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“Certainly,” she agreed. “And I do enjoy speaking with you. When you are not attempting to bend the rules of our challenge at every opportunity.”

“Bending the rules is what makes life enjoyable.”

“If you say so.”

“What do you say?”

She eyed him, grateful for the lightened tone in their conversation. “I say you’re as cunning as a crow and as pesky as a pigeon.”

He beamed. “I’ll take that as a compliment, seeing as how you admire birds.” He leaned closer. “Perhaps you might even one day admire me. As a friend, of course.”

“Of course. As a friend.”

They shared a smile, but instead of looking away as friends ought to have, something very un-friend-like passed between them. His features softened as they perused her face, and her heart twittered in response at the admiration clearly shining forth from his eyes.

She cleared her throat and looked away. She’d been admired by other men before, but never had she felt a stirring in the base of her stomach as she had when Mr. Branok watched her.

Feeling another pair of eyes on her, Lark glanced at Aunt Harriet, who studied her pensively, and dread pulled Lark’s spirits straight back to their cage.

She had been so distracted by her conversation with Mr. Branok, she’d forgotten to ensure their words went unnoticed.

She smiled innocently at her aunt, ensured everyone else still listened to Mr. Dunn, then finished the last of the food on her plate, though her stomach had turned the meal sour.

With the look Aunt Harriet had given her, Lark was certain that soon enough, she would be required to explain that only a friendship existed between herself and Mr. Branok.

But, oh, how she dreaded such a conversation because she was finding it difficult to imagine convincing someone of her words when she wasn’t fully convinced of them herself.

Chapter 13

Yorkshire, April 14, 1817

After a restful Sunday, Lark woke the following morning earlier than usual to take her morning wander about the gardens, managing to record three more birds for her list—an alert linnet, a puffy bullfinch, and an adorable pied flycatcher—before returning to the house.

After a quick breakfast, she met with Aunt and Uncle and the others as they loaded into the readied carriages and set off toward a nearby farm.

Mr. Chumley had shared with them last night after dinner that the farmer who occupied the land east of Deryn Park had spotted two Redstarts tending to their nest in the stone wall at the edge of his property.

Not one in the group had seen the bird before—not even Mr. Branok—so all were willing to awaken early in the best chance to observe the bird who was aptly nicknamed firetail, due to its fiery orange chest and tail feathers.

Lark, Aunt, Uncle, and Mr. Branok enjoyed a pleasant carriage ride in the beginning. Together, they attempted to mimic the call of a blackbird, that ultimately ended in fits of laughter from Lark—who had accomplished the call perfectly—and barely restrained humor from Uncle Francis and Aunt Harriet as Mr. Branok simulated a wounded animal, despite his best attempts otherwise.

Lark was relieved that Aunt hadn’t mentioned Mr. Branok’s attention the night before, though she did cast curious glances at them throughout the duration of the carriage ride.

Still, the journey progressed enjoyably as Lark and Mr. Branok shared facts about the redstart with Aunt and Uncle, specifically how the more colorful male helped contribute to the nest building before the female would sit on her eggs for nearly a fortnight.

Before long, however, Aunt fell ill due to the winding roads, followed shortly by Uncle, and the two grew silent—which in turn caused Lark and Mr. Branok to follow suit—until they finally reached their destination at half past seven.

Lark had hoped the beginning joy from that morning would return, but unfortunately, her spirits shifted lower and lower with each passing hour. Not only did Mr. Chumley whisk Mr. Branok away from the moment they reached the farm to the moment they left, but not a single sighting of a redstart had occurred, despite them being in a position to see the nest tucked securely within the gap of the stone wall.

What made matters worse was that Aunt had not been able to recuperate from the first carriage ride, so the second was far, far worse. They had to stop twice alongside the road on the return journey for her to settle her stomach either by relieving it or by walking about, and though she expressed her apologies excessively, the others—Mr. Branok more than anyone—helped her be at ease by ensuring her that she was not an imposition to them in the slightest.

Relief filled Lark the greatest, however, when they stopped the carriage in front of the stately house. She delivered a departing curtsy toward Mr. Branok—who bowed politely in response, concern etching his features—then she escorted Aunt to her chamber with Uncle before taking leave herself.

She would have loved to stay to help, but she knew Aunt well enough that the only person Aunt Harriet needed in that moment was her beloved husband to wipe her brow and hold her weakened hand.

Lark stayed in her room for a time, but as guilt continued to eat at her conscience for being the cause of yet another bout of carriage sickness for Aunt Harriet, she left her room to occupy her mind elsewhere.

Unfortunately, nothing worked. She read Mr. Branok’s books in the library—all while being dutifully watchful to ensure he did not spot her—then moved to the conservatory to update her lifelong list of birds. Shortly after that, she sought more fowl in the trees out of doors, but nothing seemed to pick her mood up from the miserable and dejected depths it had fallen to while being alone with her thoughts.