THE SECRET
Startled by the sudden realization of time passing, she wiped her tears, tucked the letter inside her bodice, and hurried into the house, hoping she wouldn’t be terribly late for breakfast and draw attention to herself—or worse, have missed it altogether. She entered the dining room, relieved to see the family all seated there and just beginning to eat.
“Forgive me for being late,” she said and sat down. “I woke early and decided to go for a walk and lost track of the time. Would you pass the marmalade, please?” she added quickly while reaching for a scone, hoping to distract them from any suspicion of the unrest she was experiencing.
“It’s a lovely morning,” her mother said, and typical small talk commenced, which allowed Amala the opportunity to put her emotional response to Henry’s letter into perspective. At least for the moment she could set all of that aside, and being with her family reminded her of how much difficulty she could bring into their lives by making a foolish decision.
As the meal was winding down, Oliver said to Viola, “Oh, I almost forgot. I received a message this morning from Henry Beckenridge.”
Amala coughed but managed to avoid choking, so no one seemed to notice.
Oliver continued. “You remember Henry? The lad who—”
“Of course I do!” Viola exclaimed with glee. “Such a fine young man!”
“Indeed he is,” Oliver added. “Why, even in his youth I remember being very fond of him, and now that we’ve all got so much in common with the boy, I almost feel like he’s one of the family.”
Amala barely managed to keep from coughing again before Oliver went on. “He wrote to apologize for not accepting the previous invitations I’d sent to him; been rather busy settling in, apparently. As soon as we’re done here I’m going to send a message back to him straightaway. I want him to know he’s always welcome in our home and there’s no need to stand on formality and all that. With any luck I can convince him to show up for tea—or even supper—as soon as he can manage.”
“Oh, that would be splendid!” Viola declared and turned to look at Kat and Amala. “Isn’t he a fine young man, girls?”
“He’s very handsome,” Kat said, “and kind . . . as much as I can recall.”
Amala knew she needed to say something while she wondered futilely what Henry’s intentions might be. She couldn’t imagine him going against her wishes and saying anything to her parents about his feelings unless he had her permission first. Did he intend to make his presence in her home and in her life more frequent in order to further his cause? Forcing her mind to the present, she simply stated, “Mr. Beckenridge will be very amiable company, I’m certain.”
After breakfast Amala excused herself and hurried up to her room, where she sat in the middle of her bed and read the letter again. The sincerity of his words became more evident, and she felt them wrap around her heart like a warm blanket on a cold night. She wanted to believe everything he was telling her. But it only took a glance toward a nearby mirror to be reminded that she and Henry were like oil and water; no matter how hard one might try to mix them, one always settled above the other. She wondered what she should do now. She wanted to see Henry so much it nearly caused her physical pain to think of it. But she feared what seeing him might do to her. If reading his letter had left her confused and losing all reason, how might she respond to being in his presence? She considered writing a letter in return and leaving it with Everett. A written response would give her the opportunity to consider her words carefully and therefore hold fast to her resolve over the matter. But then how might she respond to seeing Henry when he showed up for tea on any given day?
The dilemma was making her head ache, and she was considering the need for a nap when a knock at the door startled her. She stuffed the letter beneath her pillow and quickly laid down, trying to make it look as if she’d already been relaxed before she called, “Come in.”
Kat entered and closed the door behind her. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Just a little tired,” Amala said. “For some reason I woke up very early and couldn’t go back to sleep. Nothing a nap won’t set right.”
“Are you certain?” Kat asked. “You just haven’t seemed quite yourself lately, and it seemed a little worse this morning. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine, truly,” Amala insisted.
“Well, I don’t believe you,” Kat said and sat next to Amala on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “You’ve seemed especially sad since you made your declaration that you have no intention of ever marrying. It makes me wonder if you’ve really thought it through as carefully as you should.”
“I assure you that I’ve thought it through very carefully.”
“But you don’t want to talk about it at all,” Kat said.
