"Come here," she said, and he grasped her hand and walked over. There was the one, he knew. He didn't see her pointing at first, but his eyes were drawn to a ring in the center. It was perfect for her; intricate and bright. A large sapphire was set into a ring of diamonds. The more he looked, the more he realized its perfection. The sapphire seemed clear and bright.
“This one?”
“That one,” she said. John Paul smiled. Perhaps it wasn’t so hard after all.
As much as he would have rather continued each day spending his time attending to Lydia's every need, John Paul had things to attend to at home, as well, and the time was approaching to spend the day and move the household, as much as possible, up to the third floor that they might lay down the lumber on the lower floors.
He had been looking forward to it, when he had been waiting for the day of the engagement. Now it seemed a distraction that was neither welcome nor pleasant. Still, it was not a job that he could avoid. It needed to be done sooner or later, and Lydia was working, so Thursday morning seemed as good a time as any.
John Paul had felt sick, as he had found more and more that he had been feeling. It was never quite so bad as the night of his engagement party and for that he was certainly thankful, but at the same time he seemed to have more upset stomachs, more fits. He must have a flu, he thought, and that was worrying enough to have seen him to a doctor who said he seemed perfectly healthy.
Of course, if the symptoms continued, he said, the Colonel could feel free to come back and seek a second opinion. The condition hadn't been bad enough that he had returned.
John Paul called the boys into the parlor to explain the day's labors. He would be pushing most things up the stairs and heading back down to help with the next item. After all, he had plenty of experience with manual labor, and it would be no issue to do it again.
They picked up the front room, first, and each of the seven of them carried a chair or a table; the journey was no great difficulty for any of them and they started to carry the other things in the front room next; coats and hats and racks and the like. It was no great challenge, but when they came to the beds John Paul felt himself struggling.
They had been working for perhaps thirty minutes with no rest, up and down two flights of steps, but he was sure he was tiring much too quickly. He pushed the thought away. It was probably his imagination.
He did, though, start looking for signs that the others were tiring. A gasping breath, or needing t stop to catch a new grip; any sign that he was not the only one who was suffering. Instead, he found that he seemed to all signs to be the only one, after all. He grit his teeth and continued.
The bed frames went next, three men working to haul each up the steps one after the other. John Paul took the bottom, as he had been doing for the entire effort; it allowed him to take most of the weight, and he was the strongest of the group by a fair sight, and the largest by nearly a stone.
It stood to reason, then, that he should be the one there, but after a dresser nearly fell atop him on the second set of stairs he hefted it one more time, to sit on the landing, and then he sat down. His breaths came hard and his chest burned.
"I just need a moment, Thomas. Take Mark and carry that into the room for me; without the stairs in the way it should be doable with two people, I think."
He sat on the stoop and tried to catch his breath. He was surprised to find that this was the first time he thought of Lydia in the entire operation that they'd committed to. He was too tire d for any sort of thoughts other than work, when he was working.
He'd almost certainly worked harder before, he thought. There was no excuse, absolutely none, for this sort of dalliance. it couldn't be, though, that he had gotten weaker? He still did his morning exercises most days. When he wasn't too tired or too sick.
He didn't have the creaky old bones that he'd heard pensioners talking about before. He just felt a little ill. Struggling with a two hundred kilogram gazebo was one thing; a hundred kilograms should be easily lifted by three strapping men. One of them was large and strong, as well. It was worrying how much of a toll the job was taking on him.
He forced himself to stand back up. There was more work to be done, after all, and he couldn't ignore it just because he was a little bit tired. He could push past it, whether he was tired or not. As long as he continued working, he would be fine.
He started back down the steps before he saw Thomas and Mark coming to follow, but he heard them a few meters behind once he was down the stairs a bit. The next room was his, and he had the desk to move along with the dresser and the bed that was in all the other rooms.
"Do you want us to take the bottom spot, mister Foster?"
He stopped and turned. Mark was standing a few steps above. He didn't look concerned, but John Paul wondered whether or not he might be thinking that the Colonel was too old to do the work.
"No," he snapped. "I can do it; I'm not an old man yet, Mark Reede."
"I didn't mean..." He stopped talking without finishing his thought.
It was a good choice, John Paul thought. He was about to lose his temper, whether the young man was right about his fatigue or not. He could do as much work as either of the younger men, fatigue or none. He pushed the door open and pushed open a drawer, pushing his papers inside to clear the top of the desk.
"Ready?"
He squatted down and grasped the bottom of the desk, the wood pressing uncomfortably into his cheek-bone. It was far from an ideal position, but he had no place better to grasp, either; higher would tax his fingers, no matter where he chose and so he would take the uncomfortable cheek over pained fingers.
"Yes, sir." Thomas answered, and they stood up together on a count of three, tilting the desk to fit it through the door.
The fatigue was still there on the way up the steps this time, but John Paul expected it and braced for it. All he had to do was to ignore it for a few more moments, and easy as that he would be able to push past it.
