Though Hazel’s students were usually gentry of one level or another, she learned a lot about their upbringings by observing their manners when they first arrived. Duncan’s manners were excellent—aside from his having shaken her hand instead of bowing over it—and above what Hazel would expect from the son of a laborer raised by a disgraced woman who, though the daughter of a viscount, had abandoned her privilege for reasons Hazel had never been told. Aunt Catherine was not the only scandal in the Mayfield line, but her fall from grace had taken a fair amount of the family reputation with it—people did not give up what she had given up.
“And where do you live, Duncan?”
He swallowed before he answered but still did not look at her. “In an upper apartment of the Burrow Building on Providence Street in Ipswich, number four.”
“I have never been to Ipswich,” Hazel said conversationally after giving adequate pause to allow him to expand, which he did not. “Do you like it there?”
“Yes.” He paused in his breakfast, then looked up at her. He held eye contact for only a moment before turning his attention back to his plate. “You live in King’s Lynn, the once-famous port city, and you teach mathematics at a school for girls.”
Hazel startled slightly. “How did you know?”
“Lord Howardsford told me. He also said you are a twin with your brother, Harold, who was birthed ten minutes after your birth, making you the eldest child of Jane Mayfield and Horace Stillman.” He went back to cutting and eating his perfect bites.
“Yes,” she said, watching him surreptitiously while taking another bite of her egg on toast, which had gone cold. “I will have you know, however, that I am not only the older twin, but also the smarter, better behaved, and better looking one.”
He paused a moment and then lifted his eyes to her chin. He smiled, revealing a dimple in his right cheek and a slight gap between his front teeth that gave him a boyish look that belied his years. “That is a clever answer, Cousin Hazel. I have never met your twin brother and therefore cannot prove whether or not you are joking.”
She no longer needed the forced teacher-smile. “Well, then I hope you shall never meet him so that my pronouncement shall remain uncontested.”
He held her eyes another moment and then went back to his breakfast.
They were quiet for some time, her eating as slowly as possible in order to prolong her reason for staying in the room. “You also work in Ipswich, do you not, Cousin Duncan?”
He nodded and took a drink of his ale. “I am a junior clerk at Perkins & Cromley Accounting. It occupies office number nine also located in the Burrow Building, which is highly convenient.”
“You enjoy numbers, then?”
“Numbers are unchanging and only need formulation to be understood,” he said without looking up. “You teach mathematics, which is a rare subject for a girl’s school to offer but even more rare for a woman to teach.” He looked up. “Do you enjoy numbers?”
“I do like numbers, but I also like teaching. The two of them together is highly satisfying.”
Duncan took a bite of ham, paused in his chewing, and then resumed, his jaw moving slowly and carefully while he stared at the table with fierce concentration. Was he counting how many times he chewed?
After he swallowed, he looked up at her, though he did not meet her eye directly, and pointed at the ham on his plate. “You must try this ham, Cousin Hazel.” He laid his silverware on the edges of his plate and stood.
“I usually only have an egg on toast for my breakfast.”
He moved to the buffet and returned with a piece of ham on a fresh plate without acknowledging that she’d spoken. He set the plate in front of her and nodded toward it as he sat down at the table again. He did not resume his own meal but instead looked expectantly between her and the plate.
Hazel hesitated, then pulled the plate closer to her and cut a bite of ham. She chewed it slowly and swallowed before smiling at him. “It is very good.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied with her reaction, and returned to his meal. She hesitated before deciding to finish the ham. It was quite good, though she was not much of a critic. Most of her meals these last twenty years had been taken in school dining halls—first as a boarded student and then as a teacher. There was little variety or excitement about the dishes, and over the years, she had come to approach eating with the same rote as sleeping and washing.
“King’s Lynn is a fair distance from East Ashlam,” Duncan stated.
“Thirty-five miles, I think.” The ham tasted better and better with each bite—was it flavored with maple? Who thought of such things like flavoring ham with maple? “I had to wait for the winter term to end before I was able to accept Uncle Elliott’s invitation.”
Mentioning the invitation reminded her of the reason behind it. Which reminded her that she needed to decide whether or not to stay. Uncle Elliott had hired a private carriage for her journey here, a luxury that had made the trek far more comfortable than it would have been if she’d taken a mail coach that flew across the roads with little consideration to the passengers bouncing around inside like marbles.
It felt presumptuous to expect the same accommodation for the return travel if she left earlier than planned. A public carriage, then. Bounced like a marble. Pressed in among strangers. She would have to pay for the miserable journey herself as well, which would cut into her carefully guarded savings. Had she even brought enough coin with her to cover the expense of a return journey?
“You did not attend dinner last night,” Duncan said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Lord Howardsford said you were tired from your journey.”
“That was part of my reason for not making an appearance,” she said, hearing the tightness in her voice. She eyed her sort-of cousin, wondering if he would be as unfailingly honest as Audrey had always been. It was beastly to take advantage of that possibility, but, well, she felt rather beastly. “What is the purpose of your visit to Howard House, Cousin Duncan?”
He finished chewing and spoke while cutting a bite of his last piece of sausage. “Lord Howardsford wanted to tell me about marriage inheritances he has drafted for each of his nieces and nephews—and myself, even though I am no blood relation. He asked me here so we might discuss the inheritance he has designed for me.”
Even though she’d asked, she hadn’t fully expected such an honest answer. She hesitated before choosing curiosity over manners a second time.
“What was his marriage inheritance for you?”
“Should I marry a woman of gentle birth and appropriate disposition, as approved by Lord Howardsford, the title for the Burrow Building will transfer to me, and I shall be the sole owner of the entire office block.” He relayed this without the animation he’d displayed regarding the ham and took the final bite of his sausage.