They would need to buy new lumber for much of it, he said, if they had warping. The job would take several months if it were only the two of them, so they should hire on a few laborers that he would be happy to recommend. Then there was the matter of design. Naturally, anyone of standing would like to have flooring that impressed as much as the rest of the household.
And of course, he could furnish all that… for the right fee. He didn’t say the last part out loud, of course. He made it sound as if he was doing the Colonel a big favor, but in their minds they all knew not to ignore the great cost all the work would incur. A hundred pounds or more might change hands in the sum total of the transaction.
John Paul thanked the man and stepped back out into the street. The man was not a masterful salesman, per se, but he made up for any lack of skill with sheer force of personality and aggressive selling. It was impossible to hear himself think inside the store, with that man in his ears. He needed to think as clearly as possible with such a sum on the line.
John Paul regarded his nephew, wh
o seemed to finally be waking up properly. He decided then that they’d get some tea somewhere. Then they’d talk it over and decide.
Finding tea was easy, and drinking it easier still, but as he sat there looking at his empty cup, he didn’t feel any more awake or alert. He was on-edge, and there was no easy answer to the problem of his flooring. Either he had poor floors, or he was working day in and day out for weeks or more.
He doubted it would take months, but it was possible that the man had been seeding his aggressive sales pitch with some degree of truth. And even still, ‘weeks’ spent replacing the flooring was not something to be taken lightly. Not with so much else going on.
As John Paul found himself lost in such thoughts, he stared down the street. It was a tiring line of thought, the tea provided no relief whatsoever. He longed to see Lydia, but she hadn’t work today, and he had no plans with her for the day. Calling unannounced was out of the question, particularly with Henry along.
He had been avoiding the subject with the lad, though he knew that Henry wondered what his uncle had been spending so much time in town doing. He had been contented to let the boy think that he had been going to the horse track, or gambling around a barroom table.
He was ready for marriage, he thought, but he was not in the slightest ready for the two of them to meet. Though he had grown quite fond of his nephew, there was something in his demeanor that the Colonel couldn’t place. Something he found unnerving, a foreign emotion after twenty years keeping the peace in the colonies.
Then, as if in answer to his prayers, he saw a young woman turn the corner, carrying in her hand a largish bag marked with the name of a shop. Nan trailed a few steps behind, carrying a couple bags of her own, and they stopped for a moment to rest.
John Paul took this as a sign and stood. He dropped a couple shillings on the table and walked across. Henry would follow him, or he would not.
“Miss Wakefield!”
The pair of women both snapped their heads up at the call. “Mister Foster,” said the younger.
“If the two of you need any sort of assistance with those bags, my nephew and I would be more than happy to oblige.”
Lydia didn’t answer immediately. She looked to her chaperone over her shoulder, who gave a nod.
“That would be absolutely lovely,” she said. John Paul took the bag from her hand and felt an immediate jolt of electricity as his hand grazed hers. He saw her touch the spot where they’d touched as well, though she thought he wasn’t looking.
Then he took the bags from Nan, as well. Henry tagged along for the ride, his hands free. The bags themselves were not heavy, but holding them away from his body as he walked, John Paul found his arms tiring as they walked. It was a couple of kilometers to the Wakefield home, and they passed it quietly.
John Paul could feel Lydia’s eyes on him as they walked, but he ignored it as best he could. If he acknowledged it, he thought, she would stop looking, and he couldn’t bear the thought of that. So he would pretend that he did not notice.
When they arrived at the Wakefield home, he stepped in when they opened the doors and set the bags just inside before stepping back out.
“Thank you, sir,” Lydia said. She had an expectant look on her face and for a moment John Paul could not decide what it was. Then he realized.
“Oh, pardon my rudeness. Miss Lydia Wakefield, this is my nephew, Henry Roche. My late sister’s boy.”
Lydia regarded Henry and gave a small curtsy.
“Nice to meet you, Henry.”
“And you, likewise,” he answered. The women stepped inside and shut the door, and the pair of men set off.
“Now, Henry, where were we?”
“We needed to speak to the man about the flooring. You know, I think we should do it.”
“Yes,” John Paul said. It rankled him to know that they were almost certain to be overpaying, but he knew that he had no way of doing it himself, either. It was not a position he was comfortable being in, and he had no greater wish than to see it finished as soon as possible. He swallowed his pride and decided that he would do what he needed to do.
“She seems a nice enough girl, uncle,” Henry noted.
“Oh?”