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“Not in the slightest.”
She tipped her head in his direction. “That is why. No matter what I have said to you, no matter how I behave around you, you will not be offended.”
He smiled. “So you try to offend me, then?”
“At times,” she teased. “But I believe you already know what sort of person I am, so my causing offense is getting trickier by the moment.”
He drew a step higher. “And what sort of person are you?”
“Difficult. That’s what most gentlemen say.”
He took another step, and the voice inside her told her to excuse herself at that moment, for the light in Mr. Branok’s eyes grew increasingly brighter—and increasingly more mischievous.
But her body refused to retreat.
“One man’s ‘difficult’ is another man’s ‘dream,’” he stated. Then he shrugged. “Or so at least I’ve been told.”
“Who on earth has told you that?”
He delivered a charming smile. “Do not call my bluff now, Miss Fernside.”
He paused on the middle step, but she no longer fought to leave. Her desire to be near the man, to speak with him and have his attention on her, was too great to leave now.
“I fear I must call your bluff, though,” he continued. “I had no knowledge of how many birds you have seen in your life, and I fear I am now concerned over our competition.”
He flattered her, that much was clear. He had such an advantage over her, what with more than half a dozen exhibitions under his belt, but he was kind to even suggest she might win.
“Why did you not tell me you’d seen so many?” he asked.
“You have never asked me.”
“I…” He paused. “Have I not?”
She smiled. “No, you have. Our first time in the carriage, I believe. I simply refused to answer you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I do recall now.”
“You see? You are not offended even when I tell you a falsehood.”
He grinned. “Well, despite my inability to take offense at your actions, I do hope you will continue to be yourself around me—and the others. I quite enjoyed seeing Mr. Chumley’s and Mr. Dunn’s usually sheen feathers fluffing around the table.”
“I did, as well,” she said with a smile. “Though I fear Mrs. Shepherd might have nightmares about shrikes this evening.”
Mr. Branok chuckled, and Lark beamed.
His eyes remained on her, a quick sweeping gaze over her gown before settling on her features once more, and the humor in his expression softened.
“I do truly hope you were not offended by their words,” he said. “Specifically, Mr. Dunn’s disbelief and Mr. Chumley’s slight about your needing a husband.”
Lark thought for a moment. “No, I was not offended by them. In truth, I know they, like most people, do not truly intend to cause offense. Even if they do, I would never wish to allow their actions to cause me such futile anger that my own joy becomes at risk. Life is far better when one forgives, even if—especially if—no apology is extended.”
It was a truth she’d lived by for years now. Finding forgiveness for Mr. Yates’s actions had been difficult and was still something she strived for today. But whenever she put effort forth, her life improved drastically.
She’d had so much practice with forgiveness that she’d managed to do so with Mr. Sebastian Drake after a matter of hours—if not minutes—of his proposal. Though, that did not mean there was not the occasional bitterness that sporadically sprouted from long-forgotten roots of hurt.
“You are truly wise, Miss Fernside,” Mr. Branok said, drawing her mind to the present.
The admiration in his eyes was sincere, but she could hardly accept the word. She gave a little scoff. “I do believe that is the first time I have ever been called that.”