“There are things you don’t ever want to talk about,” Amala countered. “I didn’t say my decision wasn’t difficult, but I believe it’s right.” She thought that prior to reading Henry’s letter she would have said that she knew it was right. Now, she mostly felt afraid—of her own feelings as much as of Henry’s. But she fought to keep her expression noncommittal and her emotions concealed. Doing so was easier with her eyes closed. She didn’t want to talk about it. The issue was simply something Kat could never fully understand. She was kind to a fault, but her way of thinking was often simple and limited, whereas Amala always felt the need to analyze everything to its core. She’d never tried to talk such things through with Kat for that very reason. She loved her sister dearly, but she accepted how very different they were.
When Kat changed the subject to talk of some gossip among the servants, Amala felt relieved, but Kat quickly tired of that topic and began speculating over the possibility of Chit and Henry coming to visit more frequently. Kat admitted she would like that very much; she was drawn to both men and would like to get to know them better, considering they each had fine qualities.
“I’m certain they are both fine men,” Amala said, still keeping her eyes closed.
She was about to reiterate her need for some sleep if only to put an end to the conversation, when Kat apologized for chattering, seeing that Amala was obviously tired. Kat pressed her usual sisterly kiss to Amala’s forehead and left the room. Amala was only alone for a minute before unexpected tears wet her closed lashes.
“Henry,” she whispered as if he might be in the room and she could will him closer. She wanted to see him again so badly that the thought of doing so quickened her heart with a surge of something joyful that pushed away all of her reason and practicality. Tomorrow she might be filled with regret and feeling like a fool, but tonight she needed to see Henry, to talk to him face-to-face. While a part of her knew that any hope of them being together was entirely futile, for now she felt only impulsive and careless and undeniably in love. She had to see him! And she prayed that he would forgive her when he came to fully accept that there simply could never be any future for them together.
* * * *
As Henry set out again, right after supper, to ride to the Hepworth estate, he was initially overcome with a deep thrill that made his stomach quiver and his heart beat faster. But throughout the course of the ride, which took nearly half an hour, his excitement at the prospect of seeing Amala—and the hope that his letter might have convinced her to change her mind—settled into something akin to dread. If she refused him, he couldn’t even comprehend how he would respond. He’d considered the possibility, of course. In fact, he considered it to be a more likely outcome. But he’d been unable to keep himself from hoping, until the hope had gradually drowned out any skepticism. And now he only felt afraid. He recounted all of his thinking on the matter these past few weeks, and by the time he arrived he had to acknowledge his fears, but they were combined with determination. Perhaps she wouldn’t change her mind, but he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
Henry discreetly tethered his horse in the same place as he had done the previous evening. There was light shining through the carriage-house windows, but the windows were too high to see inside. He took a deep breath and willed himself to be calm before he went inside and closed the door quietly after him. He waited a long moment but saw no one, heard nothing.
“Everett?” he called. “Is anyone here?”
Henry held his breath when he heard a sound, and a moment later Amala stepped out from behind one of the carriages. Had she become more beautiful? Or had his memories not done her justice? Her black hair hung in long curls over her shoulders and down the front of a simple yellow dress, and she held a dark shawl around her arms.
“Amala.” Her name came through his lips on the wave of his breath as his lungs forced him to let it go. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t be here.”
“I feel afraid of what the consequences might be of my being here,” she admitted, and he saw her put a hand over her heart. “I’m not certain it’s wise, but . . .”
“But?” he asked when she hesitated.
She looked away when she spoke. “Your letter was very convincing. You made some valid points, but . . . you need to know it doesn’t necessarily change how I feel about the matter . . . or what I believe is best.”
“Sometimes following your heart is not the easiest course,” he said.
“As you mentioned in the letter.” She looked at him again.
Overcome with a sudden desperation, as if she might run away again and never come back, he stepped toward her, relieved when she didn’t back away. “I would do anything for you, Amala. With time I hope you will come to believe that’s true.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his, and he could see her shoulders rise and fall with her breathing. “I already believe it’s true,” she said. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean that being together is the best decision . . . for us . . . for our families.”
“You are wise and strong, Amala. But I hear you telling me the way things should be according to the dictates of our society. I hear you speak of the matter with perfect practicality.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But what does your heart tell you, Amala?”
