“A new level, meaning . . . holding my hand?”
“Without entwining the fingers.”
Hazel was silent for a few seconds, trying to make sure she thought through this fully before she responded. “Is that what you meant when you spoke of physical intimacy all those months ago?” It couldn’t be; she’d spoken of pregnancy, and he had not been confused about that. He did understand what sexual relations were, didn’t he?
“Oh, no, back then I was specifically focused on full intimate connection, but you explained that it would take an emotional investment on your part, and in hindsight, I have wondered if perhaps such intimacies would be too overwhelming for me if I am unable to even hold your hand without discomfort.”
“You no longer want physical intimacy, then?”
“I am still excited by the prospect, as is natural and understandable in a healthy male, but I understand it is not a simple choice for you to make with a man like me, and I am content with continuing my experiment with the scaled goals I mentioned. I believe it to be a more reasonable course.”
A man like him. Was he so aware of his limitations? She wanted to reassure him that those limitations were not necessarily negatives, but she sensed the need to stay on topic. “And this scale includes holding my hand?”
“If you are agreeable.”
Hazel pinched her lips together to keep from laughing. He would never understand that she was laughing at herself for jumping to conclusions and not at his remarkable innocence. She took enough time until she could speak evenly, then she leaned forward and pulled back the covers on his side of the bed.
“Duncan, please turn down the lamps and come to bed. I appreciate you confiding in me regarding your experiment, and I accept your terms. I would like to hold your hand.”
“Not with fingers intertwined,” Duncan insisted.
“Not unless you determine it an acceptable acceleration of the experiment. I shall let you make the decision.”
Duncan nodded and then hurried to first turn down the lamp on the bureau and then the lamp on his side of the bed.
Hazel blew out her candle, then wriggled herself down beneath the covers, lying flat on her back. Feeling both ridiculous and invigorated, she moved her hand toward Duncan, who was similarly situated on the other side of the bed. When her arm was roughly at a forty-five-degree angle from her body, she stopped and let it rest on the empty section of mattress between them. She heard the brush of his arm against the bedclothes as he too moved his hand toward the center. When he first touched her arm, he pulled away sharply, and she thought the experiment had failed.
“I am sorry,” he said quickly. “It is because of the dark.”
A second later, his pinkie touched hers, and she felt a wave of warmth begin to expand from that tiny touch, up her arm and through her body. He kept the contact in place for several seconds, then moved his hand to cover hers, palms together.
The resulting warmth she felt was stronger and deeper than mere body heat could explain. She swallowed in the darkness and stared toward the ceiling, focusing on taking deep, even breaths while she waited for him to say something. Then, so slowly she did not notice it right way, she felt his hand move so that his fingers lined up with the spaces between hers. He curled his fingers into the spaces, and she curled hers as well until their hands were most certainly intertwined.
She could hear his slightly elevated breathing in a room she’d only ever slept in alone. She thought of Harry upstairs and what he would say if he knew that below him these newlyweds were feeling rather overcome with the sensation of holding hands for the first time. He would laugh, certainly. But he did not know. No one knew what her and Duncan’s relationship was like—no one needed to. She did not need to justify or explain it, but she could enjoy these sensations.
“So?” she asked after a full minute had passed. “Has this next level of experimentation proven your hypothesis?”
“I believe so,” Duncan said, the sound of his voice making her swallow again. He was so close. “Your touch is definitely different from that of other people. I do not feel the need to escape it.”
Hazel took inordinate pride in such an accomplishment and turned her head in his direction though she could only just make out the shape of him in the darkness.
“Might I try something?” she asked.
He was quiet for five full seconds, and when he spoke, he sounded nervous. “What?”
“When I was very young, before I was sent away to school, my sister and I shared a bed, and sometimes she would wake up frightened in the night. I would tickle her arms, just run my fingers up and down as she fell back asleep. It was very soothing for her.” It had only been recently that Hazel had begun to remember positive memories from her childhood.
“Is it a light touch or a scratch?”
“Light touch,” she said, smiling into the darkness. “I can show you if you want to turn your arm over. And if you do not like it, you need only say so and I will stop.”
He hesitated, but then disengaged his fingers from hers and turned his palm upward.
She rolled onto her side but did not scoot closer so as not to invade his space more than was necessary. This felt rather like trying to earn Elizabeth’s trust, but she hoped he would be more receptive than his cat had been. She started at the wrist, and he startled but did not pull away. She paused, but he did not tell her to stop and so she continued. She lightly traced his arm up to his elbow, then back down to his wrist, braced for him to pull his arm away at any time. She continued the action for several minutes, until she heard a deeper breath from the other side of the bed. She paused and listened until she heard it again.
“Duncan?” she said in the softest whisper she could manage.
He did not respond.
Hazel smiled in the dark as she rolled to her other side and closed her eyes so that she might join him—her husband—in sleep. It had been a day of surprises, and none of them—surprisingly enough—had been bad ones.
Something changed between them after Harry’s visit. Duncan returned to sleeping in his room, but sometimes Hazel sat beside him on the settee in the parlor, and once, he spontaneously took her hand when they were sitting beside each other. She did not stop him. They did not have a conversation about these events, but she became very aware of every brush of his hand, taking of his arm, and touch of their shoulders when they sat in the evenings.
He started going to the pub for a simple plowman’s lunch three days a week at her suggestion. Hazel’s motivation was, in part, to help preserve the relationship Duncan had with Delores, but it was also with the hope that if Delores knew Hazel had encouraged this, she would be more open to a connection with Hazel.
The second part of that goal, however, did not happen. Hazel extended invitations to tea that Delores refused. She sent baskets of sweets from Cook with Duncan, and Delores never sent a thank you. The only effort from Delores’s side was that she would sometimes send fish for Elizabeth. Hazel asked to be the one to give Elizabeth the treat, however, which did invite a more friendly relationship with the cat.