Page 40 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“They might still be… six months from now,” he offered, placing a thumb at the top of her cheek. He brushed it back to her hairline, relieved when he didn’t feel the evidence of a tear. “And in the meantime, perhaps we can host them for dinner. Or arrange for them to meet ‘by accident.’” His words were punctuated by a another growl erupting from his stomach.

Stella giggled and rose from his hold. “Come. We should dress for dinner. Get you fed,” she encouraged. A quick glance at the mantel clock showed it was nearing eight o’clock. “Mrs. Crabbe will be even more of a crab if we’re late.”

He groaned as he attempted to sit up. “Whatever have you done to me, my love? I don’t think I can move,” he complained, even though he knew his grin was wide.

“That wasn’t me,” she replied, pulling on a silk wrapper.

Darius moaned when her nakedness was suddenly hidden from view. “I beg your pardon?”

“The stairs, darling. It’s their fault,” she countered, grinning as she disappeared into the bathing chamber.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed until his feet were on the floor, Darius chuckled. “Mayhap later we can make it your fault,” he called out.

His grin widened when he heard her giggle of delight.

Chapter Nineteen

A Blacksmith Forges a Plan

Meanwhile, at the Oxford Arms

His dinner of steak pie and a pint of ale had long since been consumed when Angus sat back to survey his surroundings. The current version of the one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old Oxford Arms was showing its age, given its soot-stained walls and ceiling. According to a placard near the entrance, the coaching inn’s original building had been destroyed in the Great Fire.

Two large wheels lit with candles were hung from the ceiling with chains, illuminating the coaching inn’s dining room with a golden glow. Candle lamps in the middle of the tables made it possible to read the menu board the buxom server had set before him. The flames in the huge fireplace contributed to make the public room far lighter than most taverns.

He had actually seen what he was eating and affirmed that the glass in which his ale was served was clean.

This would have been an entirely acceptable place to bring Miss O’Connor for a meal, especially since most of the patrons seemed to be travelers spending the night before continuing their trips.

No one would know them.

He recalled how earlier that day he had felt such annoyance at having to help a young woman move to rooms he would have liked for himself. Now that he had met Iris O’Connor, he understood why Mrs. Agremon had offered her the apartment above the Antiquarian Quill. The tenement she had shared with her brother probably wasn’t as bad as the slums found deeper in the Seven Dials, but it was still not a suitable place for anyone to have to live.

Especially such a comely young woman.

Yet she had done so. With her brother.

Were they orphans? Or young people who had fled a rural village in favor of employment in the capital?

Surely she would have returned to her parents’ home if they still lived. The death of her brother meant she had no protector. No one to share the costs of food and a room. Surely, she was all alone in the world.

Angus felt ever the fool for the envy he had experienced earlier.

Mr. Agremon paid him a fair wage for his skills as a blacksmith, and he was sure that once the steam-powered vehicle was complete, the eccentric inventor would have another project for him. Even if he didn’t, Angus knew he would leave with an excellent character reference and have his choice of blacksmithing or ironworking positions. England’s continued industrialization ensured it.

As for what he would do in the meantime, Angus was sure of one thing: He had to see Miss O’Connor again. Confirm his attraction to the young woman. Determine if they might have a future as—dare he hope it?—husband and wife.

He would have to speak to her again, of course. Mayhap ask her to go for a ride with him on his phaeton. Could he gather the courage to do that? He had been surprised when he actually kissed the back of her hand. The sweet scent of a flowery perfume had risen to his nostrils, and the warmth of her soft skin scorched his lips. Indeed, if he tried, he could still smell it and feel it.

And to think that he’d also put voice to his invitation for her to join him for a meal at the coaching inn!

For a moment, he couldn’t believe he had said the words out loud. Then, when she had begged off, he had felt relief that he wouldn’t have to spend time with her, not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew he would struggle with what to talk about.

The thought of courtship was as exciting as it was frightening.

An image of her in his mind’s eye, Angus paid his bill and left the Oxford Arms, stepped into a waiting hackney, and was back in his rooms twenty minutes later.

Although his nose wrinkled at the slight stench from his upstairs neighbors, he merely continued to think of Iris O’Connor as he prepared for bed.