The vicar sat back down, and Amala became keenly aware of the sound of Henry’s footsteps coming closer before he sat beside her and reached for her hand, but she had trouble letting go of the bench in order to allow him to take it. He noticed and whispered, “I’m guessing you’re rather upset and trying very hard not to show it. How typical of you.” There was the tiniest hint of snideness in his voice; but she couldn’t blame him. She knew it was only a symptom of the way she had treated him so cruelly.

Amala noticed a glance from Mr. Guthrie, which made his surprise evident that Henry Beckenridge was sitting close to her, speaking to her, when he’d likely assumed their both being here at the same time had surely been coincidence.

“I know,” Henry added quietly, very close to her ear, “why you agreed to this without the kind of protest you are so famous for. You know he will be wholeheartedly against the possibility of our union, and you will feel utterly vindicated to prove that you were right all along.”

“I only know for certain that he doesn’t approve of me in any way. I would assume he’d be opposed to a fine gentleman such as yourself being associated with me at all.”

“Then let’s leave. We don’t have to talk to him. It was a bad idea. Come away with me now.”

“And what?” she asked, continuing to whisper. “You told me yesterday that it couldn’t go on this way. If we’re not going to marry, it has to end.”

“Then marry me. We’ll leave now and go to Scotland. Everett can take a message to your parents. Forget your fears, Amala. Trust me when I tell you that I love you enough to make up for all else.”