Henry watched Amala walk back to the bookshelves and pull one out, then she crossed the room and handed it to him. “Eventually someone will come looking for us, and when they find us here we should perhaps at least give the illusion that we’ve been reading.”

He looked down to see that he was holding a copy of Sense and Sensibility. He’d certainly heard of it but he had never read it, mostly because it was considered to appeal more to the feminine mind. But the pursuit of marriage was nothing if not two people striving to learn more about each other—and their gender—in order to better understand each other.

“Would you like me to read to you . . . or the other way around?”

“Both, perhaps,” she said. “Mostly I just want to talk . . . and pretend to be reading.”

“An excellent plan,” he said and kept the book open on his lap while she sat down on the couch and he turned more toward her. Time passed quickly as they talked of many things that had nothing to do with India, or politics, or social injustice.

A maid found them there to announce that it was time for tea, and they went together back to the drawing room to find Amala’s parents, and Kat and her friend, all seated for tea. Henry helped Amala with her chair, then sat across the table from her, next to Oliver.

Henry found Kat’s friend mildly annoying, mostly because she didn’t seem to find any interest in a topic of conversation that had any real depth. But he did appreciate how much Kat was enjoying her friend’s company. The friend left after tea, and the rest of them lounged about the drawing room while the rain continued, and Henry felt completely at home. He wished that such scenes might have taken place in his own home, but they never had. He felt comfortable enough with these people to share his thoughts, and he was once again reassured that he would forever be welcome. Even in setting his feelings for Amala aside, their genuine acceptance and open invitation meant more than he could ever tell them.