Alexander smiled indulgently and got a sandbag to punch instead. He also asked the servant from the gentleman's club take him out for shooting practice.
Sarah tried not to resent his little hobbies which took him away from her. She just wished he wasn't acting like he was preparing to go back to war.
When he returned home with a brace of pheasants that day, she took him for his afternoon soak in the waters, and reminded him, "We need to get those shirts we ordered over in Cheap Street. And some gloves and stockings."
"Fine. Whatever you like, dearest. I am yours to command." He sat back and sighed contentedly in the blue-green waters.
"Which poem would you like now?"
"Just open the book and see what you find."
She flipped the pages, and read, "The Scrutiny, by Richard Lovelace."
Why should you swear I am forsworn,
Since thine I vowed to be?
Lady, it is already morn,
And 'twas last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.
Have I not loved thee much and long,
A tedious twelve hours' space?
I must all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new embrace,
Could I still dote upon thy face.
Not but all joy in thy brown hair
By others may be found; -
But I must search the black and fair,
Like skilful mineralists that sound
For treasure in unploughed-up ground.
Then if, when I have loved my round,
Thou prov'st the pleasant she,
With spoils of meaner beauties crowned
I laden will return to thee,
Ev'n sated with variety.
"A remarkable excuse for infidelity if ever there was one," Alexander laughed.
"You try that one on me, Mate, and all the waters in Bath are never going to cure you," Sarah said gruffly.
He kissed her, and then sighed. "I wish I could scrutinize you. And the waters are not going to cure all my ills."
"You see with your heart, even if not with your eyes, darling."
He was silent for a moment, and then asked, "Read me the Milton."
"Which one?"
He sighed. "You know which one."
She tried to keep her voice steady as she read, "Sonnet XIX: On His Blindness."
When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask; But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."
"But you are not just standing and waiting, my love. There is so much you can do."
He scowled. "Like be a burden to you."
"Never that. Never!" she said, her voice trembling with passion.
"I will try not to be."
"You aren't now. You've been getting better every day. And though we haven't spoken of it for a while, I believe there are a great many things that you remember, but you haven't told me."
"Are you saying I've lied to you?" he demanded, hot color tingeing his elegant cheekbones.
"Not at all. I only meant little things you probably recollect which are too insignificant to even mention. Now just rest for a moment. There's no need to get so agitated."
"You're right," he replied at length, lapsing back in the waters with a sigh once more. "I'm sorry."
"Never mind. Now, if you are just about ready to get changed, we'll go do that shopping, and head to Sally Lunn's."
"You certainly know the way to a man's heart."
"I only care about your heart, dearest."
She helped him up the steps carefully. When he got to the top he kissed her passionately in full view of everyone in the Baths.
She waited in the vestibule while he changed into his charcoal-gray suit with a wine waistcoat and cravat. In her own dark gray gown, they looked very much a couple.
At length he re-appeared, looking as handsome as ever, and she drank in the sight of them as they strolled around the corner. "You're very good at tying your stock. Your cravats are pretty crooked still, though."
As they stepped through the Pump Room archway, she tried to adjust the wisp of burgundy silk, and so was not paying much attention to the traffic.
She shouldn't have allowed herself to get so distracted, she thought later with the benefit of hindsight. For Cheap Street led to both the busy London and Oxford Roads, and was notorious for the number of carriage accidents which occurred there. Still, she had thought the street was clear when she'd started to lead him across.