Page 16 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
“Enough, Mr. Snowden,” Margaret scolded. “I have told you everything I can, and I must say, if I had known you intended an interrogation, I would never have agreed to a dance.”
He had the grace to look abashed.
Margaret was relieved to see another of her court, even if it did happen to be one of the hungriest of the title hunters. “Here comes my next partner, Mr. Snowden. I will not thank you for the dance. I trust you will amend your manners before you ask me again.”
Which was a little unfair since Mr. White’s presence was clearly having the intended impact on at least one Snowden. On both Snowdens, in fact. As the music started again for the next set, she noticed the viscount making his way through the crowd toward them, his face grim.
Margaret promptly abandoned Mr. Snowden to his father. “Mr. Thrisden, let us take our places,” she said, and he eagerly escorted her onto the floor.
By dancing every dance and spending short breaks between sets with her friends Regina and Elijah Ashby, Margaret managed to stay clear of Lord Snowden. As expected, Lord Snowden did not approach her while she was with them. The Ashbys and the Snowdens had been ignoring one another in the year since young Snowden joined in the attacks on the Ashbys.
Not that she feared Lord Snowden, precisely. In their part of the county, he had a reputation for a vicious temper, but her status as a lady and a countess surely protected her. Besides, he would control himself in such company.
However, he had a way of looking at her that made her uncomfortable, and she feared he would be able to tell she had deliberately brought Mr. White here to annoy him as a sort of petty revenge for continuing to pursue her after she refused him.
*
Snowy recognized thesupposed Lord Snowden, if for no other reason than the way the man berated young Snowden. Only a relative would have ranted in such a fashion, and only for a relative would the brash young man have crumpled in on himself so abjectly.
There was also something of a family resemblance between the two men, though not as great as the one between Snowy’s half-brother and the face Snowy saw every day in the mirror.
The older man had kept a trim figure, but his hair had receded to leave his pate bald, except where he had combed hair over it. The grim lines to his face spoke of a person who seldom laughed or even smiled. He was richly-dressed, and in the latest style, which was interesting.
Both Gary and Drew had heard rumors that Lord Snowden’s income had been curtailed by the ongoing question about whether or not he was the heir to the estate he had managed for so long while his uncle was alive.
“According to one of the clerks who works for his solicitor, he still gets his salary as steward and his allowance as heir, but he has always overspent and borrowed from his uncle, or sold off something that belongs to the estate to cover his debts,” Gary had said. “The solicitor ordered an inventory and won’t make him a loan or allow anything to be sold. Apparently, they have argued about it several times, and loudly.”
Snowy avoided the man by staying on the dance floor as much as possible.
At last, it was time for the supper dance. It was, he was delighted to discover, a waltz. He would have Lady Charmain to himself for the whole dance.
It was everything he had hoped and more. He forgot Lord Snowden, the mystery of his mother’s disappearance, the decisions he needed to make about his future, all the other people in the ballroom. Only Lady Charmain existed. He wished he could dance with her forever.
The sentimentality of the thought almost snapped him out of the dream, but her eyes, as entranced as he was, dragged him back under. Just this one dance then. He would enjoy every moment, then never dance with her again. He could not risk dragging her into the trouble his every instinct said was coming.
At least no more than he had done already by persuading her to consent to his escort.
“Is there something wrong, Mr. White?” she murmured.
Lovely, caring, and insightful.I will protect her. With my life, if need be.“A passing thought, my lady. Not worth spoiling the finest dance I have ever had.”
He floated through the rest of the dance on the benediction of her smile.
At supper, they sat with her friends, Lord and Lady Deerhaven, Lord and Lady Stancroft, Mr. and Mrs. Ashby, and Lord and Lady Arthur Versey. The Ashbys had been mentioned in reports on Snowden. Rumors only.
It was certain that Lord Snowden’s closest friend had died while attempting an attack on the couple, and Snowden’s son and the son of that best friend had been involved. Details were sketchy and no prosecution had followed, but the two young men spent the rest of the year rusticating at Snowden’s country seat.My country seat, if I claim it.
Perhaps the Ashbys kept the Snowdens away, for neither of them approached the group, though the son was sitting with a group several tables away, and kept sneaking peeks at Snowy, as did a dark-browed young man who sat next to him. Snowden senior was less subtle. He stood glowering at Snowy from the other side of the room.
“Lord Snowden is glaring at you, Mr. White,” Mr. Ashby said. “Have you had a falling out?”
“I have no memory of ever meeting the gentleman,” Snowy told him.
Those around the table looked surprised. “I thought…” Mr. Ashby began, and then trailed off.
“You have the Snowden streak,” said his wife. “Although I suppose Snowdens do not hold all rights to a tuft of white hair.”
Perhaps this was an opportunity for the next step of his plan. He had been seen in public. Now to begin hinting at his real identity. The ton, Lily had said, could be trusted to gossip and speculate. The step after that was to see what Snowden did when he heard what was being said.
