Page 3 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
“You offered one to the countess,” he complained.
“You haven’t earned it,” the cook retorted.
Mr. White put his head on one side, and his eyes pleading, his mouth drooping. “Awwww. Poppy.”
The boyish begging tugged at Margaret’s heart. He might be a conceited pompous ass, but he clearly loved the brothel’s cook.
The smile he sent Margaret was almost shy. “Poppy makes the finest apple tarts in the world,” he said.
Poppy blushed with pleasure. “Get along with you. He’d sell his soul for an apple tart, Lady Charmain. Even one made with dried apple.”
“Or a pie,” Mr. White added. “Poppy’s pies are even better than her tarts.”
“Make yourself useful, my duck,” Poppy commanded Mr. White. “Once her ladyship has the water she needs, bring the kettle back to the boil and make a cup of tea. We’ll all three have a drink and an apple tart while we wait for the poultice to cool. Carry on, Lady Charmain.”
Snowy had to admit that the countess sounded as if she knew her herbs. Besides, Jasmine could do with the help. She was the oldest of the seven soiled doves who had pooled their resources to start the House of Blossoms. (“Soiled doves” was one of the politer terms the gentlemen visitors used for the women who serviced them.) Jasmine had been having unpleasant cramps during her woman’s inconvenience for as long as Snowy could remember, and they had become worse in the past three years. He hoped Lady Charmain’s remedy would give her some relief.
Like Poppy and Lily, Jasmine no longer accommodated the gentlemen visitors. Her piano playing, though, was a favorite entertainment for those who were waiting for the girl of their choice, recovering from a bout of mattress thrashing, or just spending an evening out.
A surprising number of gentlemen came to the House of Blossoms merely to play cards, listen to the music, enjoy Poppy’s cooking, and talk. Lily, who had been one of the most sought-after courtesans of her generation, taught the girls that listening to their clients with every sign of fascination was an even more important skill than those they exercised upstairs.
Other residents of the house were also troubled each month by the same complaint, if not as badly. If the poultice proved successful, it would make a difference to them, too.
Snowy relaxed once he saw how Lady Charmain addressed Poppy. He knew she was polite to Lily, but Lily had a presence about her that demanded respect. Even the most drunken and arrogant of lordings spoke respectfully to Lily’s face, whatever they might say behind her back.
Poppy was a different matter. She had no such air of command, though she certainly demanded perfection from the girls who worked in the kitchen. She still spoke with more than a trace of the accent of the county from which she hailed. And she was a cook—a lesser being in the eyes of the likes of the countess.
But Poppy had a kind heart and a happy outlook on life. Of the seven women who had raised Snowy, she was the one he had gone to with a scraped knee or hurt feelings. She had always had an encouraging word, a hug or a kiss, and something delicious to eat. So even though Snowy was protective of all the original Blossoms, Poppy had a special place in his heart.
Lady Charmain had greeted her with courtesy. The countess was now paying serious attention to Poppy’s questions and answering them politely. She even laughed when Poppy made a joke. Perhaps, she was not that bad, after all.
That was a dangerous line of thought. He needed to continue regarding her as the enemy, lest he act on his attraction and get his face slapped—or worse. What could an actual countess do to a man who offended her?
Then again, he’d seen the way she looked at him when she thought his attention was elsewhere. Perhaps she would be amenable to his advances. He’d found out at Oxford that many fine ladies liked a romp with a peasant, as long as nobody knew about it. His first aristocratic lover had explained that to him, when he had wanted to take her driving.
“One can enjoy a bit of the rough in private, sweet boy,” she had told him. “However, one is never seen in public with the help.”
Snowy was no longer a boy, and he was certainly not sweet. He had sworn off aristocratic ladies (though only after putting aside enough from their gifts to fund his first investment). In any case, he never dallied with married women. Lady Charmain was a countess, so therefore she must have an earl. Whoever or whatever she had, Snowy considered him a useless waste of space who did not take proper care of his lady. Why else would she be visiting the slums?
In any case, she was off limits on both counts. He would not be making any advances, however much the countess disturbed his dreams.
“There,” she said, folding the muslin into a parcel. “Now, we wait for it to cool.”
Snowy moved over to the tray with the tea pot snug in its cozy, a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar lumps, and three cups. “Now,” he said, “we can eat apple tarts.”
Chapter Two
Today being aThursday, Margaret was not able to linger at the House of Blossoms. As soon as the poultice was cool enough to use, she and Poppy took it up to the suffering Jasmine, and then Margaret called for her carriage. Mr. White materialized from somewhere to escort her, insisting on riding with her driver to the edge of Mayfair.
She opened the carriage door to call her thanks as he walked away. He turned back and tossed her a smile and a wave. Perhaps he was not always a sour grouch.
She arrived with a full hour to change and get ready for her afternoon at home to visitors, then needed to spend twenty minutes soothing Aunt Aurelia. Unfortunately, she had been unable to keep the assault in the slums from her great aunt’s ears, since Mr. White had still been lecturing her about her foolhardy behavior when he’d brought her and her servants home, bruised, cut, and shaken.
Now, every time Margaret left the house, Aunt Aurelia was convinced that she was in the most dangerous parts of London, being murdered.
Or, worse, embarrassing the family. Aunt Aurelia was sure Margaret was on the brink of scandal at every moment, with only Aunt Aurelia’s constant advice and criticisms keeping her from making another, and more public, mistake like the one that had ruined her first Season.
“You need not worry, Aunt. Mr. White makes sure that no harm comes to me.”
