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Mr. Gibbon blew out a breath. “I simply cannot understand Miss Fernside.”

“I think she’s humorous,” Mr. Shepherd said.

“As do I,” agreed the elder Mr. Kay.

“Humorous or difficult?” Mr. Chumley muttered. “I am terribly sorry if her presence here has caused any of you grief. I was promised that she would not be a disturbance.”

Mr. Dunn snuffed. “She certainly was a disturbance this evening.”

Henry leaned back in his seat, thanking the footman for refilling his drink as the men continued. All the while, he fought the urge to sigh with impatience.

“I promise, I shan’t allow it to continue,” Mr. Chumley said. “It is not fair for one woman to ruin an entire excursion for the rest of us.”

“Not right at all,” Mr. Dunn agreed. “She so often prevents the rest of us from observing more seriously. I do not care for it.”

“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Dunn,” Mr. Chumley said. “And to all of you.”

The others fell silent. But Henry could not bear it any longer.

He took a drink, swallowed, then straightened. “Forgive me, but I do not believe an apology is necessary. If you ask me, Miss Fernside is not difficult in the slightest. And the way she speaks with humor and honesty is, quite frankly, a breath of fresh air. Furthermore, she certainly does not diminish the quality of this excursion. She adds to it. After all, not one of us can compare to her clear talent when it comes to bird observations. That much is obvious with her list. She has seen far more and has traveled far less.”

Her words from their first day in the carriage echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t help but smile. If only he’d known then what he knew now about her.

The Kay brothers and Mr. Shepherd nodded in agreement, and Mr. Chumley fell silent, but Mr. Dunn hmphed again.

“If her list can be believed,” he muttered, his great, bald head glowing in the candlelight above.

Henry shifted to face him. “You question the woman’s honor?” he asked, staring the man down, daring him to press the issue.

Mr. Dunn, for the first time that evening, hesitated. “No, not her honor. But…mistakes can happen.”

Henry shook his head in disbelief. The level of petty insecurity from the man—and even Mr. Chumley—was astonishing. But Henry would not stand for it any longer.

“I have seen with my own eyes the level of detail and attention Miss Fernside shows in her journals,” he began. “She does not make mistakes.”

He ended firmly, with no room to disagree, and finally, Mr. Dunn fell silent.

Mr. Shepherd once again shifted the conversation to more pleasant matters, but Henry had nothing else to say, his mind focused entirely on Miss Fernside.

He needed to speak with her that evening, no matter Mrs. Chumley’s chaperoning. He longed to discover what had brought on this sudden confidence in front of others and if it would last. He also wanted to share with her how much he appreciated her humorous comments that evening—and her kindness to Mr. Shepherd.

However, as the gentlemen went through to the drawing room, Henry, bringing up the rear, caught a flash of blue fabric that no one else noticed as it disappeared around the corridor. He paused in the doorway, skimming the party for Miss Fernside before realizing she was not there.

He looked over his shoulder down the corridor, knowing she had left the party early. But, why? Was she unwell? Or was it her aunt?

A sudden urge overcame him to ensure Miss Fernside was well, so he slipped from the room, gave his excuses for a footman to deliver, then strode down the corridor toward Miss Fernside’s departing figure.

Chapter 15

Lark removed her gloves as she exited another corridor and climbed the stairs toward her bedchamber, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

She was thoroughly exhausted. Yes, she’d finally been able to be herself—to defend her skills and be unafraid of Mr. Chumley expelling her from the excursion. But it had taken its toll on her. As had not speaking with Mr. Branok. She had attempted to not even look at him—to make him long for her attention so he might know what it felt like to be flirted with and then ignored.

But the second she’d seen him, his look of admiration, the laughter he’d stifled at her words, and the clear approval of her standing up for herself, she’d realized that the rumors Penelope had heard were just that—rumors. Rumors that were complete and utter nonsense.

Mr. Branok was a gentleman, through and through. He was respectful, encouraging, and kind. And she had made a terrible mistake wearing this dress tonight. It had given her more confidence than she needed. With that and her aunt and uncle’s decided lack of presence, she’d unleashed her tongue fully and would now pay for it.

Mrs. Chumley had been an utter delight that evening, so Lark could not regret her actions entirely. But still, she had noticed Mr. Branok’s attention, and that more than anything, made her regret her choice. For she’d led him on. Pulled him in. Like a moth to a flame, she’d lured him closer until he had stolen glances with looks of admiration far more than she’d ever seen.