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Chapter 9

Yorkshire, April 12, 1817

The following morning, Lark rose before the crack of dawn, hoping to find more birds by beating the sunshine. Penelope was quite used to Lark’s early rising, so she had already arrived before Lark could even call for her. The lady’s maid helped her dress in a simple green gown, then sent her off with a polite curtsy.

Through the dark blue light of the early morning, Lark crept through the many corridors of the house, tiptoeing past closed doors and nodding silently to the curious help she passed by.

Eventually, she found her way through the house, having only taken two wrong turns before discovering the entryway and leaving Deryn Park behind to explore what its grounds had to offer.

To her delight, she not only discovered robins, blackbirds, blue tits, and chaffinches—all of which she’d seen before—but she was also able to spy birds she’d only ever seen in her books, a green woodpecker, a wood warbler, and a pied flycatcher, to only name a few.

A full year had passed by since she had been able to add a new bird to the collection she’d started as a child, so discovering so many, her joy was paramount.

So delighted she was with her additions to her journal that when the sun took residence above the fields and the birds’ dawn chorus slowly wound down, Lark wasn’t even upset to leave. She simply could not wait to share her findings with Aunt and Uncle. They would no doubt be taking breakfast in their rooms now.

As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, so she hastened her steps along the dirt pathway toward the house. She did not progress far, however, before finding Mr. Branok walking in her direction with the Shepherds quickly in tow.

At the sight of him, Lark’s stomach tumbled over itself. Last night had been utterly disappointing. She’d looked forward to hearing even more from Mr. Branok about his travels, then she’d hoped to engage in conversation with those around her about the birds everyone looked forward to seeing. She’d also longed to make her mark, let everyone know who she was and that she was serious about her observations.

However, with Aunt remaining in her room due to illness, Mrs. Chumley and Mrs. Shepherd speaking about fabrics at one end of the table, and the rest of the gentlemen engaging in conversation about their various hunting trips, Lark had not said a word throughout the entirety of the meal. Even Mr. Branok did not speak with her, though that was not entirely his fault, as he was seated at the complete opposite end of the table.

Still, she was so disappointed in the lack of engagement that she left for bed early, checking on Aunt Harriet before falling asleep herself.

Last night was sure to be the anomaly, though, as was evident by the success Lark had found that morning. Would speaking with Mr. Branok now improve her mood further?

One could only hope.

She kept her eyes on the pathway until the very last moment, then looked up to see Mr. Branok already watching her.

“Miss Fernside,” he greeted.

“Mr. Branok, Mr. Shepherd, Mrs. Shepherd,” she returned.

Mrs. Shepherd tipped her head to the side with a look of concern. “Miss Fernside, what in heaven’s name are you doing out here?”

Lark had not spoken with the Shepherds a great deal, though the handsome couple—who could only be a year or two older than Lark herself—had smiled at her from across the table a handful of times the night before.

She glanced between the three of them. “Merely taking advantage of the lovely weather and observing God’s beautiful world around us.”

“No, no,” Mrs. Shepherd said, shaking her head, “I mean, what are you doing out here without a chaperone?” she looked around, though it was clear Lark was alone.

Lark stopped herself from scoffing. This was one of the reasons she stayed away from Society—married women always decided they knew better than single individuals.

Well, she would make it clear that she needed no owner—nor husband. “I am walking,” she stated with a simple smile. “As I assume the three of you are doing.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Shepherd responded. “Are you enjoying the fresh Yorkshire air?”

He eyed her from head to foot with a curious gaze—though quite harmless. Mr. Branok still watched her, too. Though, he always watched her.

She glanced at him, and her stomach pulled in with a pleasant dip.

“I am enjoying it, thank you,” Lark responded.

“But…” Mrs. Shepherd began. “But where are your aunt and uncle, Miss Fernside?”

“I assume they are still asleep.”

Lark was accustomed to walking without a chaperone. In fact, her aunt and uncle preferred it, as it saved them from waking up early and following her around in utter silence.