“I believe Chit will go back to India, but I never will. Perhaps I’m just too softhearted and sentimental to live in a place with such extremes of beauty and horror. I’m not sure I could even handle going to certain parts of London. I prefer to hide out here in the country. Does that make me weak?”

“If you’re asking my opinion—and it sounds like you are—I don’t think that knowing what kind of man you are and choosing a life that suits you would amount to hiding or being weak.”

“You’re very kind, Everett. It’s no wonder Amala has gravitated to the carriage house all these years.”

Henry’s compliment hovered in the air until it became mildly awkward, as if Everett didn’t know what to say, and Henry was left wondering how to continue their conversation. He desperately wanted to know what Amala might have said to him before he’d left her alone in the carriage house, and perhaps Everett might even help him find Amala so that he could speak with her again.

Henry was just formulating the words to attempt crossing that bridge when Chit entered the stable and declared, “There you are, Henry, old boy.”

Henry sprang to his feet, feeling as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He quickly checked himself with a reminder that only his sudden, overwhelming feelings for Amala might remotely fall into that category—or at least they did from Amala’s perspective. But Chit knew nothing about that.

Henry casually introduced Chit to Everett, and they exchanged a respectful nod and a few words of appropriate greetings that Henry barely heard. Henry thanked Everett for the conversation, glad that Chit had no idea just how candid and tender their conversation had been. Within minutes Henry and Chit were riding away from Willenbrock House, away from what had been intended to be a casual visit. But Henry felt as if an invisible cord had wrapped itself tightly around his heart, tying him irrevocably to all that he was leaving behind, threatening to pull him back beyond his own will. He felt as if this place had become more home to him than his own home ever had been, and leaving caused him pain. Unconsciously he pressed a hand over the center of his chest as he rode and glanced back over his shoulder more than once, thinking of Amala sitting alone in the carriage house. And he knew he would never be the same.

Chapter Three

THE DECLARATION