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“News travels fast.”

“When it comes to Lord Blackstone, it certainly does. When do you depart?”

Henry glanced anxiously toward Miss Fernside, the music finally ending as the dancers clapped.

“First week of June.” He hesitated, then, at the risk of being seen as impolite, pushed forward. “Mr. Drake, may I ask you something?”

Mr. Drake faced him more directly. “Of course.”

Henry drew a deep breath. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

Exhausted already, Lark allowed Mr. Taylor to lead her from the floor, but before she could even be returned to Mother’s side, another gentleman, Mr. Jensen, swooped in with a small smile.

“May I have the pleasure, Miss Fernside?”

Lark graciously nodded, though her insides screamed in protest. She couldn’t take another dance with another polite gentleman. Not unless that gentleman was Mr. Branok.

But he had already no doubt left the ball, having had no desire to occupy the same room as Lark, let alone the same set.

“I have so looked forward to this moment, Miss Fernside,” Mr. Jensen continued. “I truly⁠—”

“Lark, I must speak with you.”

Lark stood back at Uncle’s sudden presence, his eyes wide and figure cutting off Mr. Jensen entirely.

“Can it wait, Uncle?” she whispered, motioning to the gentleman who looked positively affronted. “I was just about to dance with Mr. Jensen here.”

Uncle dropped his voice. “Is Mr. Branok here this evening?”

“I believe he was,” she replied as passively as possible.

“Then no, it cannot wait. Mr. Jensen, do excuse us.”

Lark gave the man an apologetic look, though she could not feel any regret herself, as she had just been rescued from at least one dance this evening.

She followed Uncle through the crowds. He moved to the outskirts before facing her with a look of urgency.

“I am sorry for the interruption, Lark, but this could not wait.” He drew a deep breath, his eyes focused. “I have discovered the truth about Mr. Branok just now in the card room. No one talks like a man filled with brandy.”

Lark grimaced, her stomach unsettled, as if she were being tossed about by a rowboat. She hadn’t received enough sleep or rest in the last few days to be able to manage this right now. “Uncle, I’m not sure…”

But he stopped her with a shake of his head. “I know this is difficult, but it must be known, Lark.”

Lark looked away, knowing Uncle would tell her even if she begged him not to. She knew he was simply trying to protect her, but listening to this felt like a betrayal.

“As I was playing,” Uncle began, “I overheard an older gentleman from Blackstone’s sharing that Mr. Branok has just recently agreed to a new excursion. This time to India. He will leave a week before our own expedition ends.”

Lark’s heart instantly lifted. India. He was finally going to India. She couldn’t imagine the joy he must be feeling. And yet, her own spirits slowly lowered as she realized what that meant for her—losing out on an entire week with Mr. Branok.

It shouldn’t have upset her as much as it did, seeing as how Uncle was attempting even now to sever her relationship with Mr. Branok. But still, she’d thought she’d have longer to prepare before her time with him completely ended.

“I heard this news and instantly sought the man out,” Uncle continued, oblivious to the torrent within Lark. “From him, I discovered that Mr. Branok was blackballed because…” He glanced around them, ensuring they were unheard as he whispered. “Because he published a series of articles criticizing every club owner within London, spreading false rumors, and tearing them apart—all anonymously.”

Lark hesitated, the information settling over her as slowly as a sparrow-hawk coming in for a leisurely landing. The information certainly wasn’t as heinous as Uncle had first led her to believe.

“What sort of things were written?” she asked.

“The older gentleman said they were so horrible, he dared not repeat the phrases. But the club owners were deeply injured. Years later, they are still dealing with the aftermath of the rumors.”