Page 57 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“Covent Garden Market, yes,” Jenkins acknowledged. “The Jones’ stall, as you requested, ma’am. Mrs. Jenkins said she was very pleased with the selections and that the young woman who waited on her was very courteous.”

Stella angled her head to one side. “Fresh flowers really do brighten up the place, don’t they?” she said, turning to see Darius’s attention wasn’t on the flowers but rather on the statue of Venus. “What is it?” she asked.

He pulled the slip of paper Iris had given him. “I was just reminded I’ll be carving stone this time tomorrow. Can’t say I’ll enjoy it as much as when I worked on that, though.” He arched a teasing brow, and Stella visibly blushed. “I’ll be in my study, seeing to my correspondence,” he said, before bestowing a kiss on her forehead. “See you at dinner.”

Stella climbed the stairs to the second floor and made her way into the library. As she always did when she entered the huge, long room, she inhaled deeply. The scents of vanilla and vellum were always the first to reach her nostrils followed by newly cut wood and leather.

At the sight of several crates she still had to unpack, she grimaced. The shelves here were nearly full, their contents the books and manuscripts most dear to her—the documentation of the world in which she and Darius had lived over the centuries.

There were two other boxes she had begun to fill with more books for the shop. Even after Mr. Miller delivered the last two back-to-back bookcases she had on order, there would be more books than she would have space for at the shop.

She needed customers.

A thought that she could run an advertisement in one of the newssheets was quickly replaced by the reminder she wished to learn more about her best customer so far—Lord Woodhurst.

Hurrying to where she had shelved the books containing the lineages of various royalty and aristocracy, she pulled out Peerage in England, Scotland, and Ireland. The spine of the thirty-year-old book, the very first of Debrett’s guides to the aristocracy, was barely cracked, but then she hadn’t had a need to research anyone before today.

She set the book on the library table in the middle of the room, pushing aside a stack of books to make space before she took a seat.

Finding the Woodhurst title was easy. As expected, the short history of the family began with why the title had originally been bestowed—William of Orange had seen fit to give James Entwistle the title of First Viscount Woodhurst after his participation in the Battle of Saint-Denis.

Peace terms had already been negotiated and signed to end the Franco-Dutch War, but on August 13, 1678, a combined Dutch and Spanish army led by William III of Orange attacked French forces led by the Duke of Luxembourg near Mons. Spain secured Mons as a result, and the win forced the French to withdraw.

Despite his young age—James Entwistle had only been twenty-five at the time—he held the rank of colonel and commanded a regiment of Dutch soldiers that was instrumental in the win.

Stella examined the entry for the first viscount, noting he had married an Englishwoman shortly after his title was granted. Her dowry was land in Kent, immediately south of London. A son, Thomas, was born a year later.

According to the record, the first viscount died in 1693 during the Battle of Landen. Stella huffed, sure Darius had mentioned a different name.

Neerwinden.

She hurried to the bookshelf containing books about the Netherlands, determined to reconcile Darius’s account with that of the peerage guide. She pulled out a book of about the history of the region and began her search.

“What are you looking for?”

Stella gave a start, the open book resting in one hand as she used the finger of her other hand to trace the lines of print. While looking for a mention of Neerwinden, she had discovered an account of how the ongoing cold weather during the seventeenth century had resulted in catastrophic starvation. Turning, she discovered Darius standing over the library table, his gaze on the open book.

“The Battle of Landen,” she replied. “According to Debrett’s, that’s where the first Viscount Woodhurst died.”

Darius chuckled softly. “The Battle of Landen and the Battle of Neerwinden were the same battle,” he stated.

Stella blinked in surprise. “You’re sure?”

He directed a quelling glance at her. “I was there,” he reminded her. “As I recall, everyone on both sides was hungry, France was nearly broke, and although we probably should have retreated over the river, we stood our ground. Kept the battlefield too small for the French forces. They couldn’t use their cavalry.”

“The Dutch Republic always had more artillery than the French,” she remembered.

“We used it to good advantage, but both sides took heavy losses. We actually lost that battle,” he stated.

Stella gave a start. “It couldn’t have been that bad,” she countered. “William saved Liège and Maastricht from an attack,” she said, pointing to the page she had been reading. “The Duke of Württemberg’s raid in French Flanders was a success, and in another year, William retook the lost ground.”

Darius nodded. “True, but we had the famine and lack of forage for horses to thank for that. Luxembourg could barely move his own artillery, let alone any of what he had captured from us.”

“And then he died,” she murmured.

Darius appeared dumbfounded for a moment. “That was his last victory,” he admitted. Clearing his throat, he nodded to the still-opened Peerage in England, Scotland, and Ireland. “I see we had the same idea. What else have you learned about Woodhurst?”

Scoffing, she returned to the library table. “His son was Thomas, who inherited in sixteen ninety-three,” she stated. “As we would expect.”