Page 90 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

She gave a start. “No ropes? Then what holds up the mattress?”

“Flat iron strips,” he replied. “I made the entire bed frame out of wrought iron,” he said, halting the horse in front of the market.

She giggled. “I can hardly wait to try it,” she said.

“You minx,” he accused. He lifted her down from the phaeton and then handed her the snap tin and water bottle. “When should I come for you?”

“I can take a hackney,” she said. “It sounds as if you’re going to have a full day.”

“All right, but do be careful.” He hesitated a moment before he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

She grinned and stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the lips. “See you for supper?”

He nodded and tipped his cap at the same moment Mr. Jones appeared, his wagon parked directly behind Angus’s phaeton.

“Miss O’Connor?” he said, sounding surprised.

“Good morning, Mr. Jones,” she said brightly.

“Is this man bothering you?” he asked, directing a censorious glance at Angus.

“Oh, not at all. Mr. Jones, may I introduce you to Mr. Thompson? He’s my…”

“Betrothed,” Angus finished for her. He held out his right hand. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Jones.”

“Betrothed?” Mr. Jones repeated. “But… you’re in mourning, Miss O’Connor,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Which is why she isn’t yet married to me,” Angus said.

The owner of the Jones’ Nursery continued to display a dubious expression. “What is it you do for your living, young man?”

Angus gave a start. “I’m a blacksmith, remember? I helped build your newest greenhouse. For the redwood trees.”

It was Mr. Jones’s turn to give a start. “Angus Thompson! I didn’t recognize you in the dark,” he said, holding up his coach lantern. He scoffed. “I take it Mr. Agremon introduced the two of you?”

Iris and Angus exchanged looks of amusement.

“Something like that,” Iris responded.

“I should take my leave,” Angus said, his gaze darting about to discover the traffic had increased significantly in only a few minutes. He tipped his hat to Mr. Jones. “Good day, sir.”

Iris dipped a curtsy and grinned as she watched him go. She turned to face Mr. Jones. “I’ll see to filling the buckets with water,” she offered.

She worked in silence for a time, helping to fill and haul in the water buckets while Mr. Jones used a wheelbarrow to bring in the bunches of flowers.

Knowing the older man was troubled by news of her betrothal, Iris waited until he had the last load of tropical plants delivered before she said, “I sense you are vexed, sir.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” he grumbled.

“But why? You have no need to be,” she said.

“Last week, I thought I was going to lose you because your brother had died, and this week, you say you’re betrothed.”

“But I won’t marry until after my mourning period in over,” she said. “Mr. Thompson has been quite helpful since Jacob’s death,” she added. “I’ve grown quite fond of him.”

“You’re supposed to be in mourning,” Mr. Jones scolded. “What happens after the wedding?”

“I’ve already told Mr. Thompson I’m going to continue working for you,” she said. “We spoke of it this morning, in fact.”