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When she finally meandered her way toward her bedchamber to make ready for dinner that evening, she was stopped by Uncle and was given news that made matters even worse.

“I must stay with your aunt this evening,” he said, speaking in a whisper outside of the bedchamber. “She is so very ill from the turns in the road this afternoon, I daren’t leave her. Not while she feels so miserable. You must go to dinner yourself. I’ve already asked Mrs. Chumley to serve as your chaperone.”

Lark frowned. The last thing she wished to do in that moment was sit with the others without aunt and Uncle.

Unless Mr. Branok entertained her.

She gave her head a little shake. There would be no secret conversations with Mrs. Chumley as chaperone. Aunt certainly had a more lenient eye.

“Thank you, Uncle Francis,” she replied. “But I will take my meal in my room. I’m feeling a little tired anyway.”

Uncle pulled his brows together. “Please, Lark. Your aunt feels terrible about all of this. She feels she has prevented you from enjoying your time here due to her constant illnesses.”

Lark pulled back. “Heavens above. That is not how I feel at all. If anything, I feel terribly to have pulled you both through such misery.”

Uncle took her hand and gave a quick peck to the back of it. “Do not concern yourself over us, my dear. We made our own decision and would do far more to see your joy.”

Lark’s heart warmed. How was she so blessed to have received such a loving aunt and uncle?

“Which is why you must go to dinner this evening,” Uncle finished.

Once again, her heart fell.

“It will bring us much joy knowing you are mingling with like-minded bird observers instead of holed up in your room all alone. Please, Lark.”

She hesitated, but the look of pleading finally caused her to relent with a silent nod.

Uncle smiled with relief.

“Give Aunt my best wishes,” she said.

“I will. And do enjoy yourself this evening.”

That was highly unlikely, especially after the miserable day she’d had. But she nodded nonetheless and retreated down the corridor to her bedchamber, finding her lady’s maid already there, lining up hairpins on the small table near the looking glass.

“Good evenin’, Miss Fernside,” she said with a warm smile.

“Evening, Penelope,” Lark said, closing the door behind her.

“Not a ‘good’ evening, then?” Penelope asked.

Lark sighed. “I’m afraid not. My day has been rather disappointing thus far.”

“Ah, I am sorry to hear that, miss,” Penelope said, straightening a brush next to the hairpins. “But don’t give up yet. Perhaps the evening might surprise you. I’ve a number of dresses for you to choose from.” She gave a little smile. “That always seems to improve your mother’s mood.”

Lark gave a humored smile. It was well known around Brackenmore Hall that Mother loved dresses and jewelry as greatly as Lark loved birds—just as it was well known that Mother despised birds and nature as greatly as Lark despised dressing in fine clothing.

Not only did it draw an undue amount of attention toward her and her wealth, but she also found fine gowns and cumbersome jewelry impossible to wear while attempting to observe nature.

“If only I could be more like her,” Lark mused as she moved to the dresses on the bed.

In reality, she would never want to be like her mother. Lark found far too much joy in simplicity. But she could not deny life would be simpler if she could fit in with Society, as Mother did.

Lark shifted her eyes from the simple pink dress with a higher neckline, to the pea green gown with a bow at the bodice, then finally to the last—an azure blue gown with a sheer overlay and subtly ruched sleeves.

Far too elegant for a dinner with a party of bird observers, but mother had insisted she bring at least a few fine gowns.

“You mustn’t dress like the rabble dear, even if you insist on being amidst them.”