Page 84 of Doing No Harm
“High time.”
“—that we go to Gretna Green and give that blacksmith something to do. I have a post chaise located at a nearby hotel, and the post riders said they would remain in my employ until they heard otherwise from me.”
“Aye, then,” she said. “If that was a marriage proposal, I accept.”
He laughed, loud and long until Olive gave him a shake.
“What in the world …?,” she began.
“It’s this, my love,” he told her. “I just remembered that I promised Joe Tavish I would keep you from doing something rash in Edinburgh that you would regret.” He inclined his head toward hers. “Any regrets yet?”
She appeared to give the matter significant thought, which assured him that he was marrying a woman with a sense of humor.
“Well?” he asked.
She leaned in closer. “Only that Gretna Green isn’t just around the corner. I am thirty and ready for misbehavior right now.”
“It’s not misbehavior if we’re married,” he assured her.
“Then no regrets, Doug,” she said so softly into his ear.
Hang propriety. Anyone passing on the street in front of the Countess of Sutherland’s manor would have seen a middle-aged man with graying hair wrapped up in the embrace of a woman a little younger and with red hair. No one could have seen her interesting eyes because they were closed as he kissed her once or twice, maybe more.
They came to their senses eventually and sat in pleasant silence. He remembered the other drawing in his portfolio with the yacht sketches. He took it out and handed it to her.
She sucked in her breath as she looked over his sketchof a man sitting up in bed and staring with wide eyes at a circle of imploring, pleading hands raised all around his bed.
“I see those men every night,” he said softly. “I assure them I did everything I was capable of, but it’s never enough.”
She was silent a long time, looking at the picture, then traced the drawing of the man with fright in his eyes. She kissed her finger, touched his image, and then tore the sketch into small pieces. She threw the pieces into the air and they watched them scatter down the street.
“It’s not that simple,” he said.
“Nothing is,” she agreed. “I believe that we will be bearing one another’s burdens after that anvil business. You can rely on me, Doug.”
“And you on me.”
Then hang propriety again.
Epilogue
AUGUST, 1817
Dear Owen Brackett,
Cross your fingers I have time to finish this letter before some crisis or another demands my attention.
I can’t believe it’s been six months since I wrote last. If I had suspected that a quiet country practice would be anything but, I might have taken Sir David Care-Less’s advice and accepted that assistant superintendency at Stonehouse when he offered it to me. That’s a fib of vast proportions, because Edgar suits me right down to the ground.
Olive and I send our congratulations to you on the birth of your third child. Owen, you’ve been a busy surgeon, indeed. I hope your life in Kent continues to satisfy both you and Aggie. We’re a long way from the Royal Navy, eh?
It’s finally here: the yacht will be christened today. Homer Bennett (I know you remember him) and his crew have taken longer than usual, but this pretty little ship was done with such care, since it has been the training vessel for new but willing Highland ship builders. Almost without exception, they have proved to be apt pupils. All anyone needs is a chance, and they have succeeded. There is a fishing boat being built now in the other graving dock, and orders for two more. I don’t doubt that once this yacht goes down the ways and sets sail, other orders will pour in.
We owe such a debt to Lord Crenshaw. Olive and I were so certain that nothing good had come of our efforts in that infamous audience hall that I wrote you about, and we are happy to be proved wrong. Lord Crenshaw was in attendance and heard us. He sent a letter to Homer and arrived in Edgar a week later to look at more detailed plans, visit the Telford Boat Works, chat with our Highland crew, and make an offer.
He had wanted Olive herself to christen the yacht. After all, he insisted it be namedFiery Miss Grant,but she begged off. With blushes a-plenty, she told him she felt too self-conscious about christening anything, not in her interesting condition. On Olive’s suggestion, Lord Crenshaw chose Flora MacLeod instead. She is over the moon with joy.
Flora and her own crew have become quite the entrepreneurs. Nancy Fillion (I know you remember the redoubtable Mrs. Fillion) has commissioned Flora to make Seven Seas Fancies to sell at the Drake. Nancy has visited us several times this year. She claims it is to make certain that I am treating my darling Olive well and drop off more shells, but she has her own pleasure in watching “her girls” make the fancies. The Dougalls are parenting Flora well.
