Page 51 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

Those three words, along with her intimation that she would join him for dinner on a Saturday evening had him feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

How could this only be a Monday?

He would have to wait five days until Saturday. At least he knew where he could find her in the late afternoons and evenings.

Turning off Lambeth Palace Road and onto Lambeth Pier, he searched for the address Darius had given him. He slowed his horse to a walk as he approached the office and finally halted the equipage and got down when an older man called out to him.

“I’m here about a block of granite,” he said, pulling the paper from his pocket. He handed it to the clerk and then secured the reins.

“Good timing. Got it right here,” the man said, pointing to a where a ship’s cargo was in the process of being unloaded. “How strong is your box?” he asked, a look of worry appearing as he examined the phaeton.

“Very. I’m a blacksmith,” Angus replied, his gaze going to the gray stone. It was somewhat larger than he expected, but he was sure it would fit. As for the weight, he knew his box could handle it since he had used it to transport iron bars and his tools.

“Good, because this weighs at least a hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

Giving a start, Angus glanced around. “Might there be someone who can help load it?”

Chuckling, the man called for another dock worker to join him, and soon they had the block of granite lifted into the box on the back of the phaeton. “Room to spare,” the man commented.

“Barely,” Angus replied. For some reason, he had imagined a smaller gravestone. That Jacob O’Connor, a woodworker, should be afforded a stone marker at all had Angus hoping that whoever saw to his burial might see fit to create a similar gravestone.

“Need you to sign that you’re taking it. Invoice has already been sent to D. Agremon,” the clerk said, reading from a crumpled paper he held.

Angus followed him into the cramped office, where he used an ancient quill and ink to sign his name. Taking the receipt the clerk offered, he thanked the man and returned to his phaeton.

After turning the equipage around at the end of the pier, he headed for home.

Although he would have liked to use the time to daydream about Iris O’Connor, the increased traffic required he pay attention. Once he made it to his lodgings, he would have the entire night to think of her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

An Old Letter

Meanwhile, back at the Antiquarian Quill

Stella unfolded the letter James Entwistle, Fifth Viscount Woodhurst, had delivered, the yellowing around the edges indicative of old paper. The folds were not in danger of breaking, which meant it had only been opened and closed a couple of times. The masculine cursive was written in a black ink, and there were only a couple of smears marring the otherwise even Greek letters.

At least it wasn’t papyrus or one of the other plants that had been used for correspondence over the centuries. She was sure Lord Woodhurst was already suspicious. She hoped that by admitting she had been born in Greece, the language in which it had been authored would not seem so unusual.

At first glance, the folded missive seemed rather ordinary. Examining the outside again, she gave a start. Only her name appeared. There was no address and no indication it had suffered the usual vagaries of a postal service.

So how had it been delivered?

Even more odd was that she couldn’t remember having seen it before. She had rarely received correspondence over the years. Although they had known thousands of people in their lifetimes, most were no longer alive.

Turning it over again, she sighed with relief when she realized there was no date in the upper corner. From the simple D at the bottom, she knew Darius had written it. Interpreting the Ancient Greek took longer than she expected, though. Although it had at one time been the only language she knew, she had since learned dozens of others.

My dearest Stella,

Another battle has been fought and won despite the dimwitted colonel in charge of our regiment. His arrogance is intolerable, and I find I must hold my tongue when in his presence.

My horse is the best part of this posting. A stallion from Iberia, he is unbothered by the sound of gunfire and responds to my commands as if we have known one another for far longer than a few months.

Although I was offered a different posting that would come with a promotion to general-major, I declined, for it would have required I leave my soldiers under the dimwitted colonel’s command. I could not do that to them, and when I told his superior (the general) of my reason for my decision, he was surprisingly in agreement.

Feeling pride in her husband’s convictions, Stella chuckled softly. He does not suffer fools lightly, she thought. From the information he’d supplied, she still had no idea when the letter might have been written. In modern times, he never held positions too high in an army. He couldn’t afford the attention should he suffer a public death and then be seen coming back to life.

War was frightening enough for those who had to fight the battles. To pay witness to someone coming back from the dead—it was no wonder Darius had been branded a demon more than one time in his past.