Page 48 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

Stella seemed to think for a moment. “Are you familiar with stones that have a shiny surface? Because they have been tumbled with sand and water until they are very smooth?”

Iris considered the description for a moment. “You mean like Thames garnets… or… or jet?”

“Yes, exactly,” Stella replied. “It’s like that, but made of granite. A harder stone than marble, according to Darius, which means a gravestone made from it should last much longer. The inscription should remain readable for a very long time.”

“Your husband knows about stones, too?” Iris asked in awe, her attention going to the source of the wood scent. A new set of bookshelves had been placed in the center of the shop, essentially blocking the view to the office. It wasn’t as tall as those that were up against the walls, which meant it would be possible to display a folio or two on top.

Stella allowed a shrug. “He studied geology many years ago, and I have all his books here to prove it,” she claimed. “Which reminds me. Mr. Miller delivered another set of bookshelves earlier this afternoon. Would you like to continue to fill them? It will mean we can bring down another box or two of books from your room, since I’ve already emptied the one that was in my office.”

Disappointed she had missed Frank Miller—she wished to thank him again for having seen to her brother’s burial—Iris removed her bonnet and nodded. “I should like that very much. I appreciate that you trust me to do it.”

“You’ll want to wear an old pair of gloves, and I’ll give you a cloth to dust each book before you place it on a shelf,” Stella explained. “The books were packed in a sort of semblance of order, but you’ll want to confirm the subject and the last name of the author before you place them on the shelf.”

“I’ll take my bonnet upstairs. Which box do I bring down?”

“The one closest to the stairs. I made sure they were in a particular order when I took them up there.”

Iris made it to the stairs before Stella added, “Oh, and there are some yellow paint swatches for you to take a look at in my office. I stopped by the colorman’s shop on my way in this morning.”

“Already?” Iris asked in surprise.

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” Stella replied. “I merely have to let him know which color you want, and the Benedetto brothers will do the painting later this week. Oh, and I ordered drapes for the third-floor windows. I rather doubt you want the old man across the street to see you changing clothes after dark.”

Sure her face was bright red—only the night before, she had wondered who might be behind the candle-lit window across the street—Iris nodded. “It’s very kind of kind of you to see to all this. To the extra expense,” she commented, retrieving the yellow cards from Stella’s office.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure. I feel far better knowing there is someone here with all my books when I cannot be.”

Iris considered Stella’s words as she climbed the steps to her rooms. From her conversation with Angus, it was apparent Darius had varied interests, and she knew from Stella he had employed books as his means of learning.

She imagined the two had probably met in a bookshop or a lending library. Bonded over a love of learning. It was no wonder Stella valued her books.

So how was it she could bear to part with them? To sell them to people who would probably never hold them in such high regard?

Iris reached the second floor and held out the yellow cards at various locations around the room. Although she had first thought she would like a bright yellow—the color of the body of a daffodil—she realized it would be far too yellow. Sickly, even. Instead, she opted for the palest yellow of the three choices, one that more closely matched the outer petals of a daffodil.

Satisfied with her choice, she grabbed an old pair of gloves from her trunk and headed down the stairs to the first floor. She found the carton Stella had mentioned and hefted it into her arms. A few minutes later and holding a dusting cloth, she was happily placing books in the new shelves when the bell above the door tinkled.

A middle-aged man dressed in cream pantaloons, an elaborately embroidered waistcoat, and a navy topcoat, entered with a top hat in his hand. In his other hand, he held what appeared to be an envelope.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said, setting aside the book she had been dusting. “May I help you find something for your library?”

He nodded in acknowledgment and glanced around. “Actually, would the proprietress be on the premises?”

For a moment, Iris wondered how she should respond. Had she been a servant and opened the door to a house, she would tell the caller she needed to see if the occupant was in residence. That approach seemed best with a potential customer. “I’ll see if she’s in her office. May I tell her who’s calling?”

He gave a start. “Oh, of course.” He tucked the top hat under one arm and fished a calling card out of his waistcoat pocket. “If you could tell her I’ve found something I think might belong to her,” he said as he gave Iris the card.

“I will, sir. One moment.” She hurried back to the office where she handed Stella the calling card. “He said he found—”

“I heard,” Stella whispered, rising from her chair. She straightened her skirts and took the card. Iris watched as she frowned, apparently not recognizing the name or the title.

Stella studied the elegant script on the white pasteboard.

James Entwistle, Fifth Viscount Woodhurst

Although she didn’t recognize the name, she did recognize the gentleman when she joined him near the front of the shop.

The odd buzzing sensation she had thought she had only imagined the last time he was there was once again evident.