The burning pain in his hands and his thighs faded away, and his breath came as deep as ever even as it burned his lungs. The only things he felt were his own determination and the burning in his chest. He ignored the pain and pushed through still more, but this time the pain didn't fade.
It didn't matter, though. He continued up the steps, and through the door, and they lowered the desk down to the floor. Thomas looked at his employer as he leaned over to catch his breath a moment.
"Are you sure you're quite all right?"
John Paul shot him a look and that was the end of the questions. They went back down the steps and grabbed the mattress from his room, carrying it easily up the steps and propping it against a wall before going to get the next item.
The frame was heavier and harder to carry, but again John Paul pushed past it. He knew this was not normal for him; the younger men, even Jacob, all looked nearly fresh-faced, but he felt as if he had worked himself to the bone.
Chapter 13
John Paul slept like a rock that night; he was glad for not dreaming; it meant that he didn't have to wonder what was more wondrous, his dreams of the future or the future that lay before him. He always wondered, also if perhaps the sleep didn't make it all the more tiring to him; he found himself often thinking that he was more tired when he awoke than when he went to bed.
Outside, Henry was standing on the porch watching the gardeners work, and as John Paul dressed he thought he might go himself.
"Thomas, will you make me some lunch, perhaps?" he said as he passed by the kitchens. Thomas called out that he would.
The Colonel pushed the door open and walked up beside his nephew. For a while, neither of them said anything. The work was coming along nicely in the garden, going along nicely on the flooring. John Paul was quickly running out of problems in the house; in a month's time, he thought, they would have a proper-looking house to live in, and then they'd be able to insinuate themselves into society.
At last John Paul broke the silence.
"Henry, my boy. Would you care for a bout of fencing?"
Henry looked at him closely in the face for a moment.
"You really should see a doctor, uncle. You don't look very good."
"Is that a 'no' then?"
"I suppose it is," Henry said, sounding bored. It was an odd change of pace, but the Colonel didn't press the issue. He looked out instead at the garden once again.
"I'll be inside, then, if you need me," he said, and pulled the door open and stepped inside.
Thomas was about ready with the food, it seemed, so he waited in the kitchen for him to announce that he could take something. Eventually he handed a plate to the master of the house, with a grilled sandwich on it.
"Thank you Thomas; you always know what I want, it seems."
"No trouble at all, sir, you're not particularly picky, after all." Thomas smiled and sat back down on the chair set aside for his use. He picked his book back up and started reading while John Paul stood there, until finally the Colonel turned on his heel and pushed the door to the main room back open.
It really was quite good, he thought. There was absolutely no complain to be made whatsoever. The bread, just crisp enough; the beef, crisp but thinly-sliced. There was no better sandwich, and if there was then he hadn't eaten it.
There was a plan later that day, of course; he would see Lydia for a while, perhaps half an hour, at a park. She had implied when they made the plan that Simon might insinuate himself into the date, and so John Paul had come up with a plan to have him stay occupied by bringing his nephew along as well.
The lad was about the same age as Simon, and they would probably get along well enough. That was assuming, of course, that they didn't already know each other, since it seemed as if you couldn't get any sort of debt that Simon had at his age without the rougher element, and it seemed as if Henry were the type to go back to that sort of life after the time that he'd spent there in the life before he'd come here.
Still, he wondered if Henry weren't angry with him over something; he had been awfully distant these few weeks, never around or available in spite of the fact that John Paul was the one who paid for the vast majority of his food,m kept the house over his head. The gall of it was not entirely lost on John Paul, but he packed it away and instead pursued the novel he'd picked up weeks ago.
He seemed never to have time to read any more, as things got quicker and quicker with the wedding. He had been aware that preparations were expected, but he hadn't known what they were to be, and it seemed now that he was involved that there were thousands of things needing to be done, letters to be written, clothing to buy, jewelery, and a thousand other things he hadn't thought of yet.
Still, Lydia seemed to know well enough what to do, and she had so far had no problem keeping him updated on what was to happen next. A whisper here and there, a guiding hand where needed... she was a fine teacher when it came to matters of society. She had no difficulty keeping her help subtle where necessary, so as not to have him make an embarrassment of himself taking advice from a young bride on matters that he should have been well aware of himself.
"Henry," he said as thee young man came in from the outside. "Don't forget, we've got that meeting with Lydia and her brother this afternoon."
"It's not a meeting, you said."
"Yes, a simple walk in the park, I remember. Don't argue with me, now, just get ready to go some time in the next couple of hours."
"Of course," he said, and left the room promptly. John Paul fumed a bit over the way that his nephew never seemed to care to respond to anything. Here he was, trying to bring his nephew into his life, and the boy simply would not play along. What was he supposed to do, exactly? Constant argument, or ignored remarks, or whatever sort of annoyance the boy wanted to raise next.
It wasn't fair, John Paul supposed, to think so harshly. He had spent a while where it was only the two of them. The boy was probably annoyed, as any single child is, when someone new comes into the home. He was too young to think of things from any other perspective, and lacked the experience to simply cope with the frustration or push it out of his mind.
