Page 13 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
The doors behind them must have closed again, for the sound of the waiting guests was suddenly muted. Ahead of them, the Duke and Duchess of Winshire smiled to welcome her and Mr. White. The rest of the receiving line was spread across the room behind them, almost to the double doors at the far end, which opened as Margaret watched, so that guests who had met the hosts and their protégées could pass into the ballroom.
Mr. White conducted her to the ducal couple and performed a creditable bow before them. No one looking at his dress, his manners, or his conduct would believe he was raised, as he had told her and she knew to be true, in a brothel.
The duchess greeted Margaret and passed her on to the duke, then surprised Margaret by taking both of Mr. White’s hands. “Mr. White! James, darling, this is Drew’s friend, Mr. White.”
The duke smiled, warmly. “Mr. White. My son tells me he owes his not inconsiderable investment success to your advice. I am pleased to meet you at last.”
Mr. White’s bow was precisely right for a gentleman meeting a duke. Respectful, but not subservient. “Lord Andrew gives me too much credit, Your Grace. We decide on our investments together, and he is at least as responsible for our success as any of the group.”
“Perhaps you would have tea with me one afternoon, Mr. White,” the duchess suggested. “I suspect I know what you are about, and I may be able to help.”
Mr. White’s mask of polite interest slipped. “Drew didn’t…?”
Her Grace chuckled. “My stepson said nothing beyond wishing for you to be invited to this ball, Mr. White, but your features speak for themselves. As I am sure you know. Shall we say three in the afternoon next Monday?”
Mr. White bowed again. “Your Grace.”
The duchess turned her bright smile to Margaret. “Lady Charmain, I hope you enjoy the ball.” She beckoned them to follow her the two or three paces to an older couple who hovered protectively over their pretty daughter. “Have you met the Countess of Mertonbridge? Her daughter, Lady Elizabeth, is making her debut this Season. Constance, darling, Countess Charmain and her escort, Mr. White.”
With those words, she passed Margaret and Mr. White to the next group in the line. Lady Mertonbridge presented her husband and daughter to Margaret, and Mr. White to them all. A compliment or two to the debutante and an exchange of remarks about the weather, and the lady took them to be introduced to the next group. In this manner, they progressed along the room from debutante’s family to debutante’s family.
Finally, it was their turn to pass through the double doors, which led on to a long flight of stairs down to the floor of the ballroom. They stood at the top and passed their invitations to the butler.
“Is the duchess always like that?” Mr. White asked in a whisper as the butler announced them, his voice ringing out through the enormous space.
“I barely know her,” Margaret admitted, “but she is a truly kind lady. She has been wonderful to my friends Regina and Arial.”
Mr. White held up his hand, and Margaret laid her fingers on it, as if they were about to dance. As he conducted her down the stairs, he commented, “I am sure she is, but she is also scarily prescient. And blunt. I expected people to notice I look like a Snowden, but I did not expect them to comment to my face.”
Margaret pursed her lips. “Very few will. But Her Grace walks her own path. She is, after all, a duchess.”
Mr. White’s face lightened as his own lips quirked into a smile. “That explains it.”
She picked a few familiar faces from the sea of those looking up at the couple on the stairs. Arial and Peter, the Earl and Countess of Stancroft. Regina and Elijah Ashby. The Marquess of Deerhaven and his countess, Cordelia. And, making his way through the crowded center of the room, Mr. Snowden.
“Will you go to afternoon tea with the duchess?” Margaret wondered aloud, and immediately realized that she had overstepped. “I am sorry. It is none of my affair.”
This time, he managed a smile. “Do not start watching your words with me, Lady Charmain. I like that you leave me in no doubt about your thoughts. Yes, I will attend the duchess on Monday afternoon.” He grinned as he repeated her words, “She is, after all, a duchess.”
Dear heavens, the man was devastating when he smiled.
“Mr. Edmund Snowden is coming this way,” she told Mr. White, as they reached the foot of the stairs.
“Yes, I saw. At least, I saw a boy with a streak of white heading this way. Do you see his father?”
Margaret shook her head.
He grinned again. “Let’s not make this easy for him,” he said. He put her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her away along the side of the room.
*
Lady Charmain waswilling enough to slip anonymously through the crowd, but the crowd didn’t co-operate. Person after person stopped them, some to petition Lady Charmain for a dance and others with a polite greeting to the lady and a curious stare at Snowy.
Lady Charmain presented him to them all as Moses White, without comment, which was all to the good. The more people he was introduced to before he came face-to-face with the Snowdens, the better. He shook hands, praised the duchess’s hospitality, and politely deflected comments that were, in truth, oblique questions about his origins, such as, “Would that be the Shropshire Whites?”
Before they were a quarter of the way around the room, Lady Charmain had given away her last dance. Snowy was pleased he had claimed two when they first arranged to attend the ball together, for, if he’d left it until now, he might have missed out.Dancing with Lady Charmain is not the point of the evening, he scolded himself. But even so…
He, too, had asked a number of ladies to dance. On the dance floor, he would be seen but could not be approached, which was ideal for his purposes. He would dance all night if he had to. He just hoped he could remember what the ladies looked like, their names, and which dance he had requested.
