Page 21 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
“White,” they both said.
Snowy decided to take the bull by the horns. “I was delighted to see you both waiting for us. Snowden called on Lady Charmain this morning, to tell her to have nothing to do with me. She told me of this on the way here and refused to allow me to escort her home. Stay as suspicious of me as you wish, but please continue to watch out for the lady. That man is far more dangerous than she will believe.”
The men exchanged glances as if communicating something between them.
“I heard an interesting rumor today,” Lord Stancroft mused. “It seems Snowden might not be the viscount after all. A claimant in the direct line has turned up, or so they say.”
“Is that what they say?” Snowy asked, with an attempt at disinterest. Gary and Drew had done a good job, then.
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, White?” Ashby asked outright.
The Marquess of Deerhaven leaned over from the coach. “The only person not entirely accounted for in the direct line is the grandson of the previous viscount. Snowden is a nephew—he married the son’s widow after the son died, and Edmund Snowden is her son, but she already had a son from her previous marriage; he was the heir apparent at the time he disappeared.”
His words attracted the attention of the ladies. “That’s right,” Lady Deerhaven said. “I remember reading about it in the newspapers. It was several years before our first Season, Regina.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Ashby agreed. “He was abducted when he was not quite three years of age, and never found again. He is believed to be dead, but they never found the body.”
Should he tell them? They would know soon enough. He rather wanted Lady Charmain to know, in any case. “1797,” Snowy said. “He was stolen from his mother’s garden one day in 1797. Those who found him assumed he escaped from those who were trying to beat him to death in the slums. Or perhaps they thought they had already killed him. The child doesn’t remember much apart from fear and blows.”
A stillness spread over the group. Even the horses seemed to be holding their breaths.
Lady Charmain broke the silence. “Did those who found him not take him back to his mother? Or could he not tell them where he was from?”
Snowy took off his hat and brushed his hand over the streak. “This identified him. Those who found him knew the mark. But when they contacted his mother, she asked them to keep him hidden, for he had escaped death by a whisker twice before, and she feared a fourth attempt would succeed. And too, there were other suspicious deaths of prominent family members in the line of succession.”
“It is like a horrid novel,” Lady Stancroft declared. “The Lost Heir. Returned to claim his own from the wicked stepfather.”
Deerhaven pointed out the very problem Snowy and his friend were trying to solve. “Proving such a claim might present difficulties.”
“Provoking said wicked stepfather might present opportunities,” Snowy said. “Things may be said—or tried—to the man who was that child.”
The gentlemen nodded, thoughtfully.
“However, the stepfather is proving to be both more erratic and more arrogant than expected.” He turned to Lady Charmain. “I will leave you with your friends, my lady. I do not wish you to put yourself in harm’s way.”
“I see,” said Lady Stancroft. “Margaret has told you that Snowden threatened her, correct?”
“I have no intention of allowing anyone to bully me,” Lady Charmain said. “Mr. White, or Lord Snowden, or whatever your name is, you promised me your escort on a ride in Hyde Park, and again to a garden party tomorrow, and I am holding you to that promise. I am sure that Lord Snowden—oh dear, how awkward it is not knowing what to call people—I am sure thatmanwill not dare to confront me when I am out with my friends, and I shall instruct that he is never again to be permitted into my house.”
“Call me Snowy, as my friends do,” Snowy offered. “Very well, my lady. I will keep my promise. But may we please ride with your friends?” He had just noticed young Snowden gaping at him from across an expanse of grass. He was with another young man—the same slender youth with fair hair and dark eyebrows who had been with him last night—and both were obviously observing the group.
“Deffew and Snowden,” Ashby murmured. “To our right. Margaret, for the sake of my peace of mind, would you please ride with us?”
To Snowy’s relief, the lady made no further demur.
He expected the inquisition on his origins to continue, but apparently, Lady Charmain’s friends had decided to leave the topic. He found himself riding with first one of the men and then the other, then with Lady Charmain again, and then called alongside the carriage to exchange courtesies with the marquess and the ladies.
The conversation ranged over politics, philosophy, industry, and literature. He would have scoffed if anyone had told him a fortnight ago that he would go riding in the fashionable hour in Hyde Park with seven aristocrats—for apparently Mrs. Ashby was the daughter of a viscount and Mr. Ashby was also the scion, if distantly, of a noble house. At any rate, Snowy would certainly not have expected to enjoy himself as much as he did.
From time to time, they stopped to greet other people, and Snowy was always presented. “Our friend, Mr. White,” they said, which was clever. He appreciated how they were giving him the exposure he needed to tweak Snowden’s tail while at the same time protecting Lady Charmain by making her the only one among a group of highly-connected people.
By the time they had driven around the carriageway of the park and approached the gate again, Ashby, Stancroft and Deerhaven had all separately assured him they would be at the garden party tomorrow, and he need not fear for Lady Charmain’s safety.
It did not escape his notice that Snowden and his fair-haired companion followed them all the way, never approaching, but always within sight, and always watching.
*
“Let’s go tothe garden party together,” Cordelia suggested. “Margaret, we will pick you up at noon. Snowy, shall we meet you here, or is there somewhere else you would like us to collect you?”
