Page 96 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” he replied.

Gingerly, she lifted the lid, knowing he was watching as she did so. Inhaling softly, she regarded him a moment before dipping her head. “It’s a ring,” she said.

“A betrothal ring,” he confirmed. “The stone is turquoise, and the band is gold.”

Betrothal! So…Angus did mean to marry her! And her wearing this beautiful jewelry would prove it to others as well. The fear that had her frozen with fear all day began to melt away. She looked up at him. “Did you make this?” she asked in awe.

He laughed out loud. “I fear I do not have the skill to make jewelry,” he replied.

He has so many skills, though, she thought. For so many things. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

“Will you wear it? So men like that one who was flirting with you when I arrived at your stall will know not to do so?”

Iris stared at him a moment before she giggled. “Angus Thompson, were you jealous?”

He displayed a grimace. “Yes.”

She sighed, both in relief and with satisfaction. “I’ll have you know that was my brother’s employer, and he was there to buy flowers for his wife. And to give me my brother’s wages.” She sobered. “He was also the undertaker for Jacob’s burial.”

Angus groaned. “Oh. I am so sorry. I… I didn’t know.”

She removed the ring from the box and studied it before she slipped it on her ring finger. She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Wherever did you get this?”

“A goldsmith in Ludgate Hill,” he replied. “He’s going to make you a wedding ring, too. That is, if you don’t throw me over.”

Once again, Iris felt tears threaten. “Oh, Angus,” she said, sniffling.

“What’s wrong now?” he asked, alarm in his voice.

“Nothing,” she said. “Absolutely nothing.”

Angus hesitated to grin at seeing the joy Iris displayed, but after a moment, he couldn’t help himself.

He continued to grin despite the renewed odor of wet paint that assaulted his nostrils when he held open the door to the Antiquarian Quill for Iris.

His grin broadened when he presented Mrs. Agremon with the pair of drapery rods he had made for the second-floor windows. He had fashioned the finials into iris blooms.

He was practically laughing with relief when he saw what the Benedetto brothers had done to the walls of the second floor. The faux Carrara marble reminded him of the statue of Venus in the Agremon’s hall.

Perhaps he could forge a sculpture of Iris in metal.

Hauling his bed frame up the two flights of stairs brought him back to reality, though, so when Mr. Agremon appeared with the town coach to fetch his wife at five o’clock, he gladly accepted the offer of help with the mattress and the other items of furniture he had loaded into the dray cart earlier that afternoon and even helped him to put the bed back together.

Angus made the bed himself with the linens and blankets Iris had stored.

When it was time to put the bed to use, Angus helped Iris out of her gown and underthings, and unrolled her stockings from her legs. Then he undressed himself.

He was sound asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Tittering softly, Iris climbed into the bed and sighed contentedly as she regarded the betrothal ring by the light of the candle lamp. Seven ovals of turquoise formed the petals of a flower centered by a pearl, all set in gold.

A bloom for a blacksmith, indeed, she thought, before she snuggled into Angus’s hold and fell asleep.

Chapter Forty-Two

Epilogue