As soon as he asked the question, he noticed her teetering slightly, and he took hold of her upper arms to help steady her. She lowered her head as if she were dizzy and took hold of his arms in the same manner. When she lifted her head, he’d pressed his lips against her brow spontaneously, with no resistance on either of their parts. He pressed a lengthy kiss there and felt her hands tighten around his arms.
“I’m so afraid to speak what is in my heart, Henry. I’ve seen so much in my life that makes me believe only heartache and suffering could possibly come from our being together. How can knowing you so short a time make me question all of that? I don’t know if I can ever balance out what I know and what I feel.”
She looked up at him with raw vulnerability visible in her eyes, as if she hoped that he could give her all the answers; at the same time, they both knew he couldn’t. But there was something he knew he could say, something he needed to say, one of the main things he’d come here tonight to say. “Amala, those are the things we need to talk about. I think we need to listen to our hearts enough to at least . . . give the matter some time . . . talk through the things we’re feeling . . . and the things we’re afraid of. I don’t think I can go on with my life and have any peace if I don’t know that I’ve done everything I could to be absolutely certain—one way or the other. That’s all I’m asking, Amala. Please . . . don’t turn me away without . . . giving yourself time . . . to at least consider the possibility. You’ve spent years convincing yourself you could never marry or have children. Surely we can take some weeks—or even months—to consider the alternative.”
Henry could see in her eyes that her thoughts were racing; he could well imagine the internal argument taking place. But he kept his gaze firmly connected to hers, as if that in itself might keep her from saying no.
“I have one condition,” she said, and a little burst of laughter came out of his mouth. His relief was so overwhelming he almost felt a little dizzy himself.
“Anything!” he said, fearing even as he said the word that he might regret doing so.
“I don’t want anyone to know,” she said.
“What?” he asked, not because he hadn’t heard her, but because her condition was so contrary to his own vision of courting her and spending as much time with her as he possibly could. He’d only spent one afternoon in her family’s home, and they already felt more like family to him than anyone ever had. How could they possibly keep anyone from knowing how they felt about each other?
“Until we both agree that moving forward in life together is the right thing, I need all of this to remain a secret.”
“Why?” he asked, still holding tightly to her arms. “Explain to me how that’s possible and give me a reason that I can live with.”
“I have made it clear to my family that I would never marry,” she said. “They’re not happy about it at all, even though they understand my reasoning. To suddenly announce my feelings for you would cause confusion and upset. Also . . .” She looked down again, and he’d come to recognize that she avoided his eyes when she needed to say something especially difficult. “If it doesn’t work out . . . I don’t want people speculating or ridiculing you for having any romantic association with me at all.” She looked up at him again, apparently having said the worst of it. She must have known he would protest because she put her fingers over his lips. “You haven’t lived in England for nine years. Please trust me when I tell you that it’s better if we keep it a secret . . . for now . . . until we know for certain.”
Henry still wanted to protest, but she didn’t move her fingers. A smile broke her solemn countenance and filled him with fresh hope even before she said, “You can make a nuisance of yourself by coming to tea and supper, and my parents will love every minute of your company. And you and I can take long walks in the garden and lounge about in the library while my family believes we’re talking about India. And if one day we announce that our friendship has become something more, we will cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Henry was feeling better about her condition, except for one thing. He moved her fingers from over his lips and kept hold of them. “And what if it doesn’t work out between the two of us? Will any friendship gained with you and your family suddenly become awkward and I’ll have to stay away without explanations, making myself a fool?”
“No,” she said firmly and with compassion. “Whatever friendship you find among us will be forever. It is only the possibility of marriage that must be carefully considered. I believe we are both mature and sensible enough to move forward appropriately—either way.”
Henry let that settle in for a long moment, amazed at how wise and strong she truly was. He didn’t want to keep their feelings for each other a secret, but she was making a compromise in order to give him a fair chance, and he needed to respect her wishes. Knowing that she was the kind of woman who would honor her word and that they could all remain friends no matter what made him feel much better. He’d fallen in love with Amala, but he’d also loved the time he’d spent in her home with her family. He’d missed all of them since he’d last been here. In his heart he believed that he and Amala were meant to be together and somehow it would all work out. Either way, the prospect of spending time with her family warmed him—especially when his own home was so bitterly cold.
