“Henry,” she whispered as if he might be in the room and she could will him closer. She wanted to see him again so badly that the thought of doing so quickened her heart with a surge of something joyful that pushed away all of her reason and practicality. Tomorrow she might be filled with regret and feeling like a fool, but tonight she needed to see Henry, to talk to him face-to-face. While a part of her knew that any hope of them being together was entirely futile, for now she felt only impulsive and careless and undeniably in love. She had to see him! And she prayed that he would forgive her when he came to fully accept that there simply could never be any future for them together.

* * * *

As Henry set out again, right after supper, to ride to the Hepworth estate, he was initially overcome with a deep thrill that made his stomach quiver and his heart beat faster. But throughout the course of the ride, which took nearly half an hour, his excitement at the prospect of seeing Amala—and the hope that his letter might have convinced her to change her mind—settled into something akin to dread. If she refused him, he couldn’t even comprehend how he would respond. He’d considered the possibility, of course. In fact, he considered it to be a more likely outcome. But he’d been unable to keep himself from hoping, until the hope had gradually drowned out any skepticism. And now he only felt afraid. He recounted all of his thinking on the matter these past few weeks, and by the time he arrived he had to acknowledge his fears, but they were combined with determination. Perhaps she wouldn’t change her mind, but he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

Henry discreetly tethered his horse in the same place as he had done the previous evening. There was light shining through the carriage-house windows, but the windows were too high to see inside. He took a deep breath and willed himself to be calm before he went inside and closed the door quietly after him. He waited a long moment but saw no one, heard nothing.

“Everett?” he called. “Is anyone here?”

Henry held his breath when he heard a sound, and a moment later Amala stepped out from behind one of the carriages. Had she become more beautiful? Or had his memories not done her justice? Her black hair hung in long curls over her shoulders and down the front of a simple yellow dress, and she held a dark shawl around her arms.

“Amala.” Her name came through his lips on the wave of his breath as his lungs forced him to let it go. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t be here.”