He greeted them. One introduced himself as Thomas, who would be cooking for the house. The other was a Mark, who would take care of the horses. John Paul welcomed them in and invited them to make themselves at home. Some of the furniture was old, he said, but they were free to take their pick of the rooms. There were more than enough, and they set off carrying suitcases into the house. John Paul took the trimmer back into the rear yard along with the sharpening stone and began once again to work on cutting the grass.
He’d figured out the proper pace, though the long grass prevented him from working. He could tell that he was making progress, rather than getting caught on weeds and stones.
After he cut the long part of the lawn, he sharpened the blades once more and ran through the part he’d done days earlier. It was leisurely by comparison to the work he had been doing, and he nearly found it relaxing. When he finished, he decide
d, he would go into town.
He stopped into the house to ask after the new boys, Mark and Thomas, and they seemed pleased. He would acquire new beds for them as soon as possible, and on that pretext he set off toward Derby. He knew what he was truly off for, of course, but it wouldn’t do at all to admit it to anyone.
He hitched his horse just outside of Wakefield’s, peering through the windows and trying to catch a glimpse of Lydia. Instead he saw the burly young man, her older brother perhaps. He had a smile on his face and greeted John Paul as “Mr Foster” and asked what he could do to help.
“I have a few new servants in my home, and I need a new pair of beds, and a proper dining table, as well.”
“Seating how many?”
John Paul thought for a moment.
“I suppose seating for eight should more than suffice.”
The man behind the counter wrote it all down, and then showed it to John Paul, who noted the price and nodded. He pulled out another pound’s deposit and pushed it down on the table. The young man pocketed the money and went off into the back room with the slip of paper.
John Paul didn’t wait for him to return, though he did linger for a moment to look at the furniture on display. There was a considerable amount of the stuff, and all of it was of a remarkable quality. He smiled thinking about it and the door jingled as he stepped out through it.
He returned the next day, as well. He had no need for any more furniture—his need was of a different sort. He resolved that he would walk past, and if she weren’t there, then he would just leave. But she was.
“Hello, Mr. Foster,” she said. It had a delightful ring to it, but he made himself ignore it. He couldn't afford to let her beautiful voice distract him. He stepped up and put his hands on the counter as if to steady himself, though he tried to put out an appearance of calm collectedness. When he didn’t immediately speak, the elder woman behind the counter looked up from her knitting pointedly.
“Hello, miss.” He could feel the urge to fidget under the pressure of the room. He had never had any sort of experience in this situation, and he was unaware of the protocols, having only read about them in books. “I was wondering if you would be…”
He trailed off for a moment, his eyes darting between the young woman, Lydia he supposed, and her chaperone. She looked at him with those wide, beautiful eyes.
“Yes?” He pulled a frown, trying to still the beating of his heart.
“I find myself your most ardent admirer,” he began, “And I was wondering if I might call on you at home some time. Perhaps for tea?”
Lydia blushed and John Paul worried that he had said something wrong. She had someone else, and she would dash his hopes. He looked again from her to the woman beside her.
He imagined for a moment that he saw the faintest of smiles cross the woman’s face. It hid, though, in the crease of her mouth so that he couldn’t have said with any certainty if he saw any sort of expression at all. It may even have been disapproval.
Lydia opened her mouth and closed it again, looking at him with a deep crimson blush. She turned to the older woman and whispered “Nan!”
The woman glanced up from her knitting again and shared a look with Lydia, and then she looked up at John Paul and answered for her charge.
“That would be lovely, Mr. Foster.”
John Paul could feel his knees buckle beneath him, but he forced himself to stay standing. He had never felt so nervous as he felt now, and the relief helped none at all, building a delightful agony that he couldn’t resist.
“When shall I call, then?”
Lydia’s chaperone looked up at her, and back at him before answering for the young lady. “Noontime tomorrow, perhaps, for lunch?”
John Paul nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral, though he was not succeeding as well as he might have liked.
“Noon is perfectly fine, ma’am. Miss,” he said. “I will come tomorrow.”
He had one foot out the door when Lydia called out to him, “Wait!”
He turned on his heel to receive whatever she had to say.