Page 34 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

Angus gave a start at hearing how Darius had framed the comment—as if he should be proud of his contribution to a greenhouse.

He remembered the day he met the owner of the operation. Mr. Jones had seemed very suspicious of him, especially when Angus admitted he wasn’t married. As shy as he was, he rather doubted he would ever gather the courage to court a woman, let alone marry one.

Once Angus had proved himself by showing up on time and working longer hours than usual, the nursery owner seemed more tolerant of him.

Why his marital status mattered to the man was still a mystery to him.

For the fortnight he and Darius had seen to construction of the ironwork framing, he had merely considered the project another way to make his living. At the time, he had thought his employer’s plan to sponsor tree seedlings an expensive lark. If it wasn’t a tropical tree, why grow it in a greenhouse?

After listening to Darius explain that the success of growing plants was much higher if they had a bit of help at their start—protection from the elements and animals that might eat them—he understood.

“Will the trees take a long time to grow?” he asked, his thoughts no longer on the flower girl.

“A year or two, and they’ll be large enough to fend for themselves, I expect,” Darius replied. He waved to the open coach door, and Angus stepped up, immediately removing his cap and bowing to Stella.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Agremon. Apologies for having kept you waiting.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson, and I’ve only been in here a moment or two. Thank you so much for agreeing to help me today.” After Darius settled onto the seat next to her, she leaned forward and held out her gloved hand, a sovereign gripped between her thumb and forefinger. “This is to compensate you for your time and transportation today, since this is supposed to be your day off.”

Angus reacted with surprise at seeing the coin. “Thank you, ma’am,” he replied, gingerly taking the blunt from her. For a moment, he felt like a fool for his earlier, uncharitable thoughts. “This seems rather generous for moving a few boxes,” he added, while managing to keep suspicion from sounding in his voice.

“Nonsense. You’re helping to move books, which can be rather heavy,” she replied. “On a Sunday, no less.” The coach lurched into motion as she added, “And there are stairs involved, although I rather doubt much will need to go to the second floor.”

“The second floor?” he repeated.

“The rooms above my bookshop. There are two additional floors, actually.”

“Huh,” he replied, dipping his head in an attempt to hide the renewed annoyance he felt. Had he known there were empty floors above the bookshop, he would have offered to let them when he first started working for the inventor.

“I look forward to introducing you to Miss O’Connor,” Mrs. Agremon commented.

Frowning, Angus cleared his throat. “Isn’t she just another one of the Irish girls selling posies here in town?”

Stella inhaled softly. “Although I cannot confirm she is Irish or not, I’ll have you know, Iris is quite good at what she does. The Joneses trust her with their plants and flowers and the money she brings in on their behalf, so much so, I’m quite satisfied to entrust her with my bookshop when I’m not there.”

Dipping his head, Angus said, “Forgive me, ma’am. I’m not familiar with the business.”

“You’re forgiven, of course,” Stella said. After a pause, she asked, “Might I inquire as to your living situation, Mr. Thompson?”

Angus stiffened in the velvet squabs, his cheeks heating. He managed a shrug. “Merely bachelor quarters. The house is meant for only two, but the man who lets the upstairs portion has seen to…” he paused, not sure he should share his opinion, “inviting others to live with him. At a cost, of course. I’m afraid it has become a less-than-ideal situation.”

“Oh, dear,” Stella murmured. “Perhaps your situation will be improved—”

“The location of Mrs. Agremon’s bookshop is in Ave Maria Lane,” Darius interrupted. “But we’ll collect Miss O’Connor and her boxes on the way there.”

Wondering why his employer had interrupted his wife, Angus was about to ask if she might continue her comment when he saw them exchange odd glances. When Darius gripped his wife’s hand and gave it a squeeze, Angus decided it best he not prompt her. “Very well, sir.”

Given the day of the week, the traffic was light, and soon the coach halted at the base of a tenement building near the Seven Dials. Odors, not unlike what he had been living with over the past few months, assaulted his nostrils when the coachman opened the door.

He stepped down and turned with the intention to assist Stella. Darius bounded down after him and simply lifted his wife by the sides of her waist, lowering her to the street as if he had done it hundred times before. From how she simply stepped into his hold, gripping one of his shoulders with a gloved hand as he did so, Angus realized they must have done it a hundred times.

Darius offered his arm, she took it, and he led them into the rundown building and up a set of stairs. He paused before a wooden door with the number 9 painted at the top. Rapping his knuckles on it three times, he called out, “Miss O’Connor, it’s Darius Agremon.”

When the door opened, Angus gave a start. The young woman who waved them in displayed a brilliant smile quite at odds with the black crepe gown she wore. “How do?” she asked, curtsying before her attention fell on him. She quickly sobered.

Angus had to remember to breathe. The girl who stood before them wasn’t some chit fresh from a schoolroom, or a former street urchin barely in her teens. She was a lovely young woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties.

“Miss O’Connor, would you allow me the honor of introducing you to my assistant, Mr. Angus Thompson?” Darius asked, a hand going to Angus’s shoulder.