“Very well,” he said. “I agree to your condition, but I have one question: Are we alone here?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, barely getting the words out before he pressed his lips over hers, wondering how many times he’d imagined this moment since he’d last seen her. The response he felt in her kiss was more soothing to his soul than anything ever had been. “I love you, Amala,” he whispered against her lips and kissed her again.
“I love you too, Henry,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “Oh, how I pray we don’t regret this. How I pray we’re not just bringing more heartache into our lives by even considering this.”
“Don’t think about that now,” he said and took her face into his hands. He’d longed to touch her beautiful, dark skin from the moment he’d laid eyes on her in a crowded ballroom. He threaded his fingers into her black hair while he closed his eyes to savor the way it felt, and pressed his forehead to hers. He wanted to kiss her again, but considering the intensity of his attraction to her, he resisted the temptation and focused on how good it felt to just be with her and to have the hope of sharing his future with her. Knowing, at the very least, that he would be able to spend a great deal more time with her and her family left him inexplicably happy. In contrast to how he’d been feeling the majority of the time since he’d returned from India, he basked in the sensation and didn’t take it for granted.
“Come with me,” she said, taking his hand. They went deeper into the carriage house, almost to the rear, where an older but well-preserved vehicle was located. Amala nodded toward the door as if he should know what to do. He opened it and took her hand to help her step inside before he followed her and closed the door behind him, accepting her invitation to sit next to her on an especially lush blue velvet seat that had also been well-preserved.
“Is this where you come to hide?” he asked. Although it was difficult to see her face in here, he still knew she was astonished by the question. “Everett told me you were keen on finding places to hide in the carriage house, which is how you and he became such good friends.”
“Yes,” she said, “this carriage is my favorite. It’s comfortable, and it never gets used anymore—old as it is.”
“I can think of much worse places to hide,” Henry said, taking hold of her hand.
“My father considered selling it at one time, but Everett talked him out of it. I’m certain my father knew the reason for Everett’s protest, even if he never said so. I believe my family knows there are times I just need to be alone, and they know I’m safe here. Which reminds me . . . as for Everett, he is the exception to our needing to keep all of this a secret. We can trust him. I discussed the possibility of this with him before you came. I told him he could speak freely with you; there isn’t anything about myself I don’t want you to know. But there are perhaps some things I would rather not tell you myself. He knows everything. He can be our liaison and our confidant—if you’re all right with that.”
“It’s fine. I like Everett.”
“And it’s evident he likes you,” she said. “I confess there were things he said that made me realize I should at least give this a chance.”
“Then I am grateful to him,” Henry said, letting go of her hand to put his arm around her shoulders. He loved the way she leaned against him, and he pressed a kiss into her hair.
“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she murmured, and he felt as if he were dreaming. He refused to think about how it might feel if the dream ended when all was said and done.
“I’ve missed you too,” he admitted. “More than I can say.”
“How is it possible to feel this way, Henry, when—not so long ago—we didn’t even know of each other’s existence?”
“I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times,” he said.
Long moments of silence ensued, as if they both needed time to simply accept this dramatic change in their relationship. Henry still wasn’t keen on the idea of keeping all of this a secret, but he kept his thoughts steered toward his gratitude that she was at least willing to spend time with him and give what they shared a fair chance. Trying not to think about the possible outcomes, he sought for a way to initiate conversation. That was what he’d wanted—the opportunity for them to get to know each other better, to become more comfortable with each other. Except for the secretive aspect of their arrangement, that was surely the purpose of courting. He just needed to look at it that way, even if their situation was far from conventional.
“I used to find places to hide in my home,” he said. “When I was a young child, my parents could hardly be in the same room without arguing, and I hated it. I would try to get as far away from them as possible—grateful that it was a very big house—and I would hide until I knew the argument was over.”
“What did they argue about?” Amala asked, sincerely interested.
