“I agree with that as well,” Amala said, but she couldn’t put a voice to her next thought. He’d already admitted to feeling cheated out of the life he’d hoped to live with Kat. But it was evident he was still grateful for whatever amount of life he would have with her.

Suddenly overcome with far too much to think about and a storm of unvented tears, Amala hurried to say, “Thank you for telling me what I needed to know, Henry. I need some time alone. Please . . . let me know if there’s anything I can do to help Kat.”

“I will,” he said, and she walked briskly to her room, where she curled up on the bed and cried until her mother found her there and they cried together.

* * * *

Amala and her mother both managed to control their emotions enough to go down to tea. But the family gathering didn’t feel at all like old times. Paulina was there but Kat was not, since she was still resting. Oliver and Viola had given Paulina the horrible news while Amala and Henry had been talking; therefore, they were all able to talk about their feelings—something they likely couldn’t have done if Kat had been in the room. In fact, Viola came right out and said that Kat had asked that the subject not be brought up in her presence. She wanted to enjoy life while it lasted, and they all felt it was important to respect her wishes. So they would all do their grieving when Kat wasn’t around—and when she was, they would all pretend that nothing was wrong. It seemed like a horrible way for a family to live, Amala thought, but she couldn’t deny the wisdom in it. She’d just never believed that something like this could happen in her family, to her sister. And she also found it difficult to believe that Henry was here, in the very middle of the drama. When she’d been stewing about how it might be to adjust to living under the same roof with Henry, this was certainly not what she’d imagined.

Amala was understandably surprised when the woman who entered the drawing room to serve tea was Indian. And not only Indian, but dressed in traditional Indian clothing rather than the English clothing worn by the other servants in the household.

“Hello,” Amala said to her, which she hoped would ease any awkwardness over the fact that she knew she was staring at this woman. It was rare for Amala to come face-to-face with someone who shared her Indian blood, but to see this woman in her own home felt delightfully exciting.