The Soldier's Poisoned Heart

And then, as quickly as it had subsided, he saw his nephew. He was trying desparately not to make any commotion around the party, putting a finger to his lips as the servants opened their mouths to ask why he hadn't been at the wedding. He must have supposed that his uncle had not noticed him, or more, had not noticed his absence at all in the madness of the wedding.

Unluckily for Henry, he had noticed.

Chapter 21

John Paul could feel, in spite of his best efforts, his lips curl into a sneer. What sort of behavior was this? Was this how a civilized person behaved? He could smell alcohol on his nephew's breath when he came up to the table and began his own congratulations speech.

"Missus Foster," he began. "You are looking absolutely lovely today. A wonderful ceremony, absolutely lovely."

John Paul cut him off after only a few moments. "That's enough, Henry."

Henry could see the look on his face, read the mood. He started to step back.

"What did you think you were doing last night? With my wife?"

Henry didn't offer an answer. John Paul could see Lydia hiding her face from the crowd, but he ignored it. The boy had plenty to answer for, and if it was the last thing he did then John Paul would make him answer for it.

"Answer me, Henry Roche, or I swear in front of the Lord—"

"Nothing, uncle, nothing. I did nothing!"

"I saw you, Henry, and you dare to lie to me? I saw everything."

Henry turned and looked at the crowd behind them for a moment. Several of the men had pushed their chairs back. All eyes were on the three of them, several guests looking uncertain as to how to respond to all of it.

Henry turned back. He was sneering, and he took two rapid steps toward the table where the newlyweds sat. The silverware made a clattering sound as he put his full weight on the table and leaned across it toward John Paul.

"And what if you did?"

John Paul's hand darted up and slapped the boy hard.

"I'll kill you," he said, plainly. Henry looked at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"And how do you intend to do that, then?"

John Paul glowered at him.

"Tomorrow morning. Six on the clock. You have your choice of weapons, but I'll warn you that if you don't choose, then I will."

Henry looked at him. His eyes were wild. He was incensed, and John Paul felt the same as well.

"Very well. Agreed."

He pushed himself away from the table and stalked off through the garden. The door slammed behind.

Andrew came up to the table. "Did I hear you correctly?"

"What did you hear?"

"A duel? How terribly old-fashioned." John Paul nearly spat a sharply-worded retort, before he saw the smile crossing his old colleague's face. "If you needed a second…"

John Paul thought about it for a second and nodded. He was tired. There was a general commotion after Henry's hasty exit, after the gossip of what John Paul could possibly have been referring to. He ignored them as best he could; there was nothing to be done for it, and he wanted to spend at least one last evening with Lydia before he put his life on the line.

John Paul went to bed early. It was hard to push Lydia away, now that he had a sense of things moving forward, but he needed to rise early. He was naturally inclined lately to rise at all sort of unreasonable hours and he needed to rest if he were going to do anything other.

Lydia laid in the bed beside

her new husband, watching him sleep. Why did he have to do this? There was certainly some easier solution to his problems, she thought. But she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him. She settled eventually into an uneasy sleep.