then looked outside. “Ah, yes. Is this the house? It is a bit too pink for my liking.”

Lark ignored him. It wasn’t too pink. It was charming.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Lark was finally released from her boxed torture, stretching out her limbs in delight before she caught sight of Mr. Branok.

His eyes were already on her, but she swiftly looked away. There was no purpose in encouraging him with a lingering look of her own—no matter how badly she wanted to. Her friendship with the man had effectively been terminated.

At the thought, her mind filled with the conversation she’d had with Mother just before she’d left.

“Why will you not pursue him, Larky?”

“We wouldn’t suit, Mother.”

“Stuff and nonsense. Anyone in love would suit.”

“But I do not love him.”

And yet, ever since she’d said the words aloud, she’d wondered at their truthfulness.

While she’d managed to overcome Mr. Drake’s actions quickly, Mr. Branok was another matter entirely. He’d attempted to call after the ball, but fortunately, Lark and Mother had been out. Still, to avoid another surprise visit, Lark had written him a note, telling him she was far too busy to entertain any callers for the foreseeable future and that he should keep his distance.

He had respected her wishes, but now that they were on the excursion together, she had a feeling he would not stop until he did speak with her.

In truth, Lark should have already given him the opportunity to do so, especially after she’d pounced on him and his friend at the ball. She had been in a state of panic that night, overly exhausted, overwhelmed with the socializing she’d done, stressed with the evening ahead of her, and completely disrupted by the reminder of her growing feelings for Mr. Branok. All of these contributed to Uncle persuading her to see something that frankly was not true.

Yes, Mr. Branok might be friends with Mr. Drake, but she couldn’t truly believe that Mr. Branok would deceive a woman to marry a fortune hunter. Nor could she believe that he’d spread vitriol about other men to injure them.

It was more likely that Uncle had been misinformed, for Lark knew Mr. Branok to be a good man. He’d never in all their weeks together given her any reason to believe otherwise.

She had been hurt, afraid, and persuaded by Uncle. But now it was too late because Mr. Branok was leaving for India, and matters would be far easier to let their friendship—or what was left of it, anyway—slip quietly into the abyss.

Although, such a thing was easier said than done, especially when she’d seen Mr. Branok in the Chumleys’ parlor three days prior.

All of her memories with him had been brought back. The way they’d met, his challenge issued, his rescuing her from the nettles. Their kiss. The fact that he was the very reason she’d joined the excursion. All of it.

And now, as she stood on the drive before the pink house with Mr. Branok’s eyes still on her, she winced at the pang of longing in her chest to be near him, to listen to him, and to give him the opportunity to defend himself.

But in that moment, Aunt and Uncle came up to stand at both sides of her, preventing her view of him any longer, and she was reminded once again that her time to be with Mr. Branok was over.

As much as her heart tried to convince her otherwise, she wasn’t there for him any longer. She was there for the birds.

Throughout the rest of the day, she had to remind herself of that very fact as Mr. Branok taught a brief class, led the party through the pristine grounds of Gwynnrudh, and finally, in the evening, when he shared with them news of a rare bird, a nightjar, being spotted in the woods right next to the house just the night before.

“They are nocturnal and extremely difficult to spot,” he shared, “but those of us who wish to brave the darkness and cold Cornish air can venture forth this evening.”

Lark had known no small amount of excitement, but she tampered it when Mr. Branok met her gaze.

He would be gone soon. Not only from Cornwall but from England altogether. It would be better not to share in any joy with him, for that would make his absence all the harder.

When darkness fell, most of the party gathered in the front entryway, though Mrs. Chumley and Aunt Harriet had opted out that evening on account of the cold.

As they stepped out into the brisk air, Lark could not blame the women, for it was, indeed, a frigid wind that blew. But she merely focused on the warmth her pelisse afforded her and forged ahead with the others.

Mr. Branok led them through the darkness, holding a lantern aloft to guide them deeper into the woods.

“Stay close to me, Lark,” Uncle said, offering his arm to her.

Lark accepted his help, doing her best to stifle her independence, for Uncle’s constant companionship was worse than Aunt’s. Where Aunt allowed her a certain amount of freedom and space, Uncle had become like a growth on her side.