But she did not, and Duncan closed the space between them. He put his hands on her shoulders as though preventing her from fleeing, and then lowered his mouth to hers. He pressed his lips against her own and, although every muscle in her body was rigid, she felt her lips yielding. Something happened, though she could not identify exactly what it was. A softening. A joining. A momentary wish for more of whatever it was.
And then he pulled back and released her shoulders. He stared at her, the room still and silent, and she stared back wondering if he had felt it too but knowing she would never ask.
“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Penhale,” the vicar said. “You are now officially husband and wife.”
Amelia sighed as she came forward to embrace Hazel. Uncle Elliott patted Duncan on the back, but upon contact, Duncan jumped and turned sharply. “Do not touch me!”
“My apologies,” Uncle Elliott said immediately, his face flushed.
He put his hands behind his back and stepped away. “I forgot.”
An awkward silence fell for three seconds before Hazel found words of remedy. “I believe a luncheon is awaiting us in the dining room at Howard House.” She looked to Amelia, who eagerly nodded to confirm. “Would you like to join us, Mr. Tottenshod?”
Amelia, as mistress of the house, should be the one offering the invitation, but Hazel needed to get used to taking the lead. It felt awkward, and she expected it would remain so for the next year.
“I, uh, would enjoy that very much,” Mr. Tottenshod said, looking markedly uncomfortable.
“Wonderful,” Hazel said in a very Duncan-esque way. She slipped her arm through the vicar’s as a way to further put him at ease and took a hobbled step toward the doorway of the church. She thought of the lessons Amelia had given her on how to make small talk at parties and turned her newly acquired skills on the man who clearly did not know quite what to make of the ceremony he’d just officiated.
“How long have you lived in East Ashlam, Mr. Tottenshod?” Hazel asked as they made the reverse wedding march out of the church and into the carriage. She was aware of Uncle Elliott and Amelia behind them, and Duncan at the rear. She hoped he wasn’t upset that she’d let another man escort her; should she try to explain herself later? Would he understand her reasons?
“Um, all of my life,” Mr. Tottenshod said. “My father was the vicar before me.”
“Really?” Hazel said with feigned interest, grateful to see the footman already holding the carriage door open. “Did you always know you wanted to be a clergyman? Raised to it, so to speak?”
A recounting of Mr. Tottenshod’s childhood and schooling filled the carriage ride and accompanied the party into the dining room. The three-course luncheon was first-rate, and Mr. Tottenshod proved an excellent conversationalist. Duncan focused on his meal until Mr. Tottenshod mentioned his interest in bird-watching.
“What are your feelings regarding woodpeckers?” Duncan asked, his head coming up as he engaged in the conversation for the first time.
Mr. Tottenshod paused, and Hazel held her breath, willing him to answer kindly. When he did, she relaxed. “Well, I do not think highly of them when they go to work before the sun is up, but I find them rather fascinating—their beaks are incredibly strong.”
“Do you feel that they cause fatal damage to already sick trees by puncturing the bark, or do you feel the trees become diseased due to the damage created by the woodpeckers?”
“Um, well, as I understand it, the woodpeckers target trees that are already infested with insects, which is an indication that internal damage is already being done.”
“Do you believe the damage caused by the woodpeckers hastens the demise of the tree?”
Hazel noticed Amelia and Uncle Elliott tensing, yet she did not feel the same discomfort. Duncan’s engagement was far more comfortable than his silence, which she feared reflected a poor mood on his part.
Mr. Tottenshod seemed unsure exactly how to interpret Duncan’s tone, however, prompting Hazel to join the conversation. “It seems to me the woodpecker’s efforts would make a difference in the tree’s demise, but I wonder how much? Does it take the years of decline from six years to three, for instance? Or is the variable of demise closer to a three-to-two increase?”
“And should the damage necessarily be prevented?” Duncan asked. “A dying tree will die one way or another, and perhaps it is for the overall improvement of the natural world, of which the tree has been a participant, for the tree to weaken at a faster rate so that the nutrients might be added to the soil sooner for the continued propagation of future vegetation.”
Hazel and Duncan looked at Mr. Tottenshod for his reaction. She’d meant to diffuse the intensity of Duncan’s attention to the man, not encourage it, but now it was up to the vicar how he would engage.
The vicar looked at both of them in turn, and Hazel gave him an encouraging smile. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat. “There is an extensive wooded area behind the parsonage with a variety of aging trees, which helps to facilitate my bird-watching—I am quite fortunate in that sense. When I find a particular tree is drawing the attention of a woodpecker, I know that it is already infested, often beyond the ability for any remedy.
“However, I had success saving a young oak a few years ago because a woodpecker had alerted me to a beetle I would likely not have found otherwise; oaks tend to be quite resistant to beetle infestations. I was able to utilize the holes the woodpecker had drilled into the tree to treat the infestation, and now, half a dozen years later, that oak is strong and robust. I see every indication that it will outlive both myself and my children, and all because a friendly woodpecker alerted me to the trouble.”
“Fascinating,” Duncan said. “How exactly did you treat the diseased tree?”
The vicar went on to explain the concoction he had created to treat the tree, and Duncan returned to his meal as he listened to the man’s account of household chemistry in action.
Hazel shared a look with Amelia and Uncle Elliott, who relaxed once they saw the vicar had not been offended. Yes, this husband of hers was quizzical, but when seen from the right point of view, that was not a negative aspect. A woman could certainly do worse for herself in life than to be paired with a man interested in increasing his knowledge.
Hazel caught that thought, her fork halfway to her mouth, and revised it in her mind: a woman could certainly do worse for herself for one year.
It is not a real marriage, she reminded herself. But she was eating real food and drinking real wine at a real wedding luncheon beside a real vicar. And the kiss Duncan had given her had certainly been real. She thought back to the something she had felt when Duncan’s lips had pressed against hers.
Surely it was a biological reaction that stemmed from the instinct all creatures had regarding propagation of their species. If one simple kiss in the presence of other people could feel like that, however, what would a kiss in private feel like?