Page 1 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
Chapter One
Seven Dials, London, April 1819
“That countess isback again,” Tommy reported.
Snowy tossed his pen down as he rose.Pestiferous woman.If he’d told her once, he’d told her a dozen times that venturing into the slums to visit the residents of a brothel put both her reputation and her life at risk.
The stubborn female’s high birth and fancy title would not protect her if some of the slime who polluted the narrow ways behind the building decided to kill her fancy footmen and help themselves to a taste of noble flesh. Had she not learned that the hard way?
To be fair, the front entrance that Tommy guarded was on a tolerable street, right on the edge of the Covent Garden theater district. Her life was probably not at risk during the daytime, though if she was seen entering, her good name would be history. He didn’t save her to see her ruined.
Snowy’s anger rose again at the recollection of their first meeting. He would never forget his first sight of the lovely young woman standing over her footman’s body and swinging a weighted reticule to keep six armed men at bay.
“Go back to your post,” Snowy growled at Tommy. “I’ll see to the lady.” He left his account books and locked the door of his office. He would escort Lady Charmain home—again—once she had finished whatever errand of mercy brought her back to the House of Blossoms.
He sighed. If he had not brought the lady here for refuge after he’d rescued her, she would never have met the women who lived here, and never have begun bringing them herbal remedies from her still room.How did a countess become a gifted herbalist?
No.He did not want to know. His only interest was in seeing the lady returned to her own world.
Or, at least, that was the only interest that he would be satisfying. His desire for the lady was out of place, ridiculous, and impossible.She is a noble lady, and you are a slum brat raised in a brothel.Fortified by the reminder, he slowed his steps. No need to hurry through the place as if anxious to see her.
Blue, whose nickname was an ironic comment on his flaming red hair, guarded the flight of stairs to the floor with the private apartments. He stood as Snowy approached. “Where is the countess?” Snowy asked.
Blue jerked a finger up the stairs. “Wiv Mistress Lily,” he grunted, which took some of the wind out of Snowy’s sails. If Lily herself had invited the aristocrat to visit, then Snowy’s objections were on shaky ground. Lily would not have brought the countess here on a whim.
At his knock, Lily called for him to enter. “Snowy,” she said. “I am pleased you are here. You know Lady Charmain, of course.”
Snowy gave the lady his best court bow. “My lady.” Not only did Lily expect him to display the impeccable manners she had paid his tutors to beat into him, but it discomposed Countess Charmain, which was turnabout and fair play, for she had been discomposing him since the day he’d looked into her vivid blue eyes.
“Good afternoon, Mr. White.” The lift to her chin hinted that she knew he disapproved of her presence and was ready to challenge him on it.
Lily ignored the tension, though Snowy had no doubt she was aware of it. No one could read people better than Mistress Lily. “Lady Charmain has brought over the herbs and other ingredients for the poultice she recommended to Jasmine. Will you take her down to the kitchen, Snowy, so she can show Poppy how to make it?”
“I was busy,” Snowy grumbled. That fetched him the glare that, when he was younger, would have presaged a clip across the ear. He had received a few, because he’d been a cheeky young brat, full of his own importance. In the House of Blossoms, Lily’s word was law. Even those who owned the house with her seldom argued with her decisions. Those who wished to live under her benign protection did as they were told or suffered the consequences.
Snowy grinned at the memory of a few trespasses she had not discovered, and gave the countess another extravagant bow. “If you will allow me to show you the way, Lady Charmain.”
She moved to pick up her basket from a table, but Snowy got to it first. “I will carry it,” he insisted. It wasn’t heavy, but it was the principle of the thing. Ladies had servants to carry their packages. He needed to act the servant to emphasize the distance between her class and his. Not that it made any difference to the troubling physical reaction that plagued him in her presence.
She led the way down the passage toward the stairs, past the private bedchambers of the girls who worked in the house.
It was mid-afternoon, and most of them were still asleep. Not all.
Orchid leaned against the doorway of her room buffing her fingernails, her brightly colored robe draped to show her cleavage and her long, bare legs. Orchid was probably not her real name, but it had become tradition in the House of Blossoms to adopt a flower name in imitation of the seven founders, the original Blossoms, who were all either named for flowers at their christening or had adopted the name of a flower as a working name.
Daphne, in a short chemise that barely skimmed the top of her thighs, leaned out of her door to see who was passing, the neck tie loose so her ample breasts nearly tumbled out.
The pair of them had a bet on, which Snowy had heard about from Poppy, the cook. A guinea was at stake over which of them would be the first to take Snowy as a lover. Both of them were going to lose. Snowy had long since lost interest in casual encounters but was not in the market for anything more serious.
Flaunting their assets wasn’t going to change his mind. In fact, he and Poppy had a side bet on which would give up the chase first and, in the meantime, he locked his bed chamber door and the door at the top of the stairs leading to his attic apartment.
Neither of the girls looked directly at the countess. They had even less idea than Snowy how to interact with a female of her class.
Since the House was not currently open for business, he conducted Lady Charmain down the main stairs, and then through the reception rooms on the ground floor to the kitchen stairs. She said nothing, her face a mask of amiable interest.
If the girls upstairs knew how his body reacted to the primly dressed, imperious, waspish countess, they would laugh themselves silly.
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