Page 42 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“Yes!” She turned to him in surprise. “How—?”

“He built the iron framework for the greenhouse,” he replied. “Very particular with his ironworking. Nothing fancy, but it didn’t need to be.” He paused and sighed. “I interrupted what you were tellin’ me,” he commented. “Do go on.”

“Oh, well, they carried everything from my old lodgings and transported it to the bookshop. Even brought all the crates of books and my furniture up the stairs. Made it all very easy for me. I’m all moved in and nearly unpacked.”

“Next you’ll be tellin’ me you’re going to work for only them,” Mr. Jones said, his manner sobering.

“No, I won’t. I’ll always be a flower girl, Mr. Jones,” she claimed, stepping back to admire the bouquet she had just finished.

A customer approached their booth, followed by another. “I’ll take that one,” the older woman said, her gnarled finger pointing to the arrangement in front of Iris.

“I want that one,” the other woman said, waving to the first bouquet.

Iris grinned and waggled her brows so only her employer could see. “I could never leave this sort of work,” she whispered.

“Well, I’m relieved to hear it, Iris,” Mr. Jones murmured. “And Mrs. Jones will be, too. I believe I’ll take my leave now,” he added in a whisper, his eyes rounding when he saw what appeared to be a mad rush of liveried servants and black-gowned housekeepers entering the market.

Iris tittered. “Good day, Mr. Jones,” she said, before turning her attention to the housekeepers lining up in front of the stall. “Good morning, Mrs. Hutchins. You’ve made an excellent choice. As usual, cut the ends before you put it into a vase with water, and they should appear fresh for you all week.”

The housekeeper paid her and hurried off, the next woman in line already holding out money for the other bouquet.

Iris was sold out of flowers by two o’clock in the afternoon.

*

As Iris finished emptying buckets and was about to take her leave of the market, she turned to discover Angus Thompson making his way in her direction. The odd sensation of fluttering in her abdomen once again occurred, and she inhaled softly, sure her reaction was apparent to others—especially him.

Despite her brief moment of embarrassment, she managed a bright smile and greeted the burly young man.

Chapter Twenty-One

A Conversation About Courtship

Earlier that afternoon, in the workshop at Agremon House

Assisting Darius with lowering the new engine block into the back of the vehicle with the help of ropes and some pulleys, Angus felt immense relief when it settled perfectly onto the support framework. With the addition of the cylinders where the pressure from the steam would drive pistons, the unit was quite heavy.

“You seem surprised,” Darius commented, stepping back to examine their accomplishment.

“I suppose I am,” Angus admitted, watching as the older man attached the drive shaft. At least that part of the vehicle hadn’t been damaged in the explosion.

“Well, the dimensions didn’t change, so it makes sense it would fit right.” He wiped his hands on a rag and checked the time on a clock set on the workbench. It was barely past noon. “Should we give it a go?”

Angus chuckled. “Last time we got this far, I went out for a smoke, and it blew up,” he recalled, quickly sobering when his employer sent him a quelling glance.

“That won’t happen again,” Darius claimed. He had already filled the water reservoir and lit the coal burner. At any moment, the water would be hot enough to turn to steam and set the pistons into motion. The pistons would then begin to produce the high torque necessary for the drive shaft.

“How can you tell when it’s ready?” Angus asked, stunned when the mechanism didn’t seem to make much noise.

“When the pistons are moving.” Darius placed a watering can onto the seat. When he saw Angus’s questioning look, he added, “Just to be sure we have enough water for the trip.”

From his work on the parts, Angus knew the drive shaft was attached to the axle for the back wheels, and a rudimentary steering mechanism was connected to the front axle. They had never discussed if the vehicle would need to back up in addition to moving forward—forward momentum was the only thing that mattered, really.

There was a braking mechanism, however. It was controlled by a hand lever that required the driver to pull it out.

“See to the doors, would you?” Darius said, sliding into the vehicle to sit directly behind the steering mechanism. The driver’s seat was merely a wooden board, a temporary solution until he could determine the best placement. His attention went to the pressure valves. He would have to wait until enough pressure had been created before engaging the drive shaft with a lever.

“Yes, sir.” Angus opened the two large carriage house doors and went down to open the gates in the back fence leading to the alley. By the time he returned to the workshop, Darius had the blocks removed from around the wheels and the engine engaged. “Would you like to join me? Hold the water can? I’m not planning to go far.”