“Everything,” Henry admitted. “To be truthful, my mother is the most difficult and cynical person I have ever known. I don’t say that to be unkind; it’s just a fact. As I understand it, from talking to different people who knew them before the marriage, she was always that way, but she pretended to be very much otherwise in order to catch herself a wealthy husband. Once they were married her facade quickly disappeared, and they were never happy together. I remember never wanting to be around my mother; I much preferred my father’s company. He was kind and genuinely interested in me. I don’t remember very much of him, but I do recall how he told me I would one day inherit all that was his, and I could do whatever I wanted with it, but the only way to be truly happy was to use such great blessings to do good. Those are words I’ve tried to live by.”
“What happened to him?” Amala asked, knowing his father had passed away many years ago.
“He died suddenly; an illness that came on very quickly. There was little warning. My heart was broken, and to make matters worse, my mother only became more cantankerous and difficult to live with. I spent a great deal of time in Chit’s home and with his family. They were kind to me, but not necessarily warm. They’re very caught up in appearances and gossip. So, I kept finding places to hide. I was barely a man when Chit talked me into going to India with him. Going to the other end of the world seemed like a very good way to hide. I made certain every possible provision was put in place for my family’s care, and I left with hardly a second thought.”
“You have family besides your mother?”
“One sister,” he said. “But we were never close at all; she was almost like a ghost in my life. She made a good marriage while I was in India and moved far away. She has no contact at all with either me or our mother—in spite of our efforts to keep in touch. I believe she’s severed her ties, and I don’t blame her. In a way I did the same when I went to India. But I don’t regret the decision at all; it made me a better man in too many ways to count, even if the path to becoming better has left me with memories that are haunting.” He sighed loudly and concluded, “I returned to find my mother’s health very poor and her mood even more foul. Of course, I knew all of that from the occasional letters we exchanged. She was well cared for—and continues to be. But I confess I’ve come to see that there is nothing I can do to be a good son in her eyes, and it’s better for me if I just keep my distance. I check in on her every day and try to remain cheerful, but it’s not easy. I don’t know how my father did it. I believe the man was a saint.”
“I believe you must be very much like him,” Amala said.
Henry looked toward her in surprise, although he could barely see her face in the darkness of the carriage interior. “I think I’ve tried to be . . . although I was so young when he died that it’s difficult to know exactly what that means.”
“You’re certainly not cynical and cantankerous like you describe your mother.”
“Not that you know of, anyway,” he said in a teasing tone that he hoped would lighten the mood and draw attention away from himself.
She laughed softly and relaxed her head on his shoulder. “Won’t you be missed?” he asked, mindful of the time. He’d been hoping to speak with her for a few minutes. He felt blessed to be sharing this kind of time with her and hoped for many more such moments in the future.
“Not at all,” she said. “They all think I’ve gone to bed. Sometimes Kat sneaks into my room late at night to talk, but she’s not feeling well and went to sleep right after supper. Since Mother gave her a spoonful of what she calls the once-a-month concoction, I’m certain Kat is sleeping deeply.”
“The once-a-month concoction?” he asked, and she let out a little laugh that sounded mildly embarrassed.
“Forgive me,” she said. “My father is very comfortable—given that he has a wife and two daughters—having such things discussed freely in his presence. But I’ve been taught that it’s not proper to talk about such things in front of those of the opposite gender.”
“Men, you mean,” he said, and she nodded. “Such things?”
She was slow to answer, as if measuring her words carefully. “The unique facets of womanhood that sometimes confine her to bed once a month.”
“Ah,” he said with understanding.
“Are you shocked that I would be so bold? My mother told me that any gentleman would be, but I don’t think I believed her; obviously I didn’t or I would have been more discreet.”
“No, I’m not shocked, and I’m not naive. You might be shocked to realize how much men are aware of such things and really don’t care. It’s impossible to live under the same roof with a woman—whether it be a sister, a wife, a mother, or even a housekeeper—and not be somewhat aware of the days of their not feeling well.”
“Or the days of being unusually petulant?” Amala asked lightly.
