The Soldier's Poisoned Heart

“I hope you’ll understand that I don’t have any sort of money with me. I could give you a fiver, but no more at this exact moment; after all, I haven’t got anything else.”

“No, no, that much is obvious.”

“How much do you need?”

“Oh,” Simon said softly. “Did I not tell you?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“E—eight hundred pounds.”

John Paul’s eyes widened.

“That’s quite a sum, Simon. How does a man get into that sort of debt?”

“I won’t ask you where you got your money, John Paul Foster. Please, don’t ask me that.”

John Paul opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Eight hundred pounds? I’ll need to make some calls.”

“I swear I’ll pay you back,” Simon said.

“If you pay me back, that will be wonderful,” John Paul said, sitting back into one of the chairs. He had a pit in the bottom of his stomach. The money wasn’t so much, in the grand scheme of things. It was a sum he could afford, certainly. But giving away so much in a single sitting… he strained to put himself past it.

“Now,” Simon said, sitting across from him. “About the marriage.”

“Yes.”

“Of course, as I said, Lydia will need to be in mourning for a suitable period. Of course she can’t marry in that time. We’ll say it’s a year since his death, so we’ll announce the wedding in a week, and then we’ll have the engagement set for a year after that. Does that… sound right?”

“I don’t know,” John Paul answered truthfully. “I haven’t had any sort of experience with this type of thing.”

“Nor have I,” said Simon, and the pair of them sat, both looking shaken and tired.

“So, a June wedding, then?”

“Just so.”

“I’ll bring my nephew to the engagement dinner, then?”

“Of course, sir. You’re to be my brother, aren’t you? Then I should know my new family, and he his.”

“Of course,” John Paul said. He considered his words for a moment before he asked, “How has Lydia been these two weeks?”

“You can ask her yourself, as soon as she’s finished dressing for dinner tonight. I imagine she’ll be down any time now.”

“But has she been well,” John Paul pressed.

As he said it, there was a knock at the door, and Simon cut in: “Come in.”

Lydia stepped through the door. She wore black, and her hair was covered, but she was every bit as beautiful as she had been. She gaped when she saw John Paul sitting there across from her brother.

“I’ve just been talking to your fiancé,” Simon said. There was a trace of smugness on his face.

“So—”

“I’ve agreed to the marriage.”