Page 25

“The fifth rule would be to ensure that we write down each unique bird, the location where we observed it, when we observed it, and a short description of what we saw,” she said. “This way we may prove our sightings if necessary.”

“Very good.”

She wrote more, pausing as they passed over another jut in the road. “The only other rule I can think of is that both of us have to do our very best.”

He paused. That would put a damper on his earlier decision to help her win. “Surely that does not need to be said.”

“One would think so,” she said, still writing. “But gentlemen—even those who have separated themselves from Society—are notorious for their chivalry. I will have none of that. If I am entering this challenge, you must do your best to beat me.”

She was so wonderfully confident. But he had little to no faith that she would beat him at this game. He did not wish to appear prideful in the least, but how could a woman who had not left Suffolk hold her own against Henry, a gentleman who had traveled the world?

“So,” she continued, “do you agree?”

“Yes. You needn’t worry. I shall do my best to win.”

So much for ensuring her victory. Because now that he’d promised, he would do his best.

She finished writing the final and sixth rule on both pages, then pulled back. “Anything else you care to include?”

“No, I believe you have been more than thorough.”

She did not respond, merely tore the two papers from her notebook and extended them to him. “Sign here,” she said, pointing to one of the two lines she drew below the rules.

He did as he was told, placing his signature on both papers using her pencil and fighting off a smile as he extended them back to her. “Here you are.”

She took them without a word, examining the signatures before signing her own name beneath his. Finally, she returned his paper, which he accepted with a nod.

“This is all very official,” he said, folding the paper and tucking it into his waistcoat pocket.

“Indeed,” she said, apparently missing his teasing tone as she folded her own paper and secured it behind the front cover of her book.

“We are settled, then,” he said. “May the best bird observer win.”

“Thank you. I shall,” she stated without a glance in his direction.

Then she pulled open her book, tilting it away so he could not see within, and shifted her body toward the window, clearly signaling the end of their conversation.

Henry was sorely tempted to tease her further, but when he found her watching him from the corner of her eye, as if she wished to speak, as well, he shifted away and focused his gaze on the small, stone farmhouses punctuating the hills far beyond.

Perhaps withholding his conversation would make her long for it even more. That would be needed on their excursion, as he had a feeling he and Miss Fernside would be doing a great deal of conversing over the next two months. Conversing…and more.

He couldn’t wait to begin.

Chapter 8

Yorkshire, April 11, 1817

The rest of the journey to Yorkshire was relatively uneventful. Aunt Harriet and Uncle Francis still suffered, though they did their best to hide it, Lark did her best to comfort them, and Mr. Branok clearly did his best to distract them with pleasant conversation and wild stories of his adventures.

Once more, Lark relished the chance she had to listen to his tales, though this time, she hid her enjoyment. No need to boost his ego further.

In between the conversations, however, the four of them sat in mutually pained silence until finally, in the afternoon of the final day, they rolled onto the property of a grand estate in Yorkshire.

Aunt and Uncle exchanged looks of relief, and Lark knew no small amount of respite for their sakes, as well. She couldn’t ease their carriage sickness, but she was determined that the next two months would be worth it for them all.

“It is quite a picture, is it not?” Uncle asked, drawing Lark’s attention to the present as he stared out of the window.

“As lovely a house as I have ever seen,” Mr. Branok agreed.