Page 39 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
Sarah Matthewson. Your grandfather’s sister. Lives retired in the country. Believed to have been close to your mother and to have complained to friends about her brother’s treatment of his daughter-in-law…
The list went on. Servants, friends, and relatives who might be able to cast a light on his disappearance, and on what happened to his mother after he was gone.
Pauline arrived shortly after Drew left, bringing Margaret a change of clothes. She carried her off to one of the spare bed chambers and requisitioned one of the maids to fetch washing water.
They had no sooner returned, Margaret stunning in a fresh gown of pale lemon, when Stancroft arrived to check on the wellbeing of the patient, bringing his wife.
Ned had slept through all the comings and goings, but he was shifting restlessly again, and his temperature was rising. Margaret turned them all out so she could check his wounds, though she allowed Snowy to stay and assist her.
The other guests did not go far. When Lord Lechton arrived a few minutes later, they sent him up, and the half hour that followed was right up there with some of the most unpleasant Snowy had ever known, as Lechton, with Margaret’s expert assistance and Snowy’s strength applied as instructed, debrided some of the wounds and straightened the broken arm before splinting it again.
Ned was awake for much of it, doing his best to be brave. The arm was the last straw. Everyone was relieved when Ned fainted.
“I’ll leave you in charge of dressing the wounds, Lady Charmain,” Lechton said when the splint was firmly in place. “Do so every four hours and call me if any of them look to need debriding again. White, I don’t believe the boy has internal injuries, not from the way he was moving. And it is a hopeful sign that his fever dropped overnight. I think he’ll recover well, in Lady Charmain’s care, but I’ll call again this evening and every morning until I am confident the danger is past. If, at any time, Lady Charmain judges I am needed, send for me.”
Snowy protested. “I cannot ask Lady Charmain to nurse my brother for me.”
Lechton raised an eyebrow, whether at his refusal or at the wordbrother, Snowy wasn’t sure.
“You do not need to ask,” Margaret told him. “You could not pry me out of here with a winkle pin.”
Lechton’s lips twitched. “There you are, White.”
As Snowy walked the doctor downstairs, he asked when it would be safe to shift Ned. “If Lady Charmain is determined to nurse him, and I’ll admit it would be a great relief to me if she does, it would be better for her reputation to have him as a guest in her house, rather than to be a guest in mine.”
His, temporarily. He had plans to do it up and sell it for a profit, as he had done with a score of other houses.
Lechton stopped at the foot of the stairs, considering. “Not today, White, not with the fever still in the offing. I’ll check him again this evening and tomorrow morning. All going well, he should be up to the move then.”
So Snowy had another night with Margaret under his roof, for he was certainly not going to leave her to care for Ned on her own. He should not be so delighted.
*
Pauline made anexcellent companion and chaperone. She was polite, self-effacing, and ever-present. The servants from the Ashby and Stancroft households were competent and busy, turning up all over the house on one task after another. Margaret had no more private moments with Snowy.
Probably just as well, for she yearned to repeat that kiss. When he was present, she kept looking at his lips, wondering how he’d elicited such a powerful physical reaction with such tender and gentle touches. Even when he was not in the room, she thrilled at the memory.
For his part, Snowy was no different toward her than at any time in the past. He was a man. No doubt a relatively innocent kiss was nothing to him.
Over and over again, Margaret reined in her stampeding emotions and reminded herself that, for Snowy, she was nothing more than a means to an end, a way to confront the elder Snowden, a person skilled enough to nurse the younger.
Ned Snowden slept most of the morning and woke without a fever. When she checked his wounds, there was none of the puffiness and seepage that indicated problems.
Treating the wounds and redressing them was easier when he was awake and not fighting her. Indeed, he did his best to move as she needed him to, and to hold himself still against the inevitable pain.
“This is not quite how I imagined having your hands on me, my lady,” he joked.
Was that a growl from Snowy? It was, for his words were in the same low rumble. “Manners, Ned.”
“You never had the least romantic interest in me, Ned,” she countered.
The lad admitted it with a laugh. “I daresay if I was after a leg shackle, you would be a very pretty one.” The last few words squeaked up a register as she smoothed her ointment on a particularly raw wound.
Snowy rolled his eyes. “I thought you had a reputation for charm, Ned,” he teased.
“Not at my best, Hal.”
“Time for the dressings and bandages, Pauline,” Margaret said, as she stepped away to wash her hands in the basin of warm water that stood ready. “Ned, do you think you could sit up if Snowy helped you?”