“That too,” Henry said and chuckled. Her ability to be so candid and comfortable over the simple facts of life made him love her all the more. He felt certain that the more time he spent with her, the more he was doomed to just keep loving her more and more.
“Tell me about India,” she said. “Tell me how you felt when you first arrived there.”
“Oh,” he drawled, “that’s . . . very difficult to describe. I’d heard things, of course. Others who had been there offered a variety of descriptions—which varied mostly in relation to whether or not they’d liked it there. Some said it was a horrible, barbaric place. Others said it was beautiful and exotic and remarkable. I found it to be both. But . . . when I first arrived, not really knowing what to expect, I think I was mostly just . . . shocked. Yes, I was shocked. It was so dramatically different from anything I had ever seen that it had simply been beyond my ability to imagine. I felt as if I was sleepwalking somehow for the first several days I was there, looking at everything through some kind of daze. And I remember a day—it was more than a year later—when I realized that I’d become so accustomed to everything about India that it was difficult to remember what it had been like to live in England.”
“And how did you feel when you returned?” she asked. “Shock again?”
“In some ways, yes. But at least I’d been here before, I’d grown up here; I had memories of this place. It has been a very big adjustment, but it feels like home to me.” Instinctively he tightened his arm around her and pressed another kiss into the softness of her hair. “Now more than ever.”
Another stretch of silence made Henry realize he was getting tired, and the way that Amala was relaxed against his side let him know that she was as well.
“I think it’s time we both got some sleep,” he said, reluctantly removing his arm from around her. “I have a very important invitation to tea tomorrow.” He felt delighted at the prospect of being able to return so soon to spend time with Amala and her family.
“How lovely,” she said, letting him know she was pleased as well.
On their way out of the carriage house, Amala doused the lanterns as she’d promised Everett she would do. Henry walked her to a side door of the house, wanting to see that she got there safely. She turned to face him, and he felt the impending separation already saddening him, but he felt something else too and was quick to express it. “Thank you,” he said, “for . . . being willing to see me . . . for giving me a chance.”
“I pray you do not regret it,” she said, putting a hand to his face.
“My greatest regret would be spending my life wondering if I could have tried harder.”
He wondered if it would be improper to kiss her again, but she lifted her lips to his and he gratefully accepted her simple offering of affection.
“Good night, Henry,” she whispered. “Travel safely.”
“Not to worry,” he said. “The horse knows the way home in the dark.”
“Until tomorrow, then,” she said and went inside.
Henry stood there a long moment, just trying to soak in the essence of her that she might have left behind. The evening had gone far better than he’d dared hope—except for his agreeing to keep their relationship a secret. But he had renewed reason to believe that his future would be bright and that Amala would be a very real part of it.
* * * *
Amala could hardly sleep when her mind was consumed with reviewing every moment of her time with Henry. Her temptation to ignore her own edicts and give Henry a chance had been clinched when she’d asked for Everett’s advice and he’d told her that she’d never know whether or not she could trust her own heart if she didn’t allow herself to open it up enough to really hear what it was telling her. Unable to argue with such a point, Amala had forced away her fears and realized that if she and Henry could get to know each other better without anyone around them being aware of it, she could feel comfortable exploring the possibilities of changing her mind. A very big part of her still felt doubtful that—in the end—she wouldn’t still firmly believe that remaining unmarried was a better course. The practical part of her that feared bringing any difficulty into the lives of anyone she cared for believed that such a marriage could never take place and be worth the sacrifices. The same part of her believed that this experiment would eventually show Henry the harsh truth of how bad it could be for them. But for now, she chose to push all such thoughts away and do as Everett had challenged her to do: listen to what her heart was telling her and give it a fair chance to be heard.
Amala trembled with a delight she’d never felt before as she recalled her time with Henry. His kiss was as intriguing to her as the way they were able to share candid and respectful conversation. She was inexplicably grateful to know he would be visiting tomorrow, and she hoped they might be able to steal at least a few minutes alone together.
