“Our school,” Sophie breathed.
Her excitement was almost too much for Hazel to bear, and she hoped she had not made a mistake in saying so much. “Assuming my uncle agrees, which I do not think he will, so we must not get our hopes up.”
Sophie leaned forward, took Hazel’s hands again and lowered her head. “Our most righteous Lord,” she said in a soft voice. It took a moment for Hazel to realize Sophie was praying. Oh dear . . .
“Please hear the prayers of your daughters, who, through trial and struggle, have worked unfailingly to do good in this fallen world. Soften the heart of Hazel’s uncle, sharpen the desire of her own heart, and help us to navigate whatever might lie ahead.”
The words of Sophie’s spontaneous prayer echoed in Hazel’s room long into the night. Hazel had never said a prayer of her own, had never attended church outside of those services required at St. Mary’s. She had decided long ago that she had no place for a god who would give her a deformity that made it impossible for her to be loved. Not by her parents. Not by a man. Not by the children she would never have. It was far easier to view the world simply as a place where life was created, sometimes with mutations, and then that life died into nothingness. When others talked of God, she listened to their stories the same way she listened to Greek mythology and Irish folklore.
Sophie, however, had spoken to God in her prayer as though he were right there in the room, as though he would hear them and grant them their desires like a fairy godmother from a child’s tale.
Hazel would have scoffed and pulled her hands from the supplication but for the sincerity of Sophie’s intention and the . . . softening of the air in the room. The air had remained peaceful even after Sophie retired for the night, and though Hazel did not necessarily feel comfortable within . . . whatever had been left behind, she felt a peculiar energy that made her think that maybe that prayer had invited something metaphysical into their sphere.
And maybe that something would change things, and her life would not forever be limping from one school to the next to earn her daily bread. Maybe the result of that prayer would be something more than anything she’d dared hope for. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the soft air of the room, holding it close for a few moments.
Maybe.
Probably not.
Perhaps.
It is a reasonable solution for all of us,” Duncan said to Lord Howardsford after he finished repeating the explanation he’d given to Hazel a fortnight ago in the drawing room at her school in King’s Lynn where she had served him those excellent macarons. Saturday, September 13—today—had been the soonest Hazel could leave the school long enough to accommodate the travel to Howard House.
The meeting with her had gone so well that Duncan assumed it would go as well today. Things had become nearly unbearable at the office since he’d punched Mr. Ludwig in the nose.
The partners had not agreed with Duncan’s justification in hitting Mr. Ludwig—even though Duncan had told them Mr. Ludwig had shoved him first—and instead of reprimanding the other man for leaving early, they had moved the lout into Mr. Cromley’s office. Duncan was glad to have his office to himself again, but he was being given less new work to do and primarily proofed Mr. Ludwig’s work, which had not improved in quality.
The partners interacted with him very little, even Mr. Perkins with whom Duncan had always been on friendly terms. Mr. Ludwig acted as though Duncan were not there at all, laughed louder, left within minutes of the partners leaving each day, and, Duncan suspected, purposely did his work even more poorly than usual because he knew it irritated Duncan to have to fix it.
Duncan had chosen not to inform Lord Howardsford of the situation at the office because he did not know what the older man thought of violence, even if the violence was justified by self-defense. Also, though the proposal of he and Hazel marrying was both logical and brilliant, he needed Lord Howardsford’s good favor for this pursuit to be successful and therefore did not want to share anything of a negative nature.
Lord Howardsford did not respond for seven seconds after Duncan finished his explanation, so Duncan summarized the proposal in case the lengthier explanation had created confusion. He felt quite energized, which made him talkative.
“Cousin Hazel can secure her future with the purchase of Cordon Academy, I can open my own office that keeps consistent hours and hires competent junior clerks, and you will have achieved the goal of having your niece and nephew properly married as you feel is right.”
Duncan took a breath, quite satisfied with how this was going. He had arrived nearly an hour before Hazel. The travel from Ipswich had been horrible, as he’d known it would be, and he’d walked the grounds until her hired carriage had arrived, then hurried to meet her so they could enter Howard House together.
She had smelled of lavender, as she always did, which he liked very much. They’d had a delicious lunch, just the two of them due to the hour of their arrival, and Hazel had agreed to let him do the talking when they met with Lord Howardsford. Not that Hazel would have done a poor job had she served as mouthpiece—she continued to impress him with her personable disposition and quick intellect—but as the plan was his idea, it seemed fair that he be the one to present it.
When he’d said as much to Hazel, she had smiled and said, “By all means. Take the lead.”
Lord Howardsford stared back at Duncan, his expression unreadable, though many expressions were difficult for Duncan to interpret. Duncan looked at Hazel, who fidgeted with the lace at the cuff of her white-and-purple-striped dress—the same dress she had worn when they met together in King’s Lynn. Fidgeting with her cuff was a nervous movement, and he felt bad that she was feeling unsettled. It was much more comfortable to feel confident and optimistic.
“So,” Lord Howardsford said, drawing Duncan’s attention back to him.
Duncan straightened in his chair, anticipating Lord Howardsford’s positive response and imagining Mr. Cromley’s regretful reaction when Duncan marched into the office and told them he was now their landlord, would not work for them anymore, and would be setting up a new office in Mr. Southey’s room in direct competition with their own business, which now only employed one incompetent junior clerk.
“Your plan is that you and Hazel marry each other”—he waved his hand between the two of them—“in order to collect your inheritances and . . . ?”
After six seconds of silence, Hazel said, “That is all.”
Duncan looked at her and then back at Lord Howardsford, whose lips were rather pale and pinched. He looked an awful lot like Catherine had when she was angry, which made sense since they were siblings and would therefore have similar expressions but did not make sense because Lord Howardsford had no reason to be angry. Unless he was angry about the plan Duncan had presented.