Page 87 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“Because, my sweet, Sunday night you were convinced he ‘yearned for her,’” he claimed. “I believe I was the one who thought he might try using Iris to gain better quarters.”

Stella considered his response for a moment. “Oh, my, you’re right,” she said in awe. “That night I was convinced he loved her.”

Darius barked a laugh. “Well, now that we have that settled, what did your assistant decide on the matter? Or is she still thinking about it?”

Remembering her conversation with the young woman that afternoon, Stella sighed contentedly. “Iris is going accept his proposal. Have him move in with her—”

“I think I know what I’ll be doing tomorrow,” Darius murmured.

“—and once her mourning period is over, they will marry.” She paused and asked, “What are you going to be doing tomorrow?”

“Helping him move,” he replied.

She tittered. “The painters will be working on the second floor,” she reminded him. “But that doesn’t mean Mr. Thompson can’t move some of his things in.”

“I imagine he’s there right now,” he whispered. After a pause, he asked, “What are you thinking?”

“About our first time,” she whispered. “I was so frightened of you, despite having a crush on you from the time I was old enough to have such thoughts.”

“You weren’t frightened of me. You were frightened by the sight of my cock,” he claimed.

“Oh, that, too,” she agreed. She reached down and touched the tip of his manhood with a fingertip. “I do hope Iris isn’t frightened. That Mr. Thompson takes as much care with her as you did with me.”

Darius inhaled deeply. “I believe he will. He knows he could easily lose her should he do something stupid,” he added.

“There is that,” Stella remarked. “Just think, they’ll go down in history as our first match,” she remarked.

“You’re still thinking about becoming a matchmaker?”

“We are matchmakers,” she corrected him, ignoring his dubious expression. “Now, when should we have the Woodhursts to dinner?”

Blinking at the sudden change of topic, Darius scoffed. “After we find a new cook?” he countered. He had to suppress a yawn. “Let’s give it some time.”

“I like her,” Stella murmured.

“She’s a bluestocking. A voracious reader. How could you not like her?”

Stella grinned. “Indeed, but she is a peer’s wife. An aristocrat,” she reminded him.

“Do be careful, though,” he warned. “She’s mortal, and I don’t think she’s long for this world.”

“What?” Stella raised herself on an elbow. “What makes you say that?”

Darius displayed a grimace. “How could you not notice that she’s in poor health? I will be shocked if she lasts another three… mayhap five years,” he replied. “But a good friend for a few years is better than no friend,” he added.

Realizing he spoke the truth—she hadn’t acquired any friends since their move to London—Stella decided she could at least invite the woman for tea on occasion. “Will you and Lord Woodhurst be friends?”

He inhaled and let the breath out in a whoosh. “Mere acquaintances, I should think. I’m not sure how many aristocrats keep commoners as friends.”

“At least he won’t ever die on you,” she said. “And it would be good to have a friend in a high place.”

Furrowing his dark brows, Darius considered her comment. “This is true,” he acknowledged. He closed his eyes and was soon snoring softly.

Unable to sleep, Stella reached for a book from the nightstand and began to read.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

A Bloom and a Blacksmith