At breakfast Amala’s father announced with glee that Henry and Chit would be coming for lunch, and it was Oliver’s hope that the men would stay on through tea and perhaps even supper. Amala secretly shared his hope and his enthusiasm, but for entirely different reasons. She believed one of the biggest reasons her parents enjoyed entertaining company—at least when it was people they actually liked—was at least partly due to the restricted expectations of their place in society. Her father—like Henry and Chit—was a gentleman with ample wealth, and their family names and situations made it unseemly for them to engage in any kind of employment beyond matters of their estates, which were mostly taken care of by well-trusted overseers. The result was that the majority of this class of people—both male and female—were usually consumed with boredom. There was a very short list of acceptable occupations of one’s time, and those things often grew wearisome—especially after years of having little else to do. Therefore, positive social interaction was a great treat to such people. Given that Oliver and Viola were both very outgoing in nature and also very generous in sharing all they’d been blessed with, having people over to visit was a genuine pleasure for them. However, they had no interest in entertaining people who were snooty or gossipy. Although it had never actually been articulated, Amala knew that her parents carefully gauged people’s attitudes toward Amala being accepted as their daughter; it was like some kind of social barometer that determined whether or not people were ever invited more than once.
Amala’s insides were swarming with butterflies when their visitors arrived. Initially she felt a little worried about being able to maintain her and Henry’s secret around other people; she wasn’t certain she could keep herself from staring at Henry or from allowing her feelings to show. But she felt a deep relief just to see him enter the drawing room with Chit at his side. His greetings to everyone were comfortable and amiable, and within minutes he was chatting and laughing with the others, appearing completely relaxed. Occasionally he tossed a glance in her direction that was too discreet to alert anyone to his having a particular interest in her, but it was just enough to remind Amala that this man loved her. And she loved him. The more she observed him in such a setting, the more enamored with him she became.
Amala noticed how thoroughly her parents were enjoying themselves, and even Kat seemed comfortable and not so bored and eager to leave as she had been the last time both men had visited. Even their talk of India—which generally made Kat either bored or uncomfortable—didn’t seem to be bothering her. As the afternoon progressed, with seemingly endless things to talk about, Amala noticed that Henry seemed happy. In fact, there was a light in his eyes she’d not seen since she’d met him that night at the ball. Except that now it was brighter. She wondered if she was the reason for it. Was it possible that she could be responsible for making a man like Henry Beckenridge so happy? If so, could she make him happy enough to compensate for all the difficulties she would bring into his life? It was certainly a question worth pondering.
The two men did stay until after supper, and the day was delightful—except that not once could Amala find a reasonable excuse to have even a moment alone with Henry. After he’d left with Chit, she sat with her family while they revisited the highlights of the day, and they discussed the fine qualities of these men. Amala noticed they were being careful to respect her wish that they not speculate over the possibility of any gentleman being a good match for her. But they did speculate about one of these men being a good match for Kat. Hearing Kat analyze what she found favorable in both men, Amala felt decidedly uncomfortable. She’d not anticipated that keeping her secret would subject her to the possibility of Kat taking an interest in Henry. And her parents were very supportive of the idea of her doing so. Thankfully, at this point, Kat didn’t exhibit any more interest in Henry than in Chit; she considered them both equally good men and potentially good husbands. But what if her feelings changed? What if she became drawn to Henry? Amala wasn’t worried about how Henry would handle Kat’s attention should it come to that. If she didn’t know him to be a man of integrity, she would not have agreed to this absurd arrangement. But she was finding it much more difficult than she’d expected to keep herself from just telling her family that Henry was secretly courting her—as much as it was possible to do so and keep the matter a secret.
Two days later, Kat received a different gentleman caller, and she was clearly very fond of him as well. Amala realized that Kat really had no idea what real love felt like, and while she was conscious of seeking out the right characteristics in a man that would make him a good husband, she was seeing the men who came within her circle much the way she would consider choosing the right gown for an upcoming ball. Amala felt certain she had nothing to worry about in regard to Kat.
