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But Mr. Chumley’s actions were lost on Lark when, in the next moment, the gentleman who’d been in front of them turned and revealed himself to be the very man Lark had convinced herself it was not.

Mr. Branok.

“Lark…” Aunt spoke a voice of warning next to her, for she must have seen the man, too.

But Lark could not utter a single word. The blood rushed in her ears, and her heart thumped painfully against her chest when his eyes connected with Lark’s, surprise in his expression.

What was he doing here? Had the Chumleys invited him? From the look on his features, he hadn’t expected to see Lark, either.

Mr. and Mrs. Chumley led the way forward, and Mr. Branok very clearly hesitated before following behind them.

“Do you wish for an escape?” Aunt asked under her breath.

Lark was tempted to accept the help, especially as Mr. Branok averted his eyes from Lark, but she knew she could not avoid him forever.

She could only thank the Heavens that Uncle had disappeared within the card room. One could only imagine the disgruntled comments that would occur should the two see one another again.

“No,” she whispered. “No, I am well.”

Aunt nodded just as the group reached them.

“Mrs. Haskett, Miss Fernside,” Mrs. Chumley greeted first as bows and curtseys were exchanged. “We had no idea we’d be having the pleasure of seeing you this evening. What a delight!”

“Such a pleasure to see you all, as well,” Aunt Harriet responded.

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see familiar faces,” Mrs. Chumley continued. “I do find these sorts of gatherings difficult, but knowing I have friends here certainly makes it more bearable.” She sighed happily, looking around at the small party. “Who knew we would have a little reunion between us? I feel as if we ought to retreat to the gardens to see if we can spot a few birds.”

The group laughed. Even Mr. Chumley cracked a smile in silence. Lark dared a glance at Mr. Branok, but he pulled his eyes away from her in an instant.

Her heart rapped against her chest, as if attempting to break free so that it might join Mr. Branok across the circle. She did not blame it. He looked flawless tonight. Green waistcoat, pomaded hair, jaw firm. But more than handsome features, there was who he was as a person—a person Lark desperately missed. His conversation, his encouragement, his kindness.

“Miss Fernside,” Mrs. Chumley said, interrupting her thoughts, “your gown is gorgeous. Whoever is your modiste?”

Once more, Mr. Branok hurriedly looked away when Lark caught him watching her.

“Oh, my apologies,” she began. “I cannot recall, for my mother had it made for me.”

“Your mother?” Mrs. Chumley asked with excitement, leaning forward. “Is she here this evening?”

“She is,” Lark said, tension rising within her.

This was the last thing she wanted—for Mother to meet the group.

Or worse, Mr. Branok.

Her eyes traveled across the room to where Mother stood, her eyes already fixed on Lark as she took note of the party around her daughter. True to form, within a matter of seconds, Mother excused herself from the gentlemen of her own circle and forged her way toward them.

“As a matter of fact,” Lark began, sending a passing glance at Mr. Branok, “this is her now.”

Mother entered the circle right on time, her sweeping movements graceful. “My dear,” she greeted, “I see you have made friends. Do introduce me.”

Lark nodded, attempting to swallow her anxiousness. She had intentionally omitted any mention to Mother of Mr. Branok being young, single, and handsome. Mother was politeness herself, but she was shameless in her efforts to marry off Lark. What in Heaven’s name would happen when she discovered Mr. Branok’s amiability?

“Mother,” Lark began, “these are our friends from the expedition.”

She went around the group, introducing them as Mother smiled at each around the circle, though her curious gaze lingered on Mr. Branok.

“You are Mr. Branok?” Mother asked after the introductions, surprise in her tone.