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“And what am I to do?” Uncle stated from the background as the women spilled out of the front door as soon as the carriage rolled up.

“Join the men back in the drawing room,” Lark said, “and tell Mr. Chumley thank you.”

She ran down the stairs, the women already piling into the carriage.

“Tell him thank you for what?” Uncle called after her.

She climbed into the carriage, then popped her head out of the door. “For his attempts to keep me from joining the excursion! Were it not for his efforts, I never would have had the pride to keep fighting to join!”

And with a grin, she backed into the carriage and leaned into her seat, her heart and mind racing in time as she contemplated what she’d say to Mr. Branok and if she truly had another chance at happiness.

Chapter 37

Henry slowed his horse to an easy walk as he faced the sun sinking lower in the sky.

Petite sea pinks dotted the golden-green grass across the cliffside, disappearing over the edge as if they made up a flowering waterfall pouring into the glistening sea below. Beyond, the sun slowly lowered in between a hazy yellow sky and the blue-grey waves drifting toward the Cornish shores. Herring gulls cried overhead with their signature calls, and black-headed gulls swooped closer to the water below, hoping to snatch a quick treat before tucking in for the night.

Henry couldn’t deny the appeal of the serene setting. Any other night, he would have stopped to breathe it all in, to relish in his blessed life and good fortune.

But right now, he had somewhere he needed to be. Posting that letter had been his first task. Next would…be…

His thoughts trailed off as rumbling wheels and a rattling carriage sounded ahead of him. Directing his horse off the small road—that was more an impression in the grass than anything—he waited for the coach to pass, eyeing the charging, black horses.

Horses that looked quite like the one he now rode.

He narrowed his eyes. That was the coach they used during the excursion, was it not? And certainly they were Mr. Chumley’s horses.

Who was within the coach, though? And why did they travel with such haste?

The wheels slowed only a degree as the carriage passed him by, but Henry felt as if time stood still as he peered into the window and fixed on a pair of almond-shaped, hazel eyes.

“Lark,” he breathed.

Where was she going? Was she fleeing to London to be rid of him earlier? Or had something happened—an illness or injury, perhaps?

She noticed him in the last second, her eyes widening and mouth dropping open. But in a flash, the carriage charged past him.

His horse stamped his hooves in protest, snorting as Henry reined him in for half a second before allowing the gelding to charge after the carriage. To his relief, however, the coach was already pulling to a stop.

He pulled in the black steed just as the door swung open and Lark leapt forth in a single motion, the footman having no chance to open the door for her first.

“Lark,” he said, dismounting at once and facing her with concern, “are you well? Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, breathless, the footman moving to the door to prop it open for her. “No. No, all is well. I am well.”

“You are certain?” He perused her up and down, ensuring no injury had befallen her as he stood a few feet away from her, clutching the reins in his left hand.

“Yes.”

Relief overcame him, and he took a moment to take in her appearance. She wore no bonnet, her soft dress was wrinkled across the front, and her piled hair drifted slightly to the side, the strands about her features no longer curled but hanging limply near her cheekbones. Her eyes were slightly reddened and weary, as if she hadn’t slept the night before, and her cheeks were pink, no doubt from the heat of the carriage.

Henry had never seen her so beautiful.

“Where are you—” he began.

“What are you—” she said at the same time.

Both stopped their words, and Henry motioned for her to continue, but she fell silent.