And he did not love her either. She was not sure that he could.
He liked to think and debate, to structure his life and explore ideas. But he did not ask how she felt about anything. He had given no indication in all the time they had shared that he saw her any differently than he saw other positive aspects of his life: his favorite hat, his furniture brought from his rooms, his cat.
“I cannot stay,” she said to the voice inside her that suggested she should. “The school. My future.” Those were the things waiting for her. Those were the things she was working toward. Those were the things she wanted, despite the comfort she’d found in this pretend life. Despite the security she felt sitting across the table from Duncan. Despite the rushes of warmth and tenderness she felt when he touched her hand, or fetched her crutches, or excitedly introduced a topic he was sure she could debate better than any man.
Those things are not love, she reminded herself, then she paused, a new question filling her mind. If she were in love, would she stay?
It was with these realizations in place that she admitted, fully and completely, that she’d made a mistake. Not in agreeing to Uncle Elliott’s terms, but in the way she had lived these last ten months. She had not properly protected herself against the comfort and security she’d found here. She had not kept Duncan at a far enough distance. She had invested in this place and these people. In him.
Had she been wiser, she’d have kept herself apart from it all, managed her boredom and loneliness on her own rather than pulling people into her sphere. No connections. No parlor school. If she’d been wiser, she would not have to let go of anything when she left because there would have been nothing to let go of.
There was no way to go back and change what she’d done, but she could begin now to strategize her exit and hope that doing so for the next two months would make it easier on all of them when she left.
When the night sky lightened to dawn, Hazel got out of bed—grateful to be out of excuses to try to sleep—dressed for the day, and went into the parlor. She pulled a piece of paper from the supply she kept in her writing desk and ignored the tokens of payment from her students stored there.
She was halfway through her first letter—this one to Mrs. Randall, explaining that she needed to step away from the school—when Duncan came into the room, stopping just inside the doorway.
“You are awake early. Wonderful. Shall we have breakfast together?”
“No, thank you,” she said, determinedly continuing her letter.
“But you are awake early enough that we can share the meal.”
“Yes, but I am not hungry, and I have a great deal of work to do today.”
He remained where he was.
“A good breakfast is an essential element of a healthy lifestyle. Dr. Randall says that if—”
“Duncan,” she said sharply, cutting him off and looking up. “I have a great deal of work to do today, and I do not want to have breakfast with you. Please leave me to my correspondence.”
“I’ve upset you.”
“Yes, because I told you I don’t want breakfast and you are still asking me to have some. It is rude.”
“I did not mean to upset you.”
“Well, you did.” She turned back to her letter.
“You are being very rude, Hazel. I was only suggesting—”
“Leave me be!” she shouted, slamming her pen on the writing table. “I do not want to talk to you.”
“I do not want to talk to you either!” He turned on his heel and left the room. She put her hands over her face, knowing that she would have to repeat a version of this exchange numerous times over the next several weeks as she pulled away. She would not participate in the evening discussions as often as she had been. She would not always share meals with him. She would not teach her school or read the books Duncan gave her. She would not stop all these things at once, of course, but she would, over the course of the next two months, begin extracting herself from his life.
And it was going to be awful.
When did it change?” Dr. Randall asked from his chair in the exam room.
Duncan adjusted the periodicals Dr. Randall had given him until they were perfectly squared against the line of his knees, but the usual excitement he felt about reading them was not spinning in his chest the way it usually did.
Today was Wednesday, which meant he and Hazel would play cards or engage in puzzles, but he did not expect her to participate. For forty-four weeks, they had kept to the routine, and then things had begun to change. Now, at forty-nine-and-a-half weeks, everything was different. They had not shared a discussion for nine days. Hazel complained that she was tired or she was working on something for Stillman School or she had a headache. She did not look at him like she used to. She did not let him close enough to touch her.
“On the morning of September eighth, she got angry when I invited her to breakfast, and things have been different since that time.”
“September eighth?” Dr. Randall repeated.
“That is what I just said.” The less time he spent with Hazel, the less pleasure he felt in life. He did not want to talk to anyone if he could not talk to her, and he no longer enjoyed his work.
“That is around the time she wrote to Mrs. Randall, saying she no longer wished to continue the parlor school,” Dr. Randall said.
“Hazel is no longer teaching the parish girls?”
Dr. Randall shook his head. “No, not for two weeks now. Mrs. Randall was quite upset about the letter and tried to talk to Hazel about it, but she simply said she had another project that was demanding her time.”
“Stillman School for the Advancement of Young Women.”
Dr. Randall pulled his eyebrows together. “What?”
“Hazel has purchased the school in King’s Lynn where she used to teach and has changed the name to Stillman School for the Advancement of Young Women. She spends a great deal of time working on the details of the school. It has her very distracted.”
Dr. Randall leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “She owns a school in King’s Lynn?”
“Yes.”
“She has never said as much to Mrs. Randall. I’m sure Margret would have told me if she had. You say she purchased it? How? I thought she was simply a teacher before you married.”
“She was only a teacher, but then—” He stopped, realizing he had nearly broken the promise about talking about the details of their marriage with another person.
“Then what?”
“I cannot discuss the particulars of our arrangement.”