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Transgressions?

Lark pulled back at the word, only vaguely aware of Uncle taking his leave as she remained seated on the sofa, her mind a torrent of tumultuous thoughts.

According to Uncle, heinous acts had to be made to become blackballed. Lark was certain Uncle would not be convinced that Mr. Branok was honorable—just as Lark would not be convinced of the contrary.

Mr. Branok being friends with Sebastian Drake was not a strong enough reason for her to keep away from Mr. Branok permanently.

But one question did prove to unsettle her.

Why had Mr. Branok not told her why he’d been blackballed?

Henry didn’t have the opportunity to speak with Miss Fernside after their kiss. She’d been more than willing to share that kiss with him, and yet, that night and each subsequent day after that for the duration of their time in the Lake District, any chance they had to speak, she shifted uncomfortably away and deliberately tried to involve anyone else aside from him in the conversation.

Matters were made even trickier with Mrs. Haskett ever-present at her side, which Henry could not help but feel was intentional, as well.

Henry figured Miss Fernside’s behavior was due to one of two reasons. Either she regretted kissing him and was attempting to create distance between them, or her uncle—who had mysteriously departed to London on some undivulged business—had requested she no longer speak with Henry due to his association with Blackstone’s.

Either way, he was torn. He longed to speak with her again, to tell her that their kiss could be the first of many or the last of one—for he would be willing to consider both. But those solutions would either lead them toward a deeper relationship or no relationship at all, and each pathway was more frightening than the other.

There was another side of him that begged to carry more pride. If Miss Fernside did not approve of him any longer because her uncle did not, Henry should not wish to be friends with her either.

In truth, he was slightly hurt by her calculated dismissal of him, especially after the progress they’d made to be honest with one another. But of course he couldn’t blame her, for he had done the very same to her in Yorkshire. Even still, it was not a pleasant situation to be involved in.

As their time in the Lake District came to a close, he determined to speak with Miss Fernside on the journey home, as it was his final chance before she’d no doubt be smothered by Mr. Haskett, as well.

London would not provide any opportunity for the party to come together until they met again to travel to Cornwall, so he planned to speak with Miss Fernside while Mrs. Haskett slept off her inevitable illness.

However, with Mr. Haskett’s absence, the Chumleys thought it best for the women to join in one carriage while the others transported the men. Henry could hardly protest, though inside, he dreaded the notion of listening to three days of Mr. Chumley complaining against women and Mr. Dunn droning on and on about his special lake and the birds he captured while there.

As they loaded into the carriages that would soon be London bound, Henry stole a glance at Miss Fernside, who waited behind Mrs. Shepherd and Mrs. Chumley as Mrs. Haskett disappeared within the coach first.

Now was his chance—his one and only opportunity to speak with her before they would not see one another again for a fortnight.

Swiftly, he headed in her direction, standing at her side as the women settled within the carriage. “Miss Fernside, may I have a word?”

Her light brows rose in surprise, and she shifted a wary gaze toward the coach. “I-I do not wish to keep them waiting.”

“Please. It will only take a moment.”

She hesitated again, then nodded, stepping off to the side with him.

Henry knew he did not have long. Mrs. Haskett would no doubt be in search of her within the minute.

“I merely wish to ask if I might call on you while in London,” he began. “I’ve much on my mind of late and wish to discuss it with you.”

Her lips parted—those lips she’d once allowed him to taste. “Sir, I am sorry to say that my time in London will not be my own.”

His heart dropped. “So you do not wish to speak with me?”

“I do. But current circumstances demand…discretion.”

“Your uncle?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the carriage, the doorway still empty. Mrs. Haskett must be distracted with the other women to have not come in search of her niece yet.

“I cannot say,” she whispered. “Only that…I had hoped in five days…But no, I think it best if we do not see one another until Cornwall. Excuse me, I must go.”

He reached out, wrapping his hand around her wrist to stay her. His act was brazen but done so out of desperation rather than control. She focused on his fingers around her arm, and he softened his hold.