Page 25 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
“The odious officer?” asked Cordelia.
Arial was the only one who knew quite how odious Martin had been, but the rest was not a secret. “A man who trifled with my affections during my first Season. I was too young to realize his compliments were lies and his promises so much empty air. I am sure it cannot be him. As far as I know, his regiment is still posted overseas.” For years she had been checking the listings in the newspapers, hoping he never sold out.
Not that he would. He was an impecunious younger son, and his army career was one of the few things he genuinely loved.
She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Look, they are lining up the winners of the heats for the final race.”
It was a successful distraction, for Ash and Peter were on the little jetty, preparing to clamber back into a boat. They must be in the final. Not Deerhaven and Snowy. They were rowing straight across the lake toward the island, presumably to join the ladies.
She looked across the lake to where she thought she had seen Martin. She couldn’t see him now.
Dear Heavens, she hoped it wasn’t him. She’d thought—she’d hoped—he was safely off in the Far East, which was where his regiment had been posted after peace had been signed with the United States.
Of course, she’d known he would probably come back to England one day, if he survived the hazards of his profession. She’d expected he would, for he had the devil’s own luck. But she certainly did not want him appearing in England, in London no less, before she had found herself a husband.
“Did you see?” Deerhaven called as he and Snowy approached. “Stancroft and Ashby are in the final.”
“We saw!” Cordelia agreed. “Come and sit by me, Deerhaven, and we shall cheer for them to win.”
“White and I came second in our heat,” Deerhaven told them, as he obeyed his wife. “We almost had them, did we not, White? White rowed at Oxford, my love.”
Margaret moved over so Snowy could sit beside her.
“They are off!” Deerhaven announced, unnecessarily, as the flag dropped, and the rowers bent to their oars.
“Is something wrong, my lady?” Snowy murmured under cover of the enthusiastic cheers and shouts of the others. “Has something happened? Is it Snowden?”
Margaret pasted on a cheerful smile and answered the final question. “I am perfectly well. Snowden cannot hurt me with his staring.”
“Glaring, more like,” Snowy commented, his eyes on the subject of their conversation, who stood opposite them, ignoring the race and scowling at Margaret.
“Walk with me,” Margaret said, scrambling to her feet.
Snowy leapt to his own but demurred. “Is it wise? You have redeemed your pledge to Lily. If you step back now, Snowden will leave you alone.”
Margaret snorted. “Unlikely. He has not done so since my father died, leaving me in possession of the land and the title.”
“He wants your land?” Snowy asked.
She put her hand on the arm he offered, and they began to stroll along the shore in the direction the rowers would appear when they rounded the island in their final pull to the finish, which was an imaginary line across the lake to the island just beyond the jetty.
“He wants access over the land for a canal to carry his coal, also any coal that might be beneath the land. I doubt he wants the actual land, but he bothered my father for years, seeking access. He neglects his own tenants, and I will never let him get his hands on mine.”
Snowy nodded. “I suppose the title is the sauce on the pudding,” he said.
“He wants it for a son or a grandson,” Margaret agreed. “Or so I believe. He will not get it. Young Mr. Snowden does not behave as if his suit is in earnest, however. He flirts, but he flirts with everyone, even Aunt Aurelia. Otherwise, he treats me more like a maiden aunt than an object of his attraction. When I refuse his entreaties to go walking or driving, I see relief in his eyes. He is, after all, a very young man.”
Snowy put his hand over Margaret’s, sending tingles up her arm and down to her core, but his attention was directed along the path ahead of them. “He and his even younger friend are coming this way,” he said.
Sure enough, Snowden and Deffew were walking up from the island’s jetty.
Chapter Ten
The distraction waswelcome. Snowy was wearing tight moleskins that his valet had assured him were suitable for both riding and a garden party. His physical reaction to Lady Charmain’s attractions was at risk of becoming visible.
Deffew saw them first and nudged Snowden, who looked up and grinned. “Lady Charmain! I was looking for you and your escort.” He held out a hand as he approached. “Mr. White, is it not? I am Edmund Snowden, but everyone calls me Chalky.”
The boy had cheek, Snowy would give him that. He shook the offered hand. “Everyone calls me Snowy.”
