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She shook her head, smoothing her frown with a small smile. “Neither, I assure you. I am merely contemplating your words. And wondering how you came to be so intelligent.”
Just like that, the spark was back in his eyes. “I was not born with it, I assure you. Any intelligence I do have can be safely attributed to my parents. They were the picture of perfect marital bliss. If anything could persuade me to be married myself, my parents’ relationship would have done the trick.”
Lark looked away, unsure if he was even aware of what he was saying. She’d had the thought before, had wondered why he’d remained unmarried. Had he no desire to drag a wife around with him? No wish to leave a family at home?
Still, this was hardly an appropriate conversation for two single individuals at a dinner table. Then again, creating secret challenges and whispering to each other at every turn weren’t appropriate either.
Thank heavens Mr. Dunn’s words drowned out any other sound. Even the clinking silverware struggled to make their mark.
Mr. Branok blinked in the next moment, coming out of his stupor and staring at her before straightening in his seat. “But marriage would never suit my way of life. Nor yours, I assume?”
“No,” she answered more forcefully than she’d intended. “No, indeed. I enjoy my freedom too greatly.” Then she looked at him. “And you. Is that your reasoning for remaining single, as well?”
“Just so.”
They fell silent again. Would he listen to Mr. Dunn now? Had he had enough of her conversation?
“Have you any siblings?” he asked.
Her heart trilled. “No, though I’ve always wanted sisters.”
“Only sisters?”
“Yes. Brothers always seemed like too much trouble to me.”
Mr. Yates, the man who’d first broken her heart, had had six brothers, and he was the youngest and least sensible of them all. Hence why he had been in search of a young, malleable heiress to help sustain his gambling habits.
Rotten to the core, he was.
Not like Mr. Branok. This man’s parents must have been blessed to have him.
She hesitated at the thought of his mother and father. She knew what it was like to lose a parent, but she’d had much longer to sort through her grief. Still, she had to say something.
“I…I was sorry to hear about your parents,” she said softly. “I, too, lost a father, though many years have passed since.”
His features sobered. “I am sorry to hear that, as well. How old were you?”
“Eight years old,” she said. “His horse threw him. He never regained consciousness. Aunt and Uncle came to live with us after he passed, and it helped, to a degree.” She paused, staring down at the table as she pictured Father’s kind eyes and thick mustache. “Father was the reason I fell so deeply in love with bird observing. He was the one to give me the name Lark, for woodlarks were his favorite. Together, we would spend hours out of doors, just he and I together, listening, mimicking, and watching them round our estate.”
Mr. Branok looked as if he wished to hear more, but she couldn’t. If she dwelled on the loss too greatly—especially with someone who’d experienced something similar—her tears would not be capped.
“I will not claim to know how you feel,” she continued, “as grief is so very personal, but sorrow, while never gone completely, does become easier to bear over time.”
His eyes softened, and an unspoken bond she’d never experienced before passed between them.
“Thank you, Miss Fernside,” he said gently. “Your words have given me much-needed hope.”
She nodded, her heart warming at the notion.
“I, too, had a bond with my father,” he said. “He was my greatest and most trusted ally, as I did not come by friends easily in my youth.”
“A feeling I know all too well,” she said. “Finding someone who accepts one’s oddities and passions can be difficult.”
He looked down at her. “And yet, our friendship, perhaps, is not so elusive?”
A burden lifted slightly off her shoulders. “Perhaps not.”
“After all,” he continued, “we obviously agreed to both pass on the pheasant this evening.” He motioned to their plates—and the decided lack of pheasant upon them.
