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Truthfully, Lark had wondered—even with her hefty price and promises—how the man had ever been talked into allowing Lark to join. Learning that Mrs. Chumley had been the one to coerce him made perfect sense.

All at once, the cage Lark had locked herself within at the start of the excursion flung open. Courage fortified her wings, and a lightness filled her soul. Did this mean she was free? Could she now act how she wished and speak about birds with her equals without fear of repercussion?

A smile touched her lips, and when she stared at her reflection in the looking glass, she caught sight of the blue gown still laid out on the bed.

Only six days had passed since she’d been in London, dressed up to the nines with Mother night and day. And yet, she couldn’t deny that, while such finery was worthless during bird observations, in the proper setting, they gave her great confidence.

When she was younger, she hadn’t minded wearing fine gowns and jewelry to balls and dinner parties. But after Mr. Yates’s treatment of her eight years before, she’d discovered that dressing simpler—if not dressing down—provided her with far less attention from other fortune hunting gentlemen. The very fact that her being an heiress was on parade when she’d met Mr. Drake was simply further proof that when she dressed wealthier, she was treated wealthier. And that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

In truth, this was the real reason she hesitated to wear finery here. Yes, she’d been nervous to provoke Mr. Chumley’s wrath, but more than anything, she did not wish to go through what she already had with Mr. Yates and Mr. Drake. Not again.

“Even with that knowledge of Mr. Chumley,” Lark said unprompted, as if attempting to convince herself she’d made the right choice, “I still believe the pink gown will be better for this evening.”

Once more Penelope hesitated. She tucked in another pin within Lark’s blonde curls. “Is your reasonin’ the same as before, miss?”

Lark nodded in silence. Penelope had been there through Lark’s courtship of Mr. Yates and was no stranger to Lark’s fears that had surfaced since. Mr. Yates had told Lark they would be removing her trusted maid from her position as soon as they married—despite Lark’s protests. A mere week more of courtship, and Penelope would not be with her today.

“Forgive me, miss,” Penelope said softly, “but there isn’t anyone to be fearful of here, is there? They all must have their own fortunes to afford a trip like this.”

Lark sighed, having had the thought already herself. “I suppose you are correct.”

“Most of ’em are married, as well. And happily,” Penelope continued. “Those who are single hardly seem a threat. Mr. Dunn is, well, Mr. Dunn”—they shared a smile—“the Kay brothers seem too focused on the birds, and Mr. Branok isn’t⁠—”

Her words broke off abruptly, and Lark’s eyes snapped to Penelope, who pressed her lips tightly together.

“Mr. Branok isn’t what?” Lark asked.

Penelope busied herself with more pins in Lark’s curls. “I promised meself I wouldn’t say a word, but I s’pose it can’t hurt if you know.”

Lark’s intrigue grew, all else forgotten but the man’s blue eyes and mischievous whispers.

“On our first night here,” Penelope said in a voice just above a whisper, “Mr. Branok’s valet drank a bit too much in the evenin’ and began to share information with the butler here, who was also drinkin’. They were both speakin’ so loudly, I couldn’t help but hear it, layin’ in me bed. I don’t think even the valet’s aware of what he was sharin’. At any rate, I heard that Mr. Branok,” she lowered to a whisper, “has sworn to never marry.”

Lark’s spirits fell. There was nothing so disappointing as being promised gossip, only to be delivered news one had already learned. But then, if Penelope knew this, perhaps she knew more.

“Did he give a reason for why he would not marry?”

A small smile slipped around Penelope’s lips. “Apparently, he had an unfortunate experience with a woman a few years ago. They spent weeks gettin’ to know one another. Flirtin’ and dancin’ and makin’ eyes, that sort o’ thing. She fully expected a proposal from him, but apparently, he didn’t love the woman, so he left on another one of his excursions, hopin’ that his absence would end her admiration.”

Lark leaned forward in her seat. “Did it?”

“Fortunately for him. When he returned some six months later, the woman had already married another—somehow, with her reputation still intact.”

“What a relief that must have been for her.” Lark looked away. “Was he upset at all with her marriage?”

“No, the woman never approved of his excursions anyway, so the valet said Mr. Branok was relieved.”

“Truly?”

Penelope nodded, removing a pin she held in her mouth before continuing. “Apparently, Mr. Branok’s benefactor won’t fund his excursions should Mr. Branok ever marry. Though I don’t know why.”

Lark mulled over the information. So that was why he wouldn’t marry, because he’d no longer be carted from expedition to expedition.

That made sense, of course, but what didn’t was the fact that Mr. Branok would lead a woman to marriage only to drop her days later. Was he truly capable of such unkindness? He’d always been respectful toward her—if a little unruly.

But then, perhaps his flirting was the guise he put up in the beginning to simply receive what he wanted.

A sliver of disappointment settled near the back of her stomach. Was he truly just using her? Were they not friends, then?