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“At any rate,” Mrs. Haskett continued with another glance at her husband, “she sent me a note this morning, giving her excuses, so you needn’t wait for her.”

Henry nodded, though the disappointment stung.

His lesson—timely focused on how to find birds in the dark of the night—was painful to teach with the constant reminder of the previous evening, so once he finished, Henry escaped from the others and retreated to his bedchamber. He’d hoped to see Lark along the way, but she was nowhere in sight.

The rest of the day progressed in the same insipid manner—Henry moving from space to space, praying to catch Lark, becoming disappointed when he didn’t, and always fighting his desire to appear outside her door and beg her forgiveness—until dinner finally arrived.

But once again, Lark made no appearance, and the Hasketts gave their excuses for her a second time, all while Mr. Haskett looked condemningly at Henry.

Had Lark told her uncle what Henry had done? Or was he simply blaming Henry for something else? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

The meal was served earlier than normal to allow the party more time out of doors to spy the nightjar later that evening. For obvious reasons, Henry couldn’t get himself to join in the buzz of excitement around the table, nor could he focus on the conversations around him.

He was defeated. Exhausted. And more than anything, depleted of all hope.

As such, he slipped out of the drawing room after dinner without notice by the others, asking a passing footman to call for a horse. After scribbling out a quick letter in his bedchamber, Henry tucked the correspondence inside his waistcoat pocket, then left Gwynnrudh House without a sound.

He pulled on his gloves and made ready to leave as the groom delivered a black horse. Henry thanked him and grasped the reins. Just as he was about to mount, the door opened behind him.

“So, you’re leaving, then?”

Henry turned to face Mr. Haskett, the man’s features tight and rigid as he stared at Henry.

“Off to London without even a goodbye to anyone?” Mr. Haskett continued.

Henry was about to respond, then thought better of it. Whatever he said in defense of himself, Mr. Haskett was not going to believe him.

True to form, the gentleman sniffed with derision at Henry’s sustained silence. “It is just as well. At least this way, you will stop injuring my niece even more than you already have.”

His niece.

Henry looked away with a shake of his head. “You are aware that Miss Fernside does not belong to you, are you not?”

Mr. Haskett narrowed his eyes. “Are you aware she does not belong to you?”

“Keenly.”

This placed a look of satisfaction on Mr. Haskett’s face. “It would appear that she has finally taken my advice, then, and dropped her acquaintance with you.”

Acquaintance. If only Mr. Haskett knew how acquainted Henry and Lark actually were.

“Well, this can only be for the best,” the man continued. “You have been nothing but trouble for her from the start.”

Those words, coming from the gentleman who’d bled Henry dry for information about his travels and gushed over his knowledge about birds? Henry couldn’t help but scoff.

He should have walked away right then. But his pride securely rooted his boots to the gravel drive. “I’m sorry you think that, Mr. Haskett. Because I have been nothing but kind and respectful to you, your wife, and Miss Fernside from the beginning of this excursion.”

Mr. Haskett opened his mouth to protest, but Henry drew to his full height, commanding silence as he continued. “My membership in Blackstone’s may have sullied your opinion of me forever, as well as the rumors surrounding my name. But I would have assumed, knowing what you do about Miss Fernside’s own suffering, that it is far better to judge a person off his or her own actions than what others say. Otherwise, it speaks much more about a person willing to believe in tittle tattle than it does about the man or woman whose name has been tarnished by brazen deception.”

Mr. Haskett’s stiff look faltered only a degree, but it was enough for Henry.

“As for Miss Fernside,” Henry finished, “you ought to trust her more than you do. Perhaps then you would be able to learn more about honor and respectability.”

He tipped his head in departure, then mounted the black horse.

“You will not tell Lark you are leaving?” Mr. Haskett snapped back at him. “Where is the honor in that?”

Henry merely cast the gentleman a look of long-suffering then trotted away on his horse without a word or a single glance back.