Amala felt mortified to realize that Kat and her parents had known of her feelings for Henry all along. Had they purposely encouraged the two of them to go for walks in the garden, or to spend uninterrupted hours in the library or the carriage house, or to go riding? Probably! Had they truly been hoping that she and Henry would have married? Had they not shared her concerns about the difficulties it would cause? Those inevitable difficulties had not changed with the passing of time or the change of circumstances. She had worked very hard to come to terms with her feelings for Henry. And now . . . now . . . Kat had peeled away all masks and veils and pretending. It was too much! It was just too much!

Amala’s sobbing finally subsided into a numb kind of shock, as if Kat had already died. She lay down on the bed near her sister, as she often did, and wished that she could sleep, wanting the same oblivion Kat was presently experiencing. But her thoughts raced in circles and her heart frequently quickened its pace, making it difficult to breathe deeply.

When tea was brought to the room for her, Amala thanked the maid and picked at the offering a little, mostly just wanting it to appear that she had eaten something and enjoyed her tea. She found herself staring into a nearly empty cup of cold tea, wondering how to cope with losing her sister, wondering how to face her parents with her newfound knowledge that they’d been aware all along of feelings she’d tried so hard to pretend didn’t exist. And how would she ever come to terms with the promise she’d given her sister, even if she hadn’t known what she’d been promising at the time? She knew that Kat had planned the conversation carefully; she’d purposely led them into making the promise before telling them what it was, likely knowing that neither of them would have ever dreamed she would ask such a thing and that they would be willing to do anything to appease her on her deathbed.

Amala wondered where Henry was and what he was doing. If this was difficult for her, she couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling. She didn’t question to any degree that he had appropriately let go of his romantic feelings for her before he’d married Kat. She had felt the conviction of that in his letters, and she had certainly seen it in his eyes since she’d come home. He loved Kat as a husband should love his wife. Amala was a sister to him now, a friend. After all they had gone through to come to this point, how could they ever go back? What had once felt so wonderful and perfect now felt entirely wrong.