Page 48 of A Very Roguish Boxing Day
“No,” Gwen said, voice trembling.“That’s not true at all.You’re wonderful, Tom.I hope you know that.I was trying to think it through because, as you said, this has happened very quickly.But upon consideration, I would like to be married to you, too.I think we will do well together.I—I hope so.”
A smile dawned on his face, like the first rays of light breaking over the horizon.“That’s grand,” he said, his voice curt, as if he would like to say more but couldn’t.He cleared his throat.“That’s grand, Gwen.If it’s within my power to make you happy, you will be.”
He brought his hands up to frame her face, then leaned in and kissed her.Gwendolyn’s heart pounded so hard she wasn’t sure how it didn’t burst.And for the first time in her life, she thought maybe, just maybe, she was going to get a happy ending.
Chapter20
Tom 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.”
