Henry leaned slightly closer, as if he meant to tell her a secret, although he could have likely shouted and no one would have been able to hear what he said due to the din of music and laughter in the room. “I’m hoping you would do me a very big favor,” he said, and for a moment she wondered if he was proposing something scandalous. “You see . . . I’m feeling a little . . . disoriented, and I do believe there is no one here I could talk to about it but you.”

“Why?” she asked, hearing an abruptness in her voice that she knew wasn’t customary for her.

Instead of answering the question, Henry relaxed in his chair and looked toward the crowded ballroom. “I saw you watching the Indian servants. Curiosity? Intrigue? You’re probably wondering why they’re here. I’m guessing you’ve been to a social in this home before, but these particular servants weren’t here and you’re wondering why. Well, I can tell you. The eldest son of the Roderick family just returned from India last week.”

Amala looked sharply toward Henry but he didn’t seem to notice as he continued. “The servants you see wearing their native dress are very dear to him, and given the choice, they wished to remain with him and come to England.”

“And you know this because . . .” She purposely left the sentence unfinished.

“Howard Roderick has been my closest and dearest friend since we were children.” He turned to look at Amala. “I went to India with him, and I too returned just six days ago.”

Amala’s vision blurred from the moisture that filled her eyes before she could even think to try to hold it back. The fragments of her heart that were forever tied to her homeland suddenly hung on every word that might come out of this man’s mouth. The silence between them grew, but she couldn’t speak without betraying how overcome she felt, and she didn’t want to risk embarrassing herself.

Henry saved her when he said, “You told me you left India when you were a child. How much do you remember? I saw colors there like I’ve never seen in England—the flowers, the clothing, the decor. The streets of the cities were so noisy, but it wasn’t at all the same kind of noise as the noise in the streets of London. The hills and valleys have a beauty there unlike anything that can be seen in this part of the world. And the—”