Chapter 3
L ark looked away in a rush, praying the man hadn’t thought she’d been staring, even if that was exactly what she’d been doing.
Yes, he was handsome, but she was more concerned about his tardiness.
Was this why matters had been delayed? Had the butler been informing the Chumleys of their final latecomer who would push them all back a quarter of an hour?
The man stopped a foot or two away, his gaze on her. She fought a good fight for ten seconds or so, then relented and met his stare.
He smiled, the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes appearing first.
She returned his smile with one of her own, then faced forward again, staring at the back of Mr. Branok’s bald head. She couldn’t lean to the side any longer to see more of Mr. Chumley. She would not wish for this man—this very attractive man—to think she was leaning closer to him.
“Typically,” Mr. Chumley was saying, “I venture forth on these excursions alone, spending weeks at a time away from my wife. She has never wished to join me on such dull outings, you see.”
More chuckles from the men sounded, but the gentleman beside her merely smiled.
Mr. Chumley continued. “This time, however, she is simply thrilled to join me, purely based on the fact that she shall have female companions to keep her company over the next two months. You women are a godsend to her, I assure you.”
Lark caught Mrs. Chumley nodding her head enthusiastically beside her husband, and most of the women laughed.
But once more, Lark didn’t join in. How could she? She hadn’t come on this excursion to play companion to some poor woman whose husband did not care to be around her. Lark was there to observe the birds herself. Was there no other woman attending with the same wish?
Aunt certainly wasn’t. She’d merely come to keep Lark and Uncle Francis company. The peacock woman was here for her husband, too, no doubt.
Did this mean Lark would be expected to keep company with the women instead of with the birds?
She internally shook her head. She had paid double her own fee—and both Aunt and Uncle’s charges—to join this tour.
And while the price was nothing to her fortune of forty thousand pounds and being the sole heiress of a large estate in Suffolk, Brackenmore Hall, she would not waste another pence on spending a day indoors when she could be venturing forth and adding to her list of birds.
Uncle would see reason, surely, and help her to be out with the others, would he not?
The tall gentleman beside her shifted his footing, and she caught the earthy scent of his cologne. It was quite a pleasant smell. One with which she wasn’t entirely familiar.
“Excuse me.”
Lark nearly jumped as the same man whispered to her, leaning slightly down so he was hidden by Mr. Branok, too.
This gentleman certainly wasn’t worried about propriety, was he? Speaking in the middle of the host’s instructions with a woman to whom he had not been introduced.
“Yes?” she asked in a returned whisper, stealing a glance at her aunt and uncle.
Both seemed entirely unaware of the man’s words.
“For how long has Mr. Chumley been speaking?” the gentleman asked.
Lark was having a difficult time focusing on his question, what with those sea blue eyes staring down at her.
“Only for a moment or two,” she finally responded.
He nodded. “Have I missed anything important?”
Other than Lark being classified in the same group as the other women not there for the birds? No, he had not. But then, that didn’t concern him anyway. He’d probably left his wife at home, as well.
“No, you haven’t,” she responded.
“Excellent. Thank you,” he whispered again.
His eyes remained on hers after she nodded, and she could see the clear curiosity in his gaze, but she stared straight ahead at Mr. Branok’s bald head, pretending to see Mr. Chumley.
“Now, according to the itinerary,” Mr. Chumley said, “we shall begin our adventure in Yorkshire, where we shall stay for a fortnight, exploring a few seaside towns, as well as the North York Moors. There, as I’m certain you are all aware, the common redstart has been known to inhabit this time of year. ”
Lark bit her lower lip to keep from grinning too broadly. She’d been desperate to catch a sight of the bird ever since she’d read about it in Thomas Bewick’s book, History of British Birds, Vol. I .
She was hopeless when it came to colorful birds.
Then again, she was hopeless when it came to all birds.
She couldn’t wait to see the puffins at Bempton Cliffs, choughs in Cornwall, even mallards in the Lake District.
Each bird was so marvelous, so different and unique, that she could not help but love them all.
Her journal was filled with well over one hundred species she’d found in her little corner of east England. But after this trip, her list would be as comprehensive as Mr. Branok’s.
Or so at least she could dream.
She looked at the man’s shining head, and she caught him stifling a yawn into his fisted hand.
Lark pulled back, forcing her frown to remain at bay. He was yawning? Did that mean he was bored? Or was he merely exhausted from traveling back from the West Indies?
She prayed it was the latter. She couldn’t abide the great disappointment she’d experience if this man did not love birds as deeply as his books would suggest.
Her thought didn’t last for long as the gentleman beside her leaned down once more to whisper. “Can you see well enough from there?”
Her cheeks warmed. He’d noticed, then. How had he seen her struggles when not even Aunt and Uncle had? She supposed she shouldn’t be too shocked, as they had yet to acknowledge the whispering man at the side of her either.
“I can, thank you,” she whispered back.
The man didn’t pull away. “Are you certain? You’re welcome to move closer over here. I’m happy to give up my spot for you.”
She glanced up at him, saw his friendly smile, but shook her head all the same. “No, but thank you.”
She faced forward more directly, hoping to dissuade him from speaking to her further. He was kind enough, but she wasn’t entirely aware of why he was being so kind. In her experience, if gentlemen behaved in such a way, it was to get to know her—or rather, her fortune—better.
He peered down at her again with that curious gaze, then looked at Mr. Chumley—whom he could actually see.
“Our journey to Yorkshire will be arduous,” Mr. Chumley said. “Three days of travel. This will be particularly difficult for the women, but I assure you, Mrs. Chumley has taken special care to ensure we have the best inns in which to recuperate.”
