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“All that is to say,” Penelope finished, “you needn’t worry about Mr. Branok pursuin’ you either. He’s clearly unwillin’ to give up anythin’ for his excursions—even the reputation of a woman. And if his only threat is makin’ a woman fall for him, with your decision to never marry, you have nothin’ to fear.”

Penelope was absolutely correct. Lark truly had nothing to fear now. She ignored the disappointment she’d felt before and squared her shoulders. So, the man enjoyed the chase, did he? The chase with no finish line, apparently. If that was what he was doing with Lark—flirting with her, attempting to make her fall in love with him, only for him to jaunt off to another excursion—he had better think again.

Her eyes flicked to the dresses once more. “On second thought, Penelope, I think I should like to wear the blue gown after all.”

Chapter 14

Henry gathered with the others in the drawing room, awaiting the entrance of Miss Fernside—the last to arrive before the evening would begin.

“Terribly rude to have her make us wait all this time,” Mr. Chumley muttered beside him. “I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Branok.”

“Not at all,” Henry responded. “It has not been more than but a few minutes since the Kay brothers arrived. And Heaven knows how often I am late to matters.”

Mr. Chumley gave an unresponsive, “hmm,” clearly unhappy with Henry not engaging in slandering Miss Fernside.

The gentleman’s issue with the woman was beginning to wear on Henry’s patience. Each one of them had been far later other evenings than Miss Fernside was this evening, and Mr. Chumley hadn’t felt the need to issue a complaint about any of them.

“It is all rather thoughtless,” Mr. Chumley continued before lowering his voice. “Furthermore, my wife has now been appointed to be her chaperone this evening, as the Hasketts have fallen ill. Again.”

Henry’s eyes darted to Mr. Chumley’s. Miss Fernside would have a different chaperone that evening? He tried not to feel too disappointed, but he could only assume that when someone who was not typically a chaperone became one, she was far more dedicated than a seasoned and more lenient caretaker.

Did that mean Henry would not have the opportunity to speak with Miss Fernside at all? That certainly would put a damper on this evening. He’d been looking forward to speaking with her since departing from the sick-filled carriage hours before.

“I do hope Mr. and Mrs. Haskett feel well soon,” Henry said. “The poor couple have certainly been through it all.”

“Yes,” Mr. Chumley mumbled. “So much so that it makes one wonder if one should not have relented and brought them and their niece along at all.” He shook his head. “I simply cannot⁠—”

Mr. Chumley broke off mid-sentence as footsteps sounded near the doorway, and Miss Fernside entered the room.

All eyes fell on her in an instant, but none faster than Henry’s. And once he found her, he could not look away. Miss Fernside was always stunning. But tonight? She was regal. Her soft blue gown was the shade of a blue tit’s wings and accentuated her blonde curls with an almost angelic effect. Her figure shown so flawlessly—her soft brow and smiling lips so delicately feminine—that a masculine instinct arose with him to protect her, to admire her, and to respect her even more than he already did.

When her eyes met his, lingering a moment longer than anywhere else, he could have sworn he’d seen satisfaction in her smile.

“Miss Fernside,” Mrs. Chumley greeted, moving toward her. “What a picture you look this evening.”

“You are too kind, Mrs. Chumley,” Miss Fernside responded with all the humility in the world, though confidence still shown in her expression. She looked at the others about the room. “You must forgive my tardiness. I stopped first to wish my aunt well before coming down myself.”

“I hope she is feeling better,” Mrs. Shepherd said, her arched eyebrows pulled together.

“That is very kind of you,” Miss Fernside responded. “I’m certain she will be by morning.” She turned next to Mrs. Chumley. “I must thank you for agreeing to chaperone.”

“It is my absolute pleasure. I was just telling my husband how very glad I am to assist in any way I can. Was I not, Mr. Chumley?”

Mr. Chumley nodded with a tight smile. Miss Fernside met his gaze, but instead of shrinking as she normally did around the man’s condemning eyes, she met his stare without reluctance, remaining silent and confident.

Henry couldn’t help but stare himself at the woman, startled at the change that had come over her. There was something more certain in the way she held herself, in the way she spoke. Had the gown miraculously given her more confidence? That wouldn’t surprise him. She typically wore standard colors with high necklines and simple hems. The blue she wore now was in no way extravagant, but it was elegant in every way—as were the sapphires decorating her pale throat and dangling from her dainty ears.

But then, would a simple change in wardrobe alter the way she behaved around Mr. Chumley, even eliminate her fears of being expelled early from the excursion?

Before he could answer his own question, the party moved to the dining room, and despite his best efforts, Henry was pressed to take a seat beside Mr. Chumley two seats down and across from Miss Fernside, who sat beside Mrs. Chumley near the head of the table.

At least being across from her, he could subtly watch her, but the thought was only a mild balm to his irritated soul as the meal progressed, for not only did Mr. Chumley speak nearly the entirety of the first few courses, but Miss Fernside seemed determined to not meet Henry’s gaze for even one moment.

What was this game she was playing at? Or was she simply taken with Mrs. Chumley’s conversation? Whatever it was, he found himself growing—embarrassingly enough—jealous of the attention Mrs. Chumley was receiving from Miss Fernside. This was a feeling he was not accustomed to experiencing at all, and to be frank, he did not care for it.

He did not care for it at all.

Instead of pining for her attention any longer, however, Henry put forth effort, initiating conversations around the table in the hope that Miss Fernside would take the bait—just as the little brown and white creeper had in the East Indies when he’d laid out food for him.