Page 72 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

Stella seemed to understand her concern immediately. “It was for both of you, actually,” she said carefully. “We were under the impression you two had come to a sort of… agreement… about your future?”

“We have,” she affirmed, although at the moment, she was beginning to doubt some of the particulars.

“If you don’t want him living up there—”

“Oh, but I do.” She could feel the heat of a blush coloring her cheeks. “I… I understand why it is you would want a renter up there, though. Someone who is paying you every week. You’re obviously spending a good deal of money—”

“Because I want to,” Stella interrupted. “This is my building. Every bit of money I put into it is because I want to. Besides…” She lifted the receipt book. “We are selling books. Rare books. They bring in a good deal of blunt,” she said in a hushed voice. After a pause, she angled her head to one side. “Now, since I’ve heard Mr. Thompson’s account of your agreement, might I hear it from you?”

Iris inhaled softly. “Promise me you won’t think me fast,” she countered.

Stella furrowed a brow. “I… I promise. Even if you had already shared a bed, I—”

“We have.”

“—I would not think you fast,” Stella finished. “But now that you’ve admitted that little tidbit, you really must tell me more,” she insisted, excitement lighting her face.

Iris blinked in surprise. She had expected some sort of admonishment from the older woman. A scolding at the very least. “Nothing happened,” she insisted. “When Angus returned from seeing to that nasty business last night, I went to his bed. We talked, and I fell asleep in his arms. He was the one who had to wake me at three o’clock this morning. Oh, and thank you for having your cook make me a breakfast. It was quite good.”

Stella’s eyes widened, as if she was surprised to hear this bit of news. “Oh. I’ll be sure to tell Mrs. Crabbe.” She cleared her throat. “So… about the agreement?” she prompted.

Iris nodded. “Angus said he is to pay you the same as what he pays for his current lodgings, and he will occupy the second floor. I will continue to work here in exchange for the gorgeous third floor.” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “And Angus will provide protection for me.”

“He had better,” Stella stated. She seemed reluctant to ask the next question but finally did when Iris arched a dark brow. “Will you marry him?”

Iris nodded. “If I were not in mourning for my brother, I would marry him on the morrow,” she said. “Perhaps it’s best that I cannot, though. I will have six months to learn all there is to know about him.”

“It actually takes several years with men,” Stella warned in a whisper. “Decades, sometimes.”

Iris chuckled. “Well, I shall use the time I have with him to learn if I can abide him for the rest of my life.” When the chimes of a clock in the office sounded, she started. “Oh! You mentioned having to leave at five o’clock,” she said.

“Darius and I have been invited to dinner,” Stella said. “Can you guess by whom?”

Confused by the question, Iris gave a start. “Um… friends?”

“I rather hope they will be friends. Lord and Lady Woodhurst are hosting us this evening.”

Iris gasped. “The Viscount Woodhurst,” she said with excitement. “I could not believe a peer of the realm was here yesterday,” she added. “I even tried to look for him in…” She paused and swallowed. Turning, she glanced to where she had been holding the book about the peerage when the attacker had entered the shop. “The book,” she finished in a whisper. “I threw it at that awful man,” she admitted. “I’m so sorry.”

“No need to be. Books make very effective weapons… in more ways than one,” Stella replied.

“Is it badly damaged?”

Stella shook her head. “I found it on the floor this morning. Don’t worry. It didn’t suffer overmuch. In fact, I’m rather glad you chose that particular book.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a newer volume on the aristocracy than what I have at home in my library,” Stella explained. “So I’m taking it with me when I leave this evening. I need to learn all I can about our hosts.”

The sounds of booted feet on the stairs had them turning their attention to the back of the shop. The Benedetto brothers appeared, each one carrying a bucket and a wooden tool caddy.

“Are you already finished?” Stella asked, surprise in her voice.

“The third floor is finito, but do be careful. The paint will be wet for a day, maybe two,” Raffaele warned.

“Molto Italiano,” Francesco said, holding his fingertips and thumb together while he winked at them. He opened the door for his brother and the two stepped out, the bell above it tinkling loudly.

“Arrivederci. Ci vediamo domattina!” Stella called out; the men appeared surprised but smiled and nodded agreement as they left, calling out ciao! as they left.