Duncan thought Dr. Randall’s expression was one of perplexity, but he could not be certain. Hazel was the only person who he had ever felt confident of properly reading their expressions, but even that was difficult now. She seemed to always have the same look on her face when he saw her. A look of neutrality that made him feel sad.
“Duncan, I cannot help you diagnose what might be happening with Mrs. Penhale if you do not give me all the symptoms of the situation.”
“I promised not to tell the details.” Duncan did not break promises, but in this case he wished that sometimes he did. Or just this once. He had come to Dr. Randall because Dr. Randall gave him good advice, such as the touch experiment that had gone so well.
“Did you do something to upset your wife, Duncan?”
“I invited her to breakfast.”
“Something else,” Dr. Randall said. “Something that hurt or offended her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you asked her?”
“No.”
“Perhaps you should.”
I wondered, Hazel, if I might ask you a question.”
Hazel looked up from her fish. Duncan was looking at his plate, and she could tell by his posture that he was anxious. She returned her attention to her plate as well and took a breath. She’d been anxious every day since her realization of what had to be done, and it was only getting worse as the one-year mark got closer.
“Certainly, Duncan.”
“Have I done something to offend you?”
She sighed. “No, Duncan, you have not done anything to offend me.”
“You seem to be angry with me.”
“I am not angry. I am just very busy getting ready to go to King’s Lynn. Our agreement is almost over, and so I am thinking about the future.”
“The future when you leave Lavender House and go to King’s Lynn.”
“Yes, as was our agreement.” She dared not look at him because she dared not risk opening up herself to any of the good feelings she sometimes felt toward him. Endearment. Tenderness. Pleasure.
“Our agreement also included evening discussions and participation in the aspects of life as man and wife, but we have not had a discussion for nine days.”
“The evening discussions were not part of the terms, simply something we agreed to engage in, and we did engage in them for several months.”
“Forty-four weeks.”
Of course, he had counted them. “Yes, but I am too busy now, and the discussions no longer interest me.”
He was silent for a few seconds, then said, “I would like to consider an extension of our agreement. I would like for you to stay in Ipswich.”
She did not meet his eye. “I do not think that will work for me, Duncan. I’m sorry.”
“But you are not certain.”
“Actually, I am quite certain—forgive me for using unprecise words. I am eager to devote myself to the school, and Sophie is expecting me to be there on November ninth. She has been doing everything herself for several months, and I am needed there.”
“It seems as though you have done very well at devoting yourself to the work these last eleven months and one week. Sophie has done a good job managing things thus far.”
“It has worked adequately well for the development portion of this endeavor, but the renovations are nearly finished, and I need to do my part. Our agreement was only ever for one year’s time, and that is nearly complete.” She no longer had the appetite to finish the fish and put her fork across her plate.
“That is a reasonable explanation,” Duncan said, still eating. His head was bent over his plate, shoulders hunched as he cut a bite of the fish.
She allowed herself to think about how she would miss his excitement over mealtimes and the comfort of sitting across from him. She would miss the eagerness in his face when he discovered a new topic of discussion or when a particular book he’d been waiting to arrive at the bookshop finally did. Sharing this house with him had been the most enjoyable time of her life. Far more than she had expected when she’d agreed to Uncle Elliott’s terms.
“You’re a good man, Duncan,” Hazel said, her heart heavy. As enjoyable as most of this year had been, part of her wished she’d never agreed to it. She could be teaching at some other school, never having experienced anything different than what she’d already known. Never wanting more. “I wish my decision did not cause you disappointment, but I believe you shall overcome that feeling soon enough.”
“I am not so certain,” Duncan said. He pressed his closed fist against his sternum. “I cannot imagine a more comfortable arrangement than that of this last year and am very regretful of seeing it come to an end.” He pushed back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I don’t really feel like eating pudding tonight. I think I will take a walk. Good night.”
Once he’d left the room, Hazel put her hands over her face, but she didn’t cry. What would she be crying over? His disappointment at her leaving was based on his enjoyment of their discussions and the ease of his life since their marriage, not love. Not . . . devotion.
She stood from the table when Corinne came in with the night’s pudding.
“Please give Cook my apologies. It seems neither Mr. Penhale nor myself are very hungry tonight.”
Corinne stood there, a plate of cake in each hand. “Are you truly leaving?”
To pretend surprise at Corinne’s knowledge was a waste of energy; she knew everything that happened—and did not happen—in this house. Hazel nodded.
“That is why you ended the school. Why you send so many letters to that school in King’s Lynn.”
Hazel nodded again. Mrs. Randall had been downright angry when she received Hazel’s letter. She had stormed into the house and demanded a better explanation. Hazel had just repeated herself over and over again, holding her ground.
They had taught at Lavender House for another week, but then Mrs. Randall received permission to teach at the church, so the students no longer came to the house. She’d sent Hazel a letter with an update a few days earlier, along with an apology for the tension and a plea for Hazel to explain. She said she knew something must have happened, and she would like to help resolve it.
Hazel had not responded to the letter and attempted to comfort herself with the fact that she had done good while she had been here, and that Mrs. Randall would continue that good.
“And Mr. Penhale is not going with you,” Corinne stated.
Hazel swallowed the pain that accompanied the necessary answer. “We are very different people, and we want very different things.”