So it could be hardly his blame alone; John Paul had pushed him away himself, by being so distant the past few weeks. With a little bit of care and spending some time with him, he would come back around.
John Paul set up the stair himself to return to his room. It was strange being on the third floor; he could see the entire yard, stretching off into the distance, from the height he stayed at. Yet, the walls were completely bare, which was still stranger. No peeling wallpaper, nothing at all. Just bare wall. He found the effect unsettling.
There was not so much time any more to waste on the house repairs, and yet they were desperately needed; he would have to push himself to begin replacing the wallpaper in the rooms that had been completed.
Then they would be well and truly complete, and he could concentrate then on the next rooms to follow after that, and so on, until the entire house would be finished. He laid down on his bed and thought about the date that afternoon with the Wakefields; he opened his eyes a moment later to find that it had been an hour, and that he had fallen quite fast asleep.
He pushed himself upright and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He would need to dress and get ready. He had the date that afternoon, then a doctor's appointment the next day, though the doctor would be calling on the house, so he would not need to be up overly early for it.
He had Thomas draw a bath for him, and then thought through once again his afternoon plans. He would meet Lydia and perhaps her brother in the park, they would walk. Hopefully, Simon and Henry would have the good taste to leave them more-or-less to themselves.
John Paul thought that should be the way with newly engaged couples, and they would walk through the park for a while. He had seen it before, from a distance, but it would be the first time seeing it up close. Before, he'd never had a reason to spend any time there.
He imagined his fiancee's face again; the thought of her brought to mind the look she made when she plotted mischief. It was a distinctive look that she wore. Distinctively hers. A sharp, almost dangerous smile that she would hide as best she could, but anyone who knew her well enough to recognize it at all would know it the moment they saw, hiding or not.
A part of him wondered how far it would go. Would so he push it to the length of actual danger for someone? Probably not, he thought, hopefully, but there was always the risk that he was underestimating her, and that was a risk he had no desire to take. Underestimating her, he thought, was perhaps the most dangerous of his options, and he smiled at that thought as well.
Lydia, dangerous. He laughed out loud at the very notion of her presenting any sort of danger to him, but in the back of his mind he knew that she was capable of far more than he gave her credit for. She was, he feared, smarter than him in the womanly ways. He made it a rule never to underestimate anyone who he knew to be his better.
Smarter to keep them at a distance, observe them, and make sure that in the end, you wouldn't be left in trouble while they laughed off into the distance. Even with a chaste, wonderful young woman like his bride-to-be, he could not completely ignore his instinct to keep people at a distance. His way of keeping an objective view of things had saved his life more than once.
He imagined for a moment what it would look like to have her raising their children; her smile, her mischief. They'd grow up to be little rascals, he thought. With a little bit of guidance, that would hardly be an issue for anyone.
Children should be a little bit rambunctious. John Paul had never been given to rambunctiousness; he always thought that he had been just a bit too cautious. Better to be aggressive and bold. Those were the qualities that made for a good leader, so long as they were tempered just enough.
Caution made for good strategy, at times, but it hardly ever made for a likable or interesting man, and the Colonel had never felt himself to be either of those things. He wondered why Lydia had consente
d to the engagement.
He decided to stop wondering about it. Never try to figure out why someone did something, after all it always winds up being a great big goose hunt with nothing to show for it but a lot of worthless thoughts.
He stood from the bath, letting the water fall down him in rivulets. He did look a bit smaller than he had, he thought. Frailer, somewhat. Was he not eating enough? Not sleeping enough? He felt fine, most of the time.
When he wasn't feeling ill, anyways. But it seemed that he was now looking less and less healthy, and he wondered why. He had done his absolute best to stay in shape since he had left the army, but no matter what he did it seemed he was doomed to be reduced to a normal man.
Perhaps it was just the passage of time, and that the whole thing was unavoidable. He knew that men were supposed to grow a bit weaker with each passing year, but he thought he had a few years left in him of strength. That he was deteriorating so rapidly made him worry. He pushed his worries away.
Probably it was just stress; he was worrying quite a lot about the marriage, about his relationship with Lydia and with Henry. That must be it; he thought that it was perfectly natural to lose some weight when there was so much going on outside of staying healthy.
He dressed silently, thinking of how much he had to do, then pushed the thoughts away as quickly and completely as they had come. He needed to do nothing right this moment but to dress and prepare for an afternoon with Lydia.
That was hardly something to worry about; he should be enjoying his time with his bride to be, not pushing himself to take greater and greater responsibilities. To do that would suck what enjoyment was to be had out of marriage, and he had no desire to be tired of his relationship with Lydia any sooner than absolutely necessary.
He met Henry in the front room, where he was standing reading a magazine over a coffee table waiting for his uncle.
The Soldier's Poisoned Heart (True Love and Deception) (Victorian Historical Romance Book 1) Page 12