The day after that, Henry came to visit without Chit, and her parents were overtly thrilled to see him. But Henry was no less thrilled. Amala thought of what he’d told her about his own parents and the home he’d grown up in—and lived in now—and she found the interaction between him and her parents rather touching. Oliver and Viola had so much love to give, and they gave it so effortlessly. And Henry was sorely in need of the elements of home and family that he’d never received in his life—at least not since his father’s death. She noted how comfortable and relaxed he had become and how eagerly her parents invited him to make himself at home in every way. Her father even went so far as to say, “If you feel like taking a nap or something, find a spare couch and do so. If you’re hungry, just follow your nose to the kitchen.”
Henry chuckled and thanked Oliver for his kind hospitality, but she could see that the invitation was meaningful to him, and she wouldn’t be surprised if eventually he did those very things.
That afternoon it began to rain, and Kat received an unexpected visitor, a female friend she’d been acquainted with for years who had been traveling by carriage through this part of the county and had impulsively stopped to see if Kat might be at home. The two women went off to a parlor to visit at about the same time that Viola declared she was feeling the need for a nap and went upstairs. Noting that her father looked a little sleepy himself, Amala graciously offered to show Henry the library.
“A lovely place to spend the afternoon when rain keeps us away from the gardens,” Oliver declared before adding that he’d leave Amala to see that Henry had what he needed, and that he was going to follow his wife’s example and indulge in a nap.
“Don’t hold back on my account,” Henry said. “There’s no need for you to feel like you need to entertain me every minute I’m here.”
“Oh, we’re past that,” Oliver said with a chuckle. “But you’ll stay for supper?”
“I’d love to,” Henry said. “Far better company here than at the pub; the cook at my house won’t be expecting me.”
“Wonderful!” Oliver said and went off to take his nap.
For a long moment Amala just stared at Henry and he stared back in a way they never would have dared while there were other people in the room. Realizing the doors were open and there was risk of being overheard, she quickly said, “I think you’ll like the library. It’s one of my favorite rooms in the house.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said and followed her out of the drawing room, down the stairs, through two long hallways, and into the room that Amala considered the greatest representation of wealth in this or any other home—simply because it was filled from floor to ceiling with books.
“Oh, it’s remarkable!” Henry declared as he entered and she closed the door behind them. She watched him as he took in the massive shelves of books and the many long windows that emitted the overcast light of a rainy day over the furnishings that were fine but simple and designed for comfort in a room that was meant for long bouts of reading.
Amala was about to comment on what she particularly liked about the room when Henry turned to look at her, all pretense gone from his expression. In the time it took her to exhale, he closed the distance between them, pushed his arm around her waist and his other hand into her hair. He looked into her eyes for only a moment before he kissed her.
“Do you realize,” he asked softly, “the number of hours I have been in the same room with you, wanting to do that?”
“Yes, I’m well aware,” she replied and urged him to kiss her again.
Recognizing the need to behave rationally and keep their affection in check, Amala eased away from him and drew his attention to her reasons for loving the library—most specifically, all of the books.
“I loved to read even as a child in India,” she said, running her fingers over the spines of a long row of novels. “After I came here, reading was something familiar and safe. Of course, Kat and I had our lessons with tutors, and our play time, and we usually got along fairly well. But I couldn’t go a day without spending time with a good book. Reading is one of the few things that Kat and I firmly agree on. We would often lounge about here for hours, each taking one of the couches, throwing off our shoes, and just getting lost in another world.”
“What a lovely image that brings to mind,” Henry said, sitting on one of those couches while Amala continued to affectionately touch the books.
“Do you like to read, Henry?” she asked, still more focused on the books than on him.
“I love it,” he said. “In fact, it’s one of the things I do not have in common with Chit. He always wants to be up and doing something. He loves to learn new things, but he prefers to do so by meeting new people and being actively involved in whatever it is they do. I often chose relaxing with a good book over following him about on his adventures.”
“But you did follow him to India.”
“Yes, I certainly did. And I confess that nothing in a book could have ever described what I saw and experienced there. Still, I’ve learned from the experience that being a world traveler does not necessarily agree with me. I suppose I’ll just have to learn about other places in the world by reading about them.”
“That sounds perfectly reasonable to me,” Amala said and smiled, loving the way he smiled back.