Page 10 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“I’m going down in my bathrobe,” he announced.

“If mine weren’t so thin, I would do the same,” she said.

“Let’s not tempt the footmen,” he murmured. “Or Jenkins,” he added, referring to the ancient butler.

“I should hope not. He’s married to the housekeeper, or have you forgotten?” she reminded him. “And won’t you be tempting a housemaid?”

He guffawed. “No. They’re scared to death of me. Besides, I’m too large for them,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.

Stella gasped. “Is that why they look at me as if they feel sorry for me?” she asked in awe.

Darius barked a laugh, kissed her on the forehead, and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Come. Let’s get you into a suitable gown, and you can tell me what it is you have on your mind.”

Giving a start, Stella stared at him a moment before allowing a soft scoff. “I’ll be quick.” Wrapping the bath linen around her body, she hurried into the bathing chamber and quickly donned her gown. “I overheard two gentlemen speaking with one another today at the bookshop,” she blurted.

“About?” he prompted.

“One complained about the lack of any sort of law enforcement here in London—”

“We have Charlies and parish constables,” he countered. “And some magistrate formed the Metropolitan Police Force a few years ago.”

“Sir Robert Peel, yes, which is what the other gentleman mentioned,” she agreed. “Apparently, though, there are not enough of them for the streets, nor enough of those who work out of an office in Bow Street. The ones who investigate the crimes.”

“Bow Street officers,” he murmured. When she didn’t say anything else, he gave a start. “You think I should work as a Peeler?” he asked, surprise in his voice and on his face.

She dipped her head. “I know you enjoy inventing things. That it brings you joy to see your efforts rewarded when they work.”

“But?”

She sighed. “Should you grow bored of inventing things, I think you might wish to consider working for Sir Robert. You miss… conflict. Warfare,” she whispered. “Protecting people.”

He nodded. “You have the right of it,” he replied.

His most recent foray into battle was fighting with the Greeks in their war for independence against the Ottoman Empire. For the first two years, he had joined the rebel forces led by Theodoros Kolokotronis in central Greece when they took control of Tripolitsa, an Ottoman stronghold. The following year, they destroyed Mahmud Dramali Pasha’s army in the Battle of Dervenakia.

He would have continued serving under the Greek general, but whilst fighting two enemy soldiers, both armed with yataghans, he’d suffered a deep cut. Although he had been able to dispatch the enemies before they could do harm to anyone else, the damage from the short, curved sword resulted in his gruesome death.

A real death.

Too many of his fellow soldiers paid witness, and he had been forced to lie inert and pretend to be a corpse until long after nightfall.

Stella thanked the gods the soldiers hadn’t been ordered to pile up the dead and set them ablaze. She wasn’t sure if an Immortal could survive a fire.

That had been a decade ago.

“Would it anger you to learn I have been considering… giving up the inventing?” he asked. “That is, if I don’t think of something new? Of course, there are a number of ideas I’m considering, but I also have to think of the economics.” And, she supposed, the structural integrity of his workshop. How many explosions could it take, after all?

Although they had gold aplenty, living in London was proving costly. He had already sunk a good deal of blunt into the steam-powered vehicle, although Darius had told her he was sure he would recoup most of the expenses when he sold it and the rights for it to be manufactured. After that, he’d said, he might have to come up with something he could make in quantity and sell quickly.

Inhaling sharply, Stella turned around so he could do up the fastenings down her back. “I wouldn’t be angry,” she replied. “I suppose I would wonder why you didn’t think you could tell me.”

Taking his time with the cloth-covered buttons, he said, “I would do it tomorrow but for the commitment I made to a certain apprentice regarding his employment.”

Stella turned her head to rest her chin against her shoulder. “Might Mr. Thompson be interested in working as a Peeler?”

Darius chuckled softly. “I could not say. He has enough experience—and skill—to open his own forge, though.”

“So you would not feel too guilty letting him go?”