Page 92 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

“I am.”

“Oh, I’ll work on them next, sir. I have installed the ones I made yesterday. Miss O’Connor likes them very much, so I’m hoping Mrs. Agremon does as well.”

“What will I like?”

The two men turned to discover Stella at the workshop door. “The drapery rods he made yesterday,” Darius said, rushing over to kiss her on the lips.

Angus quickly averted his eyes, glad the heat from the forge already had his face red. The kiss was a reminder of what he had done with Iris the night before, the memory bringing with it a reminder of the odd encounter with Mr. Jones that morning.

He couldn’t shake the sense that Iris’s employer would say things to undermine or even cheapen their relationship. Of course, he supposed, it was all that could be expected from most people, who expected everyone to conform to the usual expectations of society. Like being in mourning.

Still, Angus had built what he thought was a perfect framework for the Jones’ greenhouse. He had shown himself to be trustworthy. He had been polite. Conversed when prompted.

Except… Angus swallowed at the reminder of what one conversation with Mr. Jones had entailed.

Marriage.

He had told Mr. Jones he wouldn’t marry. He hadn’t told him why, exactly, for he didn’t wish for his shyness to come across as cowardly.

Shyness had been his shield of sorts. His means of avoiding awkward encounters with people. Women especially.

That was before he had met Iris. Before he had spent a day in her happy company, for despite mourning her brother, there was an undercurrent of joy that seemed to roll off the young woman.

He couldn’t help but wonder if that same spark of joy would have been extinguished if she hadn’t met Mrs. Agremon. If the bookshop owner hadn’t found her at the bank and made things right with her accounts, hadn’t offered her a place to live and another avocation, where would Iris be now?

The thought troubled him. He would never have crossed paths with her if the Agremons hadn’t insisted he help with her move.

When next he saw her, he would have to ensure she wasn’t left doubting their plans for the future, for he couldn’t abide the thought of living without her. He had to stop the sobering thoughts when his employers stopped their amorous activity and started talking again.

“He’s already installed them,” Darius said, once he had finished bestowing his kiss of greeting on his wife.

“On the windows of the third floor, I hope,” she said. “The painters are going to do the second floor today.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Angus assured her. “I made sure not to touch the wet paint around the windows, and I hung up some blankets over the rods so Miss O’Connor would have privacy.” Even though the man who had lived directly across the street was no longer among the living, there would soon be a new tenant in that apartment.

Stella and Darius exchanged quick glances before she turned her attention back to the blacksmith. “Did you and Iris have an opportunity to discuss your… proposal?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m happy to say she was in agreement.” He dipped his head before adding, “She’s going to marry me. When her mourning period is over.”

Chuckling, Darius crossed his beefy arms and glanced over at Stella. “I don’t suppose you had a betrothal ring to give her?”

Angus’s eyes rounded. “Sir?”

Stella held up a hand and wiggled her fingers. There was a gold band at the base of her fourth finger as well another on her forefinger with a gemstone. “A betrothal ring, so that she—and others—know she is to be married,” she clarified.

Angus shook his head. “I… I didn’t know,” he stammered.

“Well, it’s a good thing the bookshop is so close to Ludgate Hill.”

“Ma’am?”

Darius barked a laugh. “What my wife is trying to tell you is that you should probably pay a call on a jeweler. Buy her a ‘forget-me-not’ ring and formalize your intent to wed Miss O’Connor before you completely upend your current living situation.”

For a moment, Angus felt panicked. Buying jewelry was expensive. How much would it cost to acquire a betrothal ring? “A ‘forget-me-not’?” he repeated.

“A gold band with a turquoise stone,” Stella clarified. “Turquoise is blue, like the flower called ‘a forget me not’, in case you didn’t know that. But Iris will.” She smiled as if to herself. “You needn’t spend a lot, although…”

“Although?” he prompted.