Chapter Four

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.”