Page 46 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

He expected her look of surprise and adored seeing how her sapphire eyes widened. “Have you already finished working for Mr. Agremon today?” When he offered his arm, she hesitated before she placed her gloved hand on it. “Or has something else happened?” Angus heard worry in her voice.

At the reminder of his employer, Angus remembered he had news to share. “Something did indeed happen. Mr. Agremon drove the steam vehicle on the streets around his townhouse today,” he said with excitement. “It worked. Spooked a horse, but otherwise, the test drive was a success,” he claimed happily. “He allowed me to leave early, seeing as how I need to pick up an order for him.”

“That’s wonderful news,” she gushed. “Did you ride in it as well?”

“I did. It was quite exhilarating. Much like riding on a phaeton, except it was lower to the ground.” He led them out of the market and to Henrietta Street, where he had left his phaeton. Although it appeared to be rather old—and it was—he had managed to keep it in good working order by replacing the metal parts.

A young boy stood holding the reins, and Angus tossed him a coin.

“What of this order you are to fetch for Mr. Agremon?” she asked. “Something for the vehicle?”

He offered his hand, and she pressed one of her gloved hands into it as she took the steep step onto the phaeton. “Not at all. I’ve been tasked with retrieving a block of granite,” he explained, hurrying around to the other side of the equipage.

“Granite?” she repeated, arranging her skirts as she took a seat on the bench.

“Polished granite from Mr. Alexander MacDonald of Aberdeen,” he said, remembering the name from the paper he had stuffed into his waistcoat pocket. “The same granite that was used for the columns in the market,” he added. “Mr. Agremon said he is going to carve a marker for your brother’s grave.” He glanced behind them, as if to determine when it would be safe to merge into the busy traffic.

Iris inhaled softly. “Mrs. Agremon mentioned he would do so. I didn’t realize he would use granite, though.” She waited for Angus to settle onto the bench before she added, “Might you know how much this is this going to cost me?”

“Probably nothing,” Angus replied. “It seems Mr. Agremon is curious about the difference in carving granite versus marble. He used to sculpt in marble.”

“He’s been a sculptor?” she asked in disbelief. “As in… an artist?”

He nodded. “If you ever happen to be in their townhouse, there is a marble sculpture of Venus in the front hall. It’s quite beautiful. Appears as if it was done in Ancient Greece or by one of those Italian artists from the Renaissance period,” he said. “At least, that was my first impression when I saw it.”

Iris’s eyes widened. “Does it look like the statue of Venus in the Townley Collection at the British Museum?”

Once again, he nodded, and his ears blazed red. “In all her… gloire nue, pardon my French,” he murmured. “But better, because she still has both of her arms. And her nose! She bears a remarkable resemblance to Mrs. Agremon, which has me thinking she probably posed for him.”

Tittering, Iris said, “I am learning that Mr. Agremon is a very interesting man.”

Angus chuckled as the phaeton lurched into motion, the single Cleveland Bay tossing his head as he merged the equipage into traffic. “‘Interesting’ is a good assessment of him,” he agreed. “Did you discover something about him today?”

“I did. I learned he was a botanist, and that you helped to build a greenhouse for my employer,” she said, remembering Mr. Jones’s comment from that morning. “You didn’t say a word about it,” she scolded.

Below his cap, Angus once again felt his ears heat with embarrassment. He loved hearing the awe in her voice, glad she thought his contribution to the business was meaningful. “Your employer must be Mr. Jones,” he said, grunting softly.

“He is,” she acknowledged. “I’ve worked for him for four years now. He and his wife are very dear to me.”

“Well, I have decided that although Mr. Agremon might be considered eccentric by some, he knows so much. As if he’s far older than he appears.”

“The Agremons know so much because they have read every book they possibly could,” she countered. “They are voracious readers.”

He considered her comment for a moment. “You might be right,” he replied. “It would explain much.” When they approached a corner, he glanced over to discover her eyes were closed, an enigmatic grin lighting her face. The breeze created from the speed at which the horse pulled the phaeton had her ringlets sailing beyond the edges of her bonnet. “You’ll need to hang on when we turn corners. To me or to the pole,” he warned. “I shouldn’t want you falling.”

Iris immediately gripped his arm as the horse trotted through the intersection before increasing its speed once it was on Fleet Street. She giggled in delight.

“I take it you’ve never been on a phaeton before,” he commented, raising his voice to be heard above the clatter of the horse hooves and the wheels on the cobbles. The difference in the amount of noise from driving a horse versus being inside the much quieter steam-powered vehicle earlier that afternoon had been notable.

“My brother used to fetch me from the market with a cart he drove for his work,” she said. “But it couldn’t move nearly as fast as this does. Or perhaps it was because the old horse couldn’t move this fast.”

Chuckling, Angus felt a hint of pride. Although he didn’t own the horse, he paid a monthly fee to the mews behind his lodgings to ensure he would always be afforded a decent Cleveland Bay for his daily trips to the Agremon townhouse. “I’ll have you at the bookshop in a few minutes,” he claimed.

“What about Lambeth Pier?” she asked.

“I’ll head there after I drop you,” he replied. “I shouldn’t want you to be late. The man I’m to meet won’t be there until three o’clock.”

“This is terribly out of your way,” she remarked.