“I’ve another tour on Saturday and received a letter of interest this afternoon.” She dropped an envelope on Hazel’s desk. “I thought you could respond to this one now that you’re settled.”
Hazel stared at the letter and tried to swallow the bubble of anxiety that rose up in her throat. “I shall do so tomorrow morning.” She pushed herself up from the desk, taking a few seconds to steady herself. Her crutches were in her apartment, but the comfort she’d found using them around Lavender House had not traveled to King’s Lynn with them.
In fact, very little comfort of her life in Ipswich had come with her. During the week she’d been back in King’s Lynn, she had tried to capture the enthusiasm that Sophie spun like ribbons every time she came into a room, but it continued to swirl out of reach. Which was why Sophie had given the tour that afternoon and Hazel had sat in her newly renovated office and stared out the window.
She should be ecstatic: everything was on schedule, changing the school’s name had gone smoothly, students and parents were excited about the advanced education available to their daughters, and Hazel had the independence she’d never dared to dreamed of.
“Hazel?”
She hadn’t realized she’d begun staring out the window again and looked back at Sophie, who was now standing on the other side of the desk. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“Miss Labrum, the physics teacher I’ve been corresponding with, wants to come next week. It’s earlier than we had planned on, but I believe she can help us with the final vetting of students, and we can collaborate on our classes. What do you think?”
“I think that’s a very good idea.”
Sophie cocked her head, concerned. “Are you alright, Hazel?”
“Of course, just . . . tired I suppose.” Though she had no reason to be tired. All she’d done for a week was sit at her desk and do what little bits of work specifically demanded the headmistress’s attention, which was not that much as it turned out because Sophie was still running things. Hazel had intended to take over as much of the work as she could, but found herself doing as little as possible every day and hoping that the next day would be the one in which she woke up ready to live her dream.
She’d received a letter from Uncle Elliott that she had not yet opened. Sunday—three days from now—was the one-year anniversary of her marriage to Duncan. The anniversary date should not matter, but the closer it came, the more she dreaded it and the less she could run from the memories. She had not even said goodbye to Duncan on the day she left.
Just like Abigail.
She pushed herself up from the chair, suddenly needing the sanctuary of her rooms.
“Shall we go over the ladies’ luncheon details tomorrow morning, then? When you’re better rested?”
Hazel had forgotten that she’d promised to review the details this afternoon. The luncheon was on Friday so there was no time to waste. It would be her first group presentation of the changes she and Sophie were making, and she should be spending every spare minute reviewing the goals they had set. “Yes, tomorrow morning would be ideal.”
“Alright.” Sophie moved toward the door and then turned back. “Are you sure you are well?”
A lump formed in Hazel’s throat. She lowered herself back into the chair, overcome by emotions she had been refusing to feel.
“Or might I challenge that what is truly bothering you is that you are missing your husband?”
Hazel shook her head. “Certainly not. I am simply tired. I shall rest for the evening, and we’ll discuss the ladies’ luncheon in the morning.
“Hazel.”
Hazel stared at the desk for two seconds before lifting her head and meeting Sophie’s eyes.
“Choose happiness.”
The lump in Hazel’s throat doubled, and she closed her eyes in order to pull her remaining composure together.
Sophie continued, “Choose whatever future is going to make you happy. If you aren’t happy here, then—”
Hazel stood, cutting Sophie off. “Do not speak nonsense.” She turned to the door of her apartment that was accessible through her office. Having her rooms connected to the office had seemed like such a good idea in the planning phases—no need for her to navigate stairs—but not having separation from her office now felt rather confining.
“I shall see you tomorrow, Sophie.”
“Hazel, I—”
Hazel walked into her room and closed the door behind her.
The night was long and her thoughts were heavy and Sophie’s words rang like the reverberations of a bell that would not still.
Choose happiness.
Choose happiness.
Choose happiness.
What was happiness?
How could she possibly know which path would take her to it?
How could she consider any future other than this school?
It was a dream, an incredible opportunity for any woman, let alone a woman who had spent her life learning and who could now spend the rest of her life sharing that knowledge with other girls who would one day take positions of power in this world. But the sparkle of that dream did not blind her the way it once had, and when she closed her eyes and truly considered what she wanted from a life that was, as Sophie had pointed out, up to her, it was not the school that came to mind.
It was almost midnight when she tied on her boots and put a dressing gown on over her nightdress. She took the lamp with her as she left her apartment, went through her office, and turned toward the teacher’s wing.
Sophie’s room was on the second level, and Hazel hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, before taking them carefully, one step at a time. She had navigated stairs every day when this had been Cordon Academy and she had been a teacher living in the teacher’s quarters. Her new life had brought many luxuries.
Once she reached the dark threshold of Sophie’s room, she gathered her confidence and knocked lightly, not wanting to wake any of the other teachers in the adjoining rooms.
Only a handful of seconds passed before Sophie opened the door, her lamp low and her eyes blinking.
“Hazel?”
She swallowed, feeling tears in her eyes. “What if I am missing my husband? What if, despite him and me and all the reasons against it, I have fallen in love with him?” She paused and took a choppy breath. “What if he cannot love me back?”
Sophie’s concerned expression softened as she stepped into the hall and put her arms around Hazel, who sank into her and gave into all the emotion she’d been trying to ignore for these last weeks. For a few minutes, Sophie simply held and soothed her, then she led Hazel into her room, lit the small stove, and fetched a handkerchief.