Riding toward home through an especially dark night, Henry was glad the horse could see better than he could and kept them firmly on the road. His mind was wandering to the possibilities before him that he’d been unable to foresee without Everett’s sound advice. Perhaps he could yet win Amala over and convince her to at least consider allowing him to court her. And if she never changed her mind on where she stood, he could at least know he’d done everything in his power to make that happen. He could never move forward in his life without knowing he’d sincerely exhausted every possible effort to let Amala know how very much he’d come to love her, and that his greatest desire was to spend the rest of his life with her—no matter what that life might entail.

* * * *

Amala decided to get out of bed at the very first hint of daylight creeping into her room. She’d endured yet another night of fitful sleep, interspersed with chaotic dreams, and she felt even more exhausted than when she’d gone to bed the previous evening. After putting on a simple day dress and her most comfortable shoes, she barely pulled a brush through her hair and grabbed a shawl, certain a brisk early-morning walk would help clear her head. The sun had come over the horizon by the time she got outside, and she stood for several minutes with her face turned toward the blinding light, her eyes closed, allowing it to bathe her in its warmth.

Amala walked the entire perimeter of the house, which was no small undertaking, and by some kind of gravitational pull she went to the carriage house. There was nothing she could talk to Everett about that they hadn’t already discussed over and over, but she always felt comfortable just being around him, even if they only shared meaningless small talk. He was the only person in the world who knew her completely, and therefore he knew the turmoil currently afflicting her while she attempted to accept that she’d fallen in love with a man with whom she could never share her life. She didn’t know if Everett would even be here yet, but if he wasn’t, she would enjoy finding respite in one of the empty carriages until it was time to go in for breakfast.

Amala entered the carriage house to find Everett there, but he was sitting on a stool, leaning back against a wagon used for transporting supplies from town, reading a book.

“No work to do this morning?” she asked, closing the door behind her.

“Worked late last night,” he said and closed the book. “I was hoping you’d come out here before breakfast.”