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“I used to see certain looks pass between you two during dinner and throughout his classes,” she began. “But now, you hardly speak with him. I could not help but wonder if something occurred between the two of you to cause the change in your relationship.”

Lark drew steadying breaths. “I assure you, there is no relationship between us, nor shall there ever be one. We are similar in some regards, which can lead to disagreements, but we are acquaintances and always will be.”

She spoke so assuredly that Aunt seemed to accept her words. “Very well,” she said. “I must have imagined matters. I am wont to do such things, Francis tells me. Well, I shall see you for dinner, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Will you not wear the blue gown once again? I did not get to enjoy seeing you in it the other evening, and Mrs. Chumley went on and on about how beautiful you were.”

Lark smiled to hide her grimace. She would never wear that gown again. “I think I would prefer a different color this evening.”

“Very well,” Aunt shrugged off. “You look lovely in any color.”

She bade Lark farewell, then disappeared down the corridor as Lark shut the door behind her.

She shouldn’t have agreed to go to dinner. She should have hidden her true feelings, blamed her lack of enthusiasm on being excessively tired.

Because now, she was excessively tired, if only due to the very notion of having to play the part of the amiable, approachable Miss Fernside when all she wanted to be was sulky, jaded Lark.

Unfortunately, the only person who accepted her as both was the only person she’d sworn to never be around again.

Chapter 21

Dinner passed by slowly, despite Lark being actively engaged in conversation with Mrs. Chumley for the majority of it. Fortunately, Mr. Branok was seated at the opposite end of the table again, though his eyes continuously flitted away from Lark’s each time she caught him watching her.

After dinner, Lark was sorely tempted to leave before the gentlemen joined them in the drawing room, but Aunt Harriet must have known she would have attempted to do such, for she kept Lark the center of attention until the men came through.

To her relief, Uncle Francis occupied the standing space to her left—and Aunt sat beside her on her right—so once again, Mr. Branok had no chance to speak with her.

Lark sat near the fire, feeling cold and tired despite her proximity to the flames. The drawing room was comfortable enough with its maroon walls, the wooden flooring covered with large, red and gold tapestries, but she still longed for her warm bed and the privacy of her bedchamber.

The crackling fire in the small, dark hearth punctuated the air between the soft murmur of voices around her, and she felt her attention waver as her eyes grew heavy and dry until she slipped in and out of consciousness.

She hadn’t realized she’d dozed off fully until a shuffling on the couch beside her jarred her from her sleep. Her eyes opened, and she straightened from her slightly slumped position to stare at the fire.

“Feeling tired from the journey here?”

Lark stiffened. Mr. Branok’s voice spoke beside her instead of Uncle’s. That must have been the shuffling she’d heard. How often was this man going to pounce on her when she was unaware?

“I am a little weary,” she responded truthfully, though it was not due to the journey.

She glanced around the room. Aunt Harriet spoke on the opposite couch with Mrs. Shepherd, and the rest of the gentlemen stood away from the fire on the other side of the dark, wood-paneled room—Uncle included.

Lark pulled in her lips. Mr. Branok must have been watching her until she’d been left alone, then seized his opportunity to…to what, exactly? Why did he insist on speaking with her, even after she’d been more than clear that they needed to stop?

“I trust you had a pleasant meal,” he said next.

She placed her hands in her lap, leaning slightly away from him. “I did, thank you.”

She wouldn’t ask him how his meal was in return, no matter what politeness demanded.

She faced Aunt and Mrs. Chumley, striving to hear their words so she might join their own conversation to dissuade Mr. Branok from continuing, but the women spoke so quietly, Lark had no hope of hearing them.

“You must be looking forward to your morning walk tomorrow,” Mr. Branok said. “Especially in a new location.”

Lark pushed aside her conscience. He was trying so hard and seemed earnest in his endeavors. But she would not give in. Doing so would only open her up to more disappointment.

“I am looking forward to it,” she replied. “But I suppose I should retire now so I might awaken early enough. If you’ll excuse me.”