Amala heard the door opening behind her and straightened her back. A maid would have knocked lightly before entering. She steeled herself to face her mother or father, wondering what she should say, or if she should say anything yet before talking to Henry about how they should handle this. She hoped it might be Paulina, who was her closest confidante. She sincerely hadn’t expected it to be Henry until she heard him say, “I was hoping you’d still be here.”

Amala’s heart began to pound at the sudden realization that she now felt completely awkward and uncomfortable about even being in the same room with him. She heard the door close and set down her teacup but remained as she was. He walked slowly past her and stood at the window, his back to her. Silence echoed around them, making the awkwardness more evident. Amala turned to look at Kat, seeking evidence that she was still breathing while she slept deeply. The subtle rise and fall of the sheet covering her chest assured Amala that she’d not left them yet.

Amala wondered if she was supposed to speak, but minutes of thinking brought no words to mind that she dared utter. Henry finally said, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this, Amala. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

“I don’t think how you’re supposed to feel is the issue, Henry. It’s how you really feel that matters.”

“I don’t know that, either.”

“Nor do I,” Amala admitted, “other than feeling like a fool for believing that no one would have figured it out.”

“Yes, there is that,” Henry said sourly.

Amala tried to think sensibly and put some sound reason into the situation. “As I see it, Kat is nearing the end, and that’s what we need to focus on now. We can discuss the other when all of this is . . . behind us.”

“That sounds very practical,” Henry said in a slightly acrid tone that reminded her of the times when she’d been trying to convince him they should not court publicly, let alone be married. “You’ve always been very good at being practical . . . sensible.” It almost sounded like an insult.

“I don’t know how else to be . . . especially now. Losing Kat this way is likely one of the most awful things that will ever happen to any of us. If I allow myself to think too much about the rest right now . . . I will completely fall apart. And I can’t. I need to be strong. My parents need to be strong. And so do you.”