Chapter 20

T om set off first thing the following morning for London to obtain a marriage license. It cost ten shillings—highway robbery, if you asked him—but it couldn’t be helped as they needed to marry quickly, and if it meant he got to spend the rest of his life with Gwen, it was well worth it. While he was there, he informed his manager that he was retiring and wouldn’t be defending his title, then packed up a few of his belongings so he’d have something to wear other than that foppish shirt with the lace cuffs.

It took the better part of the day to get there and back, but Gwen reported that things at the cottage had been uneventful, with no sign of Joseph.

The vicar agreed to perform the wedding three days hence. According to Mariah, Tom’s presence at Gwen’s cottage was all anyone in town could talk about, but the general consensus seemed to be that, although the circumstances were highly irregular, people were willing to overlook them so long as everything was made right with a wedding.

So it was on the following day that Tom found himself heading into town. He’d done everything he could to mend Gwen’s bee boles with the tools she had on hand, but if he was going to do the job properly, he needed some supplies.

He made a couple of quick stops around town, then headed for the smithy. It was a half-timbered building off High Street that looked as if it had been constructed in pieces over the course of several centuries. Stepping inside the forge, sweltering even in December, felt like coming home. Two anvils were being worked and a third stood unused in the corner. It was loud enough that it took a moment for someone to notice they had a customer.

A sandy-haired boy who looked around fifteen noticed him first. His eyes went round as guineas. “Da!” he called. “Look who’s here!”

The older man looked up, then set down his hammer and strode over. He was half a head shorter than Tom, which wasn’t to say he was short, and with his bulging arms, he wouldn’t have looked out of place at the boxing gym where Tom trained. He held out a hand. “Cyrus Jenkins.”

“Tom Talbot.” Tom gave his hand a firm shake, then did the same with the boy, whose name was Robert.

Jenkins laughed. “I figured as much. It’s not every day the heavyweight champion takes up residence. You’re the talk of the town.”

Tom rubbed the back of his head. “Give it another week. Everyone will discover how boring I really am.”

Jenkins snorted. “I doubt it. But what can I do for you, Mr. Talbot?”

Tom pulled a pair of hinges from his coat pocket. “I’ve been trying to mend Gwen’s bee boles. These are twisted.” He opened and closed the hinges, demonstrating. “I was hoping to get them straightened out.”

Jenkins nodded. “I can do that. But not today. I’ll be lucky to get to it this week.”

“You’re that busy?” Tom asked.

The blacksmith nodded. “Merstham may be small, but we’re on the road to Brighton. That keeps the wheelwright busy, and he and the railway keep me busy.”

Tom had heard about the railway. They had laid a pair of iron tracks over the ground, set at a very precise distance from one another, and there were specially built wagons that fit on the tracks. The smooth surface made it easier for the horses to pull heavy loads of coal, stone, lime, or whatever it was they were hauling up to London.

It was no wonder the man was busy. Still, Tom hated for Gwen to have to wait. He gestured to the empty anvil. “Would you mind if I did it myself?”

Jenkins’ brow lowered. “Don’t mistake me. I’m not suggesting you don’t have the arm for it. But it takes a lot of practice to swing a hammer, leastwise, to any good effect.”

“Well do I know it,” Tom replied. “My father was a smith. My brother still is one, and I would’ve been too, if there’d been enough work for me in Stockbridge, where I grew up.”

A keen look came into Jenkins’ blue-grey eyes. “You’ve some training, then?”

Tom nodded toward his son. “Maybe as much as Robert here. Although it’s been a while. But I think I can manage this.”

The smith gestured toward the empty anvil. “Go right ahead.”

Tom noted that both Jenkins and his son were watching him, rather than continuing their own work. Which made him feel skittish, but he supposed he couldn’t blame the man for wanting to see if he would cause some sort of disaster. He borrowed a leather apron and a pair of gloves, then took up a pair of tongs and heated the first hinge in the forge. Once it was glowing, he brought it over to the anvil.