Lark fought the urge to roll her eyes. For heaven’s sake. Why did gentlemen feel the need to point out how difficult traveling was for the women? And why did some women feel the need to essentially swoon at the mere mention of a carriage ride? Coaches were not so very bad.
Of course, Aunt and Uncle would beg to differ. The poor dears both suffered with terrible sickness each time they sat in a carriage. She did not relish the upcoming journey for their sake.
Still, Uncle suffered just as greatly as Aunt, so why were only women singled out?
“Have you ever attended an excursion like this before?”
Lark started.
The gentleman beside her…He was speaking with her again . Did he not care about what was being said? She was trying to listen. Not that she needed to. She’d already memorized the itinerary months ago. Still, it was terribly rude to speak over their host in such a manner.
“No, I have not,” she stated. She gave a single nod, then faced forward again, leaning slightly away from him, even though that proved to hide her from Mr. Chumley even further.
“Not even around England?” he whispered next.
He was either oblivious or far too determined.
“No,” she replied simply.
“I have been fortunate enough to have attended a few myself,” he whispered with a smile.
Just then, Mr. Branok’s bald head swiveled round until he made direct eye contact with Lark. He sent her a clear look of intolerance, then shifted to face Mr. Chumley again—all the while still blocking Lark’s view.
Lark couldn’t believe it. This was not the way she’d hoped her first interaction with the naturalist would be.
How utterly humiliating! What was even worse was that she was not to be blamed in the slightest. It was the gentleman next to her.
He simply could not keep his mouth closed, so what was she to do?
She glanced round for aid, but Aunt and Uncle were still both focused intently on Mr. Chumley.
“We have a lovely estate set up for us,” he was saying. “The very best. Quite large…”
“Are you joined by your parents?” the gentleman whispered to Lark next. “Or your husband perhaps?”
Lark closed her eyes with barely restrained patience.
Just as she’d suspected. This was why the man was paying such close attention to her. He must be aware of her wealth, what with her being able to afford an excursion like this, and was now in search of adding to his.
This was exactly as it had been her entire life—exactly as it had been when she’d had her heart broken at the tender age of eighteen and exactly as it had been only a week before when one Sebastian Drake, a fortune hunter and supposed gentleman, had proposed to her after a mere week of knowing her, simply to benefit from her prosperity.
This was why she despised being wealthy—and why she would never marry. Certainly, wealth had its perks, and she knew how fortunate she was because of it. But she would rather be ignored during this entire excursion than to be paid attention to merely because of the fortune to her name.
Well, this gentleman had no idea whom he’d chosen to target. But he would soon enough.
As quietly and succinctly as possible, she discreetly shifted toward him and replied, “No. I am not joined by my parents but my aunt and uncle. As for the other matter, I do not have a husband. However, I will save you and I both the time and embarrassment by informing you that I intend to never have a husband. Now, if you will excuse me, I must end this conversation before we disturb Mr. Branok further.”
The gentleman pulled back. “Mr. Branok?” he whispered with a look of confusion that swiftly shifted to amusement.
“Yes,” she said, ignoring whatever it was he found humorous and tossing her head in the bald man’s direction. How could this man not know who was in his presence? Surely he’d seen the advertisement.
“Are you not aware that he is the esteemed and talented naturalist?” she continued. “I should hate to upset him more due to the incessant whispering of a gentleman who clearly does not take bird observing very seriously.”
“Madam,” the gentleman began, shaking his head, “you are mistaken…”
But she stopped him at once. Pulling a finger to her lips, she signaled to him as one would a disobedient child, then she faced forward with a frown, attempting to ignore the bemused look across his features.
What sort of gentleman found it humorous to be chastised? Clearly one with whom she did not wish to be acquainted.
“Let us now move on to introductions,” Mr. Chumley said, finishing his explanation of the schedule. “Then we may all proceed to the carriages.”
The group nodded in response, and Lark forced her eyes to remain off of the man still smiling beside her.
“You all know me, Mr. Daniel Chumley, and my lovely wife,” Mr. Chumley began, then he shifted to the peacock couple, who nodded at his words. “Mr. Charles and Mrs. Marie Shepherd.”
Mrs. Shepherd raised her arched eyebrows in greeting, and Mr. Shepherd bowed ceremoniously.
Next, the red-headed gentlemen nodded as Mr. Chumley introduced them.
“Mr. Michael Kay and Mr. Joseph Kay are, indeed, brothers, as I’m certain we all already established.
And then we have Mr. Stephen Gibbon.” The man with the small mustache tipped his head in greeting.
“At the back of the room are Mr. Francis and Mrs. Harriet Haskett with their niece, Miss Lark Fernside.”
A few eyes turned to look at Lark, no doubt at the introduction of her being single. Even Mr. Branok shifted his rotund body from in front of her, his eyes focusing condemningly at her.
Blast and wretch. Of all the people to have annoyed, why did it have to be him?
She smiled nonetheless, praying for another chance to make a good impression.
Then Mr. Chumley continued. “Next, we have Mr. John Dunn, who has traveled from Somerset. Welcome, sir.”
Lark looked to the man beside her, expecting him to bow in response to Mr. Chumley’s introduction, but when Mr. Branok bowed instead, she stiffened.
Mr. Dunn? The bald gentleman was Mr. Dunn? But then, if he was not Mr. Branok, who…
Slowly, her eyes shifted to the gentleman standing beside her. He was already watching her with a happy, knowing smile.