Page 24 of Doing No Harm (Carla Kelly’s Regency Romances #5)

Whatever the complexities of the argument, the Hare and Hound was empty, with the innkeep wiping off his already spotless counter.

Douglas knew the coach he had taken from Dumfries arrived at midday, and another followed around six o’clock.

He had eaten at the Hound once, a beef roast just the proper shade of pink, with fat laced through it, accompanied by the best dripped pudding he had ever eaten.

He looked down at Flora and wondered if she could even comprehend such a meal. He doubted it .

“Mr. Dougall,” Olive began. “I believe the only person here you do not know is Flora MacLeod.” Olive knelt beside her. “We have a business proposition to make. Mr. Bowden?”

Douglas set the pasteboard box on the counter and took out one of the Seven Seas Fancies.

He stared at it, trying to see the brave little trinket through the eyes of Edgar’s best businessman, certainly its most critical.

He felt his courage head directly toward a lee shore.

Don’t you dare laugh at us , he thought.

It would ruin Flora. He glanced at Olive Grant, a woman he already knew who wore her heart pinned on her sleeve.

Flora knew her as the kind lady. Her lips were set tight, too.

A slight smile on his face, Jamie Dougall turned the fancy over and gave it a little shake. The soft rustle made him nod his head. He looked down at Flora. “Did you make these?”

Her eyes wide with fear, Flora swallowed and stepped forward.

“Aye, sir. Tommy Tavish gathered the driftwood, Mr. Bowden gave us his shells from every, every sea there is, and Miss Grant had some ribbon.” Her voice grew stronger as she warmed to her subject.

She touched the catgut that held the shells in place.

“Mr. Bowden says this is catgut, but he tells me he never uses real cats.” She looked up at Douglas for reassurance. “It’s not …?it’s not…”

“… not the Royal Navy way, Mr. Dougall.”

Jamie Dougall laughed out loud and spoke over his shoulder. “Brighid, you’d better come out here. We have a business proposition you’ll want to see.”

A red-faced woman with a floury apron came out of the kitchen, tucking her stray hairs under her cap. She took in the sight before her, but her eyes rested the longest on Flora MacLeod.

Mrs. Dougall nodded while her husband explained the strange visit. She turned over the label. “Five pence? ”

Flora nodded. “That way you can keep one pence out of all the Seven Seas Fancies we make.”

Mr. and Mrs. Dougall looked at each other.

Flora must have known it was the critical moment.

“You see, if we keep four pence, that’s enough for Gran and me to eat at Miss Grant’s Tearoom, and not feel …

” Her voice trailed away. “Poor.” She brightened.

“And there will be enough for my partner Sally MacGregor and her sister to each have a dress. They share one now.”

Flora stepped back, looked from Douglas to Olive, saw what she needed, and turned her face into Olive’s skirt to hide herself.

“I said too much,” she whispered when Olive dropped to her knees to hug the child.

“What you said was right and true,” Olive said. She stood up, her arm around Flora, whose face was still turned into her skirt.

Silence. Douglas reminded himself to breathe.

“We had a wee daughter once,” Mrs. Dougall said. She wiped her apron across her face, even though more flour clung to her cheeks now. She looked at her husband, and there was something in her eyes remarkably close to Flora’s eyes.

“We have enough room in the window for such a bauble,” Mr. Dougall said finally. “I’ll put up a little sign. We get enough visitors on the coach trade through here in the summer. There’s no guarantee in wintertime, but we’ll worry about winter later.”

When I’m far away from Edgar , Douglas thought and hated himself for the reminder. “Thank you, Mr. Dougall,” he said.

Mr. Dougall lifted the hatch in the counter and came out to face them. He touched Flora on the shoulder, and she looked around, her eyes dark and worried.

“We’ll take all you can make, Miss Flora MacLeod, you and Sally MacGregor. And mind you, we don’t need the profit. You can keep all five pence. ”

Flora burst into tears, which meant that Mrs. Dougall followed suit.

Douglas looked at Olive, who was biting her lip to keep back her emotions.

He swallowed down his own, grateful that none of his former patients he had bullied unmercifully to take care and follow instructions were there to point at him and hoot.

Mr. Dougall put his arms around Flora. “Business ladies don’t cry. Dry your eyes now. Make me five more and bring them over tomorrow. We’ll see how they sell. No promises, mind.”

Flora dried her tears on her plaid shawl, so many sizes too large that it had to be Gran’s. She nodded and held out her hand to the innkeeper, just as she had held out her hand to Douglas.

Jamie Dougall had no proof against that, the same as Douglas, hours before. His lips quivered, but he shook hands with Flora MacLeod.