Page 61 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

Stella stopped what she was doing and stared at the young woman. “No. The men should be done in there by now, and if they’re not, they can go to another room,” she replied. “You were attacked whilst working in my business. On a day I left early.” She paused a moment. “Might I ask how it was Mr. Thompson was at the bookshop?” She helped Iris put on the robe, which mostly hid the blush that suddenly colored the young woman’s entire body.

“I’m not sure. When he drove me to there earlier in the day, we talked about us having supper together Saturday,” she admitted. “But…” Iris swallowed and took a steadying breath.

“He couldn’t wait?” Stella guessed, allowing a wan grin. “I think he’s quite taken with you.” She pulled a chemise and stockings from a drawer in the large bureau.

“He really shouldn’t be, nor should I be seen with him. I’m supposed to be in mourning,” she said quietly.

“True, but you’re not dead, thank the gods. And speaking of mourning, this isn’t exactly the current fashion,” she murmured, holding up the black gown.

“It’s beautiful,” Iris countered, her gaze landing on the black crepe mourning gown.

“You can have it,” Stella replied. “Oh, and this one, too,” she added, pulling out another one from her wardrobe. “Now… let’s see about some petticoats. Yours don’t look as if they’ll last another week.”

Iris blushed and lifted her hands in embarrassed supplication. “But—”

“Let’s get you into the shower bath so you can be dressed in time for dinner.” Stella waved away the woman’s protests and ushered her back to the bathing chamber.

Meanwhile, in the bathing chamber

Angus watched in fascination as Darius tended to his hand. For someone with such large hands, the man’s fingers were nimble, his thumb firm as he tested each of Angus’s fingers for breakage.

“How do you know how to do this?” Angus asked, watching intently.

“Testing for broken bones, you mean?” Darius countered. “I’ve been a soldier in the past. Learned a lot from the doctors on the battlefield.” There was a pause before he asked, “Do you want to tell me all of what happened this afternoon?”

Dipping his head, Angus decided it was best he admit everything. “As you instructed, I took Miss O’Connor to the bookshop and then fetched the granite from Lambeth Pier. I’m not exactly sure what came over me, but… but I wanted to see her again. We talked of going to supper on Saturday, but I… I couldn’t wait.”

Darius listened intently as he fashioned a splint. “It sounds as if you made it back to the bookshop just on time.”

“Hardly.” Angus scoffed. “She had tried to escape by running up the stairs, but he had her down. She was kicking and screaming. He had her skirts up and his trousers…” He swallowed, once again overwhelmed by the realization that if he hadn’t gotten there in time of what would have happened to beautiful, innocent Iris. He’d done the right thing. It had been horrible, but Angus couldn’t find a guilty feeling or thought. The wretched man got what he deserved. “Well, that’s when I got a handful of his coat. Jerked on it hard. He fell backwards down the stairs. Almost took me with him,” he recalled.

“It’s a wonder he didn’t break his neck,” Darius murmured.

“I started punching his face. Over and over again,” he said quietly. “I knew he’d hurt her. I could hear her crying. I wanted to kill him.” He lifted his gaze to stare at Darius. “Have you ever had to do that? For Mrs. Agremon?”

Darius’s grimace would have been enough of a tell, but he said, “I have.”

“And… did you? Kill him?”

Inhaling softly, Darius nodded. “Them,” he said. “Three pirates on a Greek island. I warned them first, but I gave them no quarter,” he said. “No man touches my Stella but me.”

Angus gave a start at hearing the steel in the older man’s voice, and nodded. “That’s how I felt about Iris. I want to be her protector, sir. I want her to be… my wife.”

His employer regarded him with a sympathetic expression for a moment before he nodded. “Well, before you can do that, we need to see to this,” he said, rubbing a thumb over the top of Angus’s left pinky.

Angus winced.

“This may hurt a bit,” Darius warned. “You’ve broken the knuckle at the top of your little finger, so we need to immobilize it.”

“What does that mean?”

With a tight-lipped wince, Darius sighed. “We have to keep it from moving so it will heal,” he explained. “So I’m going to wrap sparadrapo around it…” He held up a length of bandage. “With these flat sticks and then wet it.”

“Sparadrapo?” Angus repeated.

“I suppose some call it esparandrapo. Either way, it’s a bandage that has plaster in it. When you wet the end of it, it sticks to itself.”

Angus nodded his understanding.