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Mr. Chumley and Mr. Shepherd soon wandered back to Mr. Dunn, but Henry excused himself. He couldn’t take a moment longer of the diatribe against Miss Fernside—especially what would inevitably come from Mr. Dunn. Henry would rather walk home on his own—a solid two-hour-jaunt—then spend a second more in their company.

So that was precisely what he did.

Finding dock leaves along the way to soothe his hands, he allowed his mind to return to Miss Fernside and the pain she must still be in—not only from the nettles but from his treatment of her.

She’d been so generous to encourage him to share his own side of the rumors about his name. But he’d behaved abysmally, telling her he would not injure a woman when, in the next second, he had injured her.

Nearly kissing her with no intention of marrying her. Slighting her when she tried to be his friend. Criticizing her for a simple distracted mistake. What had he been thinking?

He obviously hadn’t been, and that was the problem.

But he was thinking now. And he knew what he needed to do. He needed to make this right. To apologize for ignoring her and injuring her. And he needed to do it right now.

Chapter 19

Lark remained indoors over the next several days, keeping to her room or Aunt Harriet’s while using the excuse of recuperating from the rash the stinging nettle had caused. In reality, she was attempting to recover from her humiliation instead.

She took her meals in her bedchamber, accomplished her observations in the early hours of the morning, and ducked down random corridors to avoid any passersby when returning. She skipped Mr. Branok’s classes, receiving a review from Uncle Francis about what she missed each time, and had promptly tucked away her list for her competition with Mr. Branok at the bottom of her drawer beneath blank papers and jars of ink.

If he was going to pretend nothing happened between them—not even a friendship—then she would do the very same with their agreement.

Four days after the mishap, her wounds no longer stung, and the unbearable itch had mercifully subsided, as had the angry red welts and spots. As such, Aunt Harriet managed to convince Lark to join the other women for tea and biscuits one afternoon while the gentlemen traversed across the moors.

In the drawing room, Mrs. Chumley was kind enough to reassure Lark that, while the redstart had been frightened off, the bird had promptly returned not a quarter of an hour later, and each gentleman had been fortunate enough to observe him for longer.

“Mr. Chumley said it was marvelous,” Mrs. Chumley continued. “The female made a showing, too. Although, Mr. Branok disappeared before he had the chance to see them. No one knows why he left, though he ended up walking the great distance back to the house instead of waiting for one of the carriages.”

Lark didn’t care a lick about what the gentleman did or did not do, but she smiled at Mrs. Chumley nonetheless and merely sipped her tea before returning to her room to avoid any sight of the man.

On Thursday, Lark was back to full health, which caused both Aunt and Uncle to press her to join them at Bempton Cliffs to see the seabirds nesting on the precipices.

“It is a journey I can actually manage with relative ease,” Aunt said. “The roads are far less winding.”

So, Lark relented.

At any rate, there was only one bird that could convince Lark to join them, however, and that was the puffin. So, with great reluctance, she joined the others, swallowing her pride with every greeting and every look of curiosity—or in Mr. Chumley’s and Mr. Dunn’s case, every look of intolerance—before loading into the carriage with Aunt, Uncle, and Mr. Branok.

To her eternal frustration, Mr. Branok had the audacity to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened between them, behaving as he had before their moment on the stairs.

“I’m so pleased to have my carriage companions again,” he said with a smile that swept about the coach.

Lark smiled politely but kept her eyes focused on the horizon, refusing to give him an inch of generosity.

“And you, Miss Fernside,” Mr. Branok pressed, as if he hadn’t been unthinkably cold with her over the last week. “It is lovely to see you out and about this morning. We’ve all been wondering when you would feel well enough again to make your return. To be back in time to see the puffins is providential.”

Insufferable man.

“Yes, I am quite pleased,” she responded.

“I see your rash has subsided,” he continued. “I trust your discomfort has, as well?”

Apart from experiencing this conversation? “It has, thank you.”

“And I am certain you are anxious to find more birds for your…list.”

He ended the word heavily, and Lark turned to see his knowing expression. His blue eyes were hope-filled, as if he were trying to mend the gap between them. Lark almost gave in until she reminded herself of all that had occurred between them.

“You know,” she began, “I quite forgot about the list while I was convalescing. I was more focused on how to better recognize stinging nettle and poison ivy so I might prove I’m capable of walking sensibly again.”