Page 51 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

That is, if he could land a punch on the fellow. Hamish looked like the type who was able to defend himself quite well. He was a solid man—not fat, but he had a presence about him. Plus, those eyes—they reminded Stephen of the one time he’d gone to see a boxing bout in London. One of the fighters was a short, swarthy fellow who wore down the favorite by simply absorbing blows and tiring the other man out. Then he’d landed one haymaker, and the thing had been finished.

Stephen had never returned, despite his friends’ invitations. He found he couldn’t enjoy a sport when he spent the entire time evaluating what had just been broken and what would be required to set the men to rights. There was something idiotic about the entire thing—two great lummoxes swinging their thick fists at each others’ heads, for money, of all things, and not really all that much of it.

At one point, one of the fighters had broken a knuckle—Stephen was sure of it. He’d held out his own hands and tried to calculate how much his fingers were worth. Certainly far more than either of these men would win, and not just because he was a doctor.

He pushed the thoughts away and said, “I just wonder what his purpose is, in always being about.”

Vera shook her head. “Are you really going to repeat the same behavior toward poor Hamish as you did with me?”

Poor Hamish?

He frowned. “I’m allowed to be protective of my family members—you’ve said so yourself.”

“Are you even aware of how suspicious you are, or does it come so naturally that it doesn’t even register?”

“I have the right to ask, don’t I?”

“Yes, but once the answer is given, you’re obliged to believe it unless you have evidence to the contrary. Or did you learn nothing from the…the debacle,” she finished lamely, sliding a glance toward the silent maid behind them.

Stephen cleared his throat. Neither of them wanted the staff to know that he’d invaded Vera’s bedroom and rummaged through her personal effects.

“Of course I have.” He pulled the cart to a stop in Mr. Douglas’s drive.

“Really? The situation with Hamish is an excellent chance to prove it,” she said, her eyebrows raised in censure.

When they entered, Mr. Douglas was resting in the sitting room on one of the ancient upholstered chairs that faced the fireplace.

“I would get up,” he said, by way of apology, once he’d successfully hollered at them to come in, “but I’m too lazy to be bothered.”

Vera grinned at him and took his hand. “How are you feeling, Mr. Douglas?”

Stephen frowned. That was historically his opening line. Now he’d have to devise another.

“Better than I deserve, my dear. Better than I deserve.” His voice was raspy and weak, as if he’d used all his strength to welcome them in.

“Miss Ashbury, please make Mr. Douglas some tea. There’s a satchel in the basket.”

Vera nodded stiffly and took up the basket. She offered a final warm smile to Mr. Douglas and departed.

“Oof,” the man said. “That was a cold front, make no mistake.”

Stephen was suddenly grateful that the man’s voice was weak, and therefore quiet.

“Never thought a ray of sunshine like her could have a bad side, but you seem to have found it, haven’t you?”

Stephen didn’t have an answer for that—the truth was laid bare in Vera’s treatment of him. Under the circumstances, Stephen decided his opening line was sufficient, after all.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not too well. Getting downstairs just about did me in, it felt like.”

“When did you do that?” He picked up the man’s wrist and flicked open his pocketwatch.

“Only this morning. Before breakfast. Anne needs her meals on time. I had to boil enough water, make porridge to last the day. It’s about all I can manage.”

The man’s pulse was slow but strong. Stephen kept his fingers on Mr. Douglas’s wrist and secretly inspected his breathing. It was shallower than he would have liked.

Mr. Douglas continued, “She’s a right angel, Vera is. If I’d met her forty years ago, I would have snapped her up. Wouldn’t have ended up alone. You know, if you had half a brain, you’d be trying to marry that girl instead of angering her.”