His first stroke was too hard, which wasn’t surprising, as he hadn’t done this in a decade. His next stroke was better, and by the third, it was starting to come back to him. A few minutes later, he was able to plunge the first hinge into the bucket of water in the center of the shop.

The second one was trickier as it was bent not just on the leaf but through the barrel. Assessing it at a glance, Jenkins grunted and handed Tom a thin iron rod. Nodding his thanks, he heated the hinge as he’d done before, then returned to the anvil, shaping it slowly and using the iron rod to open up the barrel. That one took a good fifteen minutes, but after Tom quenched it, he was pleased to see that it turned smoothly.

“Thank you,” Tom said, starting to take off his apron. “I’ll be glad to pay you something for the use of your anvil.”

Jenkins held up a hand. “Not so fast, now. You’re really going to be moving to Merstham?”

Tom nodded. “I am. Gwen and I will be marrying the day after tomorrow.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom noticed Robert waggling his eyebrows at his father. “Why do you ask?” Tom asked, curious.

“As I mentioned,” Jenkins began, “we often have more work than we can keep up with. Unfortunately, it’s somewhat sporadic. I don’t have enough to employ a man full-time, or else I’d have hired someone years ago.”

Tom felt something like excitement rising in his chest, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. “What are you saying?”

Jenkins nodded toward the anvil. “I wonder if you might like to pick up some work on occasion. It wouldn’t be steady, but I would send for you when we’re overrun. If you happen to have a few hours that week, I would pay you for whatever you’re able to give me.”

That sounded… perfect . “We could see. Now, the thing to understand is that I’m going to be helping Gwen with her bees. She’s looking to turn it into a proper business, selling honey. So, if she needs me, that will always come first.”

“That’s fine,” Jenkins said, waving a hand. “Even if you can only come half the time I call you, I’ll still be better off than I was before. Now, if you have a few hours today, I’ve tasks that you could do.”

So it was that Tom spent the next three hours pounding out spikes for the railway. It was a simple, monotonous task, which suited him just fine, as it gave him a chance to reacquaint himself with the hammer.

Then, he excused himself for luncheon, saying he would return the following day if he had a chance. Back at the cottage, he excitedly told Gwen about his new job. “It’s a little bit like you with your honey,” he said, spearing another slice of ham. “I have savings, but I’d feel a lot better if I had something coming in.”

Gwen, who had finished her lunch, was smiling at him fondly, two hands propped beneath her chin. “It would gall you to have to spend down your savings.”

“It would,” Tom admitted. “And I don’t want to run through your money, either, which was the reason for my first stop in town.”

Gwen tilted her head. “Oh? Where did you go?”

Tom slathered some of Gwen’s honey on a crumpet. “To see your solicitor, Mr. Reynolds. He’s going to draw up a marriage contract for us. He’s going to fix things so that the cottage stays in your name, and your money from Aunt Agatha, too.” He slashed a hand. “I want you to know that’s not what I’m after.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Oh, Tom! I didn’t expect you to do that. But it does mean a great deal to me.” She swiped at her cheek. “Truly, you’re the most honorable man I’ve ever met.”

There she went again. Honorable. Him . What a crock of shite.

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t like hearing such things.

And I’m going to have the rest of my life to enjoy them .

He grinned as she reached for her handkerchief, because he knew just how to lighten the mood. “Would you like to know where I went after I finished with Mr. Reynolds?”

“Where?” Gwen asked, dabbing her eyes.

“To the carpenter’s shop.”

“To purchase the boards I saw you stacking out back,” she guessed.

“Yes.” He waggled his eyebrows and dropped his voice low to make sure Mariah didn’t overhear. “And to order us a larger bed. Believe me, bun, we’re going to need it.”

Gwen threw a crumpet at him, but she was laughing. And Tom couldn’t recall the last time he’d been that happy.