Page 94 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

He barked a laughed before he opened the front door and escorted her to the town coach. “You know me too well,” he said, offering a hand as she stepped into the equipage.

“Thirty-four hundred years of being with you will do that,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said, before closing the door. He waved to the driver, Mr. Stover, and returned to the house, reminded he needed to begin the search for a particular item of ancient origin.

Chapter Forty-One

A Day of Doubt

Half past two o’clock in the afternoon

With only a few rose stems remaining to be sold, Iris began dumping the water from the flower buckets and stacking them in a corner of the flower stall.

Despite the upsetting start to her day, she found her spirits lifted by the housekeepers who praised her bouquets and by the younger flower girls who had bought the remainder of her stock to sell in other neighborhoods of London.

The sour-faced woman who sold knickknacks in the stall next to hers had also enjoyed a better-than-usual sales day. When Iris felt the costermonger staring at her, she finally glanced over. “What are you looking at, Miss Crabbe?”

The older woman narrowed her eyes. “Got yerself some horizontal refreshment now, haven’t ye?”

“What?” she asked in alarm. She glanced down at her gown, wondering if there was something different about her outer appearance to bring about such a comment. “No.”

“Aye, ye needn’t deny it. Me sister is a cook at Agremon House. Said you and your beau were there night ’afore last for dinner. Spent the night together, like.”

Iris gave a start, realizing she couldn’t deny it. “We were, but we slept in separate bedchambers,” she insisted.

“Ah, so ye stayed the night, did ye?” Miss Crabbe waggled her brows. “Sister said she was told by the missus to make yer breakfast. She said you were with the blacksmith they have workin’ there on some invention.”

Iris froze, unable to counter the woman’s words. “I was there because…” She was about to admit to working for Mrs. Agremon at the bookshop but thought better of it. Any protests or explanations would only fuel the woman’s gossip. Word of her behavior was probably on the tip of wagging tongues throughout the market as people with no business to do demeaned her character and made her out to be a loose and immoral woman.

How could she combat that?

Still, she was unable to stop herself from trying. “I was invited to stay there,” she stated, even as she knew all she was doing was adding more for the woman to gossip about.

Miss Crabbe’s eyes suddenly rounded, her attention on someone behind Iris. “Well, if it ain’t the blacksmith,” she said. “Musta heard me talkin’ about ’im.”

Furrowing a brow, Iris whirled around to discover Angus practically running in her direction. “I’m quite sure—”

At the same time, a young man’s voice sounded at her side. “Excuse me, miss. Are those the only roses you have left?”

Iris turned to face a man she immediately recognized—the carpenter who had employed Jacob. Had he overheard Miss Crabbe’s accusations? Her head spun with the implications. “Mr. Miller,” she said, and swallowed away a lump in her throat as she curtsied.

“Good afternoon, Miss O’Connor. I hoped to find you here before you left for the day,” he said, fishing for something in his waistcoat pocket. He held out several coins, and she reached out a hand to catch them. “Your brother’s pay for the work he did on those bookshelves for the Antiquarian Quill,” he said. “I wish it could be more.”

Iris inhaled softly. “But you don’t owe me anything. You agreed to use his wages towards the cost of his burial.”

He shrugged. “The customer paid me extra for delivering the order so quickly, so I am merely passing it along.” he said. “How are you?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“I am well, thank you. I have moved into my new apartment, and I have you to thank for having reminded Mrs. Agremon about those floors above the bookshop.”

“I’m glad to have helped.” He nodded to her fisted hand. “There will be more after I finish the last two bookshelves,” he promised. “He carved enough molding for both and more, should Mrs. Agremon need additional bookcases.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller. It’s very kind of you to bring it to me,” she said, well aware that Miss Crabbe was still standing there witnessing everything, and probably was listening especially hard now that Angus had arrived. He was standing off to the side, his manner suggesting he was either in a hurry or very excited about something.

For a moment, she thought to prolong her conversation with the furniture maker just to spite the blacksmith. Having listened to Miss Crabbe’s take on the matter, she wasn’t sure how she was going to extract herself from a future with Angus Thompson without bringing further scandal on herself, though.

“Well, seein’ as how I wished to get flowers for my wife…” Mr. Miller shrugged. “I thought I could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“Well, if these three red roses are not enough,” she said, pulling them from their bucket to wrap their stems in tissue, “then you’ll wish to see Miss Smithton in the stall across the way.” She waved to another flower stall featuring wildflowers.