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Throughout the next hour, his close eye on her continued until, to no surprise of her own, the party disbanded.

“We may try again tomorrow night,” Mr. Branok assured the group, most of whom were ready to be warm once again.

He gave Lark an encouraging nod, but she looked away without a response, smiling to herself. She didn’t need any encouraging or coddling.

Not when she had a strategy of her own.

“I am sorry, dear niece,” Uncle said, patting her hand in a reassuring manner as they returned indoors. “I know how you were looking forward to finding that bird.”

She shrugged. “All is well, Uncle. There is always tomorrow.”

She gave him a smile, and he looked at her with surprised delight—no doubt shocked at her uncharacteristic adapting—before he walked her to her door and left her for the evening.

She half-expected him to sleep just outside of her bedchamber, what with how protective he’d become, but she was relieved he did not, for otherwise, there was no way she would be able to enact her plan.

She waited an hour after Penelope had helped her undress, then finally, at midnight, she redressed herself in silence, donning extra layers to ward off the cold that would no doubt be more cutting than before.

Peering outside, she could no longer see candlelight pouring forth from the windows below or to the side of her, and she breathed a settling breath.

It was time.

Tiptoeing her way through the dark house, she made her way to the front door, relieved to find it wasn’t locked. If it was unlocked before she left, it would be unlocked when she returned.

Silently, she opened and closed the door behind her, then raised her cloak over her head as she crossed the drive, her boots mutely crunching the dirt and rocks beneath her soles until she reached the soundless grass.

There, in the shadows of the trees, fully hidden from any wandering eye spying her from Gwynnrudh, Lark removed the hood of her cloak and sighed.

She was free. Finally free.

Grinning, she moved forward, the anxiety she’d felt before aiding her warmth as, sure enough, the temperature had dipped again. Still, she took comfort in that fact, for she knew no one in their right mind would be out there that night but her. If she wasn’t going to be able to go on excursions of her own in the future as often as she’d once hoped, she was going to take advantage of this one.

Now, onto the nightjar.

She walked in silence, pausing every few steps as she relied on each of her senses more fully to find the bird in the darkness—listening for any unfamiliar sounds and sniffing for any unfamiliar scents.

In the research books she’d read, the great eared nightjar resembled a miniature dragon, one Lark had seen in medieval paintings of old. But the more common nightjar that migrated to England—the one she might see tonight—boasted smoother features, its feathers said to perfectly match the grey bark of a tree, almost as if the bird was armored.

To see one during the day was unheard of. At night? Impossible. But the sound…She was certain if she could just hear the sound—described as that of a cricket though more elongated—she might follow it to discover where the nightjar was perched.

She moved through the thick trees, ensuring she did not stray too far from the house, the silhouette of the home lit by the nearly full moon that shone that night.

Crickets chirped all around her, the distant rushing of the ocean’s waves the sound of heaven’s breath on the wind. Even if she did not find the nightjar, coming out here on her own had already been worth it.

She felt as if she could breathe for the first time since the Lake District. And nothing could disturb her peace. Nothing could⁠—

“Have you taken leave of your senses, Miss Fernside?”

Chapter 33

Lark jumped in the air, a quiet yelp erupting from her throat as she swiveled to see who had snuck up behind her.

Fear caused her brain to delay recognition, but as the outline of broad shoulders greeted her, and the deep, soft voice finally settled in her mind, she knew at once who it was.

“Mr. Branok,” she breathed.

Her limbs felt like gelatine as relief rushed through her to know it was not a burglar in the night.

Then all at once, indignation ignited. “How dare you startle me in such a way?” she said in a harsh whisper, reaching forward to give him a whack on his arm.