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Lark jerked awake at the sound of soft tapping against her door. She sat up straight in the chair before her desk, slightly disoriented.

Light still shone through her window, though it appeared more golden than before. Had dinner passed already? She’d been staring mutely at her field journal before she had fallen asleep upright at the desk. Her lack of sleep last night must have finally caught up with her.

Rising from the desk, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, smoothed out the fabric of her light blue dress, and answered the door.

She wasn’t surprised to find her aunt and uncle standing before her, though she was taken aback by the concerned look in Aunt Harriet’s eyes and the anger in Uncle Francis’s.

“What’s the matter?” she asked at once, opening the door wider to allow them within.

They moved through the doorway, neither of them speaking as she closed the door behind them.

“What is it?” Lark asked again, looking between them both, her stomach churning with nerves.

Had they heard that she’d snuck out last night? That…that she’d denied a proposal from the only man she’d ever loved?

Aunt Harriet spoke first, her brows pointed up. “Mr. Branok is gone.”

Lark blinked, a cold wave of shock rushing over her. “Gone?” she breathed. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Your uncle saw him leave just after dinner.”

Still, Lark couldn’t understand their words. “Well, where is he going?”

“London,” Uncle stated gruffly.

“No,” Lark said at once, her mouth parted in stunned disbelief. “You must be mistaken.”

“I am not. I asked, and he did not deny it.”

Lark still shook her head. “He does not leave for another three days.”

Another three days would allow her time to process his request. To rally her defenses. To beg his forgiveness. And to…to reconsider.

After all, that was what she’d been doing all day in her bedchamber on her own. Seeking out an answer to their problem. Praying for a solution to ease her concerns, to provide a resolution where they could both receive what they wished. Where Henry could still travel the world, could still publish his findings, and she could be with the man she loved.

But if he was leaving for London—leaving for India—she had already lost her chance to beg him to propose again.

“What have I done?” she asked aloud, shaking her head in dismay.

“What do you mean?” Aunt asked, her brow now furrowed. “You’ve done nothing to warrant…”

She trailed off when Lark shook her head again. “He proposed last night.”

Aunt gasped, and Uncle frowned all the deeper.

“The scoundrel,” Uncle growled out, but Lark hardly noticed, continuing as if she were the only one in the room.

“But I said no,” she said, a hopelessness filling her soul to near drowning. “I said no.”

“That is a fine thing, Lark,” Uncle’s voice said, echoing in the recesses of her empty heart. “You will heal from the wounds he has caused, and you will be far better without him.”

The words were just another shovel of dirt into the grave that was her hope.

“You’re certain he left?” she asked him again.

“Quite,” he stated firmly. “Really, Lark, this is for the best. You⁠—”

His words were cut short when Aunt placed a soft hand on his arm. He looked at her questioningly, but Aunt gave a subtle shake of her head.