Page 36 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“You don’t… bake your own bread?” Angus asked in surprise.

“I don’t,” she confirmed. “I’ve no means to bake it,” she added with a shrug. “No oven.”

Angus furrowed his brows. “What about the fireplace?”

She chuckled softly. “I fear I’ve not been successful in my attempts with baking bread in a fireplace. Other than brown bread in a pot,” she quickly amended. “I can do that over a fire, of course.”

Once Angus settled into the squabs, Iris wondered if he was disappointed by what he had learned about her. She dared not admit she couldn’t cook more than simple fare. She had never had the time nor a kitchen in which to practice. And what did it matter? She could buy ready-to-eat foods at the market.

She was pulled from her brief reverie when Angus said, “Given the late hour—I mean, by the time we have your things moved into your new rooms, you won’t have an opportunity to make your supper.”

“I have some bread and cheese. An apple. I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

Angus dipped his head. “If you’d like, I could, huh, take you to a public house for something a bit heartier,” he offered. “Is there such a place near the bookshop?”

Iris watched as Darius dared a glance at Stella before he shrugged and said, “Oxford Arms on Warwick Lane is probably the safest,” he replied. “There are some coffee houses nearby on Ludgate Hill.”

“The entire area must have at least twenty coffee houses,” Stella remarked. “Not all are open at night, though. Or on Sundays.”

Surprised at hearing Angus’s invitation and the subsequent suggestions for where they might have supper, Iris demurred. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Thompson, but I think it’s best I spend the evening unpacking. I must be at the market at four o’clock in the morning.”

Visibly discouraged, Angus once again dipped his head. “Oh, of course,” he murmured.

Wondering if she had disappointed him—maybe even offended him—she said, “Perhaps another time?”

Angus lifted his head and regarded her with uncertainty. “Perhaps,” he replied.

Other than the sounds of the coach wheels on the cobbles, an uncomfortable silence filled the coach until it pulled up to the curb in front of the Antiquarian Quill.

“You’re home,” Stella said as Darius assisted Iris down the step to the pavement.

In the waning light of day, Iris glanced up the front of the building to the pairs of windows fronting the second and third floors of the bookshop. “Home, indeed,” she replied.

She pretended not to notice how Angus Thompson stared up at the windows while displaying a look of longing.

Chapter Sixteen

Moving Day

A half hour later

“This is the last crate of books from the cart,” Angus announced when he settled it atop another on the first floor. Two lanterns and a candle lamp provided light now that the sun was setting.

“Those are probably mine,” Stella said, hurrying over to peer inside. A quick glance confirmed her suspicion. “Could you set this one with the others over there?” She pointed to a line of boxes closer to the stairs. “I’m waiting for more shelves to be built downstairs, and then these will be out of her way.”

Angus nodded. “Of course,” he replied, doing her bidding. He straightened and glanced around.

The single room appeared much as the one from which they had moved Iris, except this one included two windows and a larger fireplace. It was also longer, and a staircase led up to another floor.

Since Darius had taken up the cots and Iris’s trunk to the third floor, Angus hadn’t had a chance to see it. Although he was curious, he couldn’t sort an excuse to make his way up there. “Is there anything you’d like me to take upstairs?” he asked instead.

Having already opened one of the boxes near where they had placed the table and chairs, Iris did a quick sweep of the area. “I don’t think so.”

“I took a bucket of coal and some of those newfangled friction matches up there,” Darius said from where he was stacking boxes in the back corner. “Can you start a fire?”

Angus nodded. “Right away, sir.” He made his way up the thin staircase, inhaling sharply when he emerged onto the third floor. The light from a single candle lamp barely reached the corners of the room, but it was enough to illuminate a scorch mark on the wall and the few belongings that had been brought up by Darius.

Unlike the room below, this one was dark and gloomy. If he should have been the one living there, he had a thought he would hire a colorman to see to a brighter color of paint for the walls. If he had funds aplenty from an inheritance, he would have them wrapped in moire silk.