Page 46 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
“Thank you,” said Ned, frowning. “But will Geoffrey not mind? We were very unkind to him last year.” That was a mild description of their support for a plot to kidnap Regina and forcibly marry her, in order to have control of her fortune and of her stepson’s while he was a minor.
“You asked Geoffrey’s pardon, and he gave it,” Regina pointed out. “The pair of you are in trouble, Ned. I don’t want you bringing that trouble on my friend Margaret. Also, I do not think you are a bad man, at heart.”
Ned blushed. “I am trying not to be, Mrs. Ashby. I would like to come, but I will need to talk to my brother.”
There was a knock on the door, almost as if Ned’s words had been a cue. Bowen had come to announce Snowy’s arrival. Once the plan was explained to him, he was all for it. “But you can both come and stay with me,” he said, “when all the legal matters are sorted out.”
Ned had the last word. “It is the best plan,” he said, “but I am disappointed, nonetheless. “I was quite looking forward to living in a brothel,” he said.
*
Snowy’s new valetpassed him a cravat, pristine white, perfectly ironed, and with just the right amount of starch. “Rahat is not really a valet,” Drew told Snowy when he brought the young man over. “You need someone who can watch your back. Someone you can trust.”
Rahat chuckled. “I’ll also be able to help you into your boots and press your cravats.”
“Good enough,” Snowy had agreed.
That had been a week ago, just after Ned and Deffew left for the country with the Ashbys.
Rahat and Drew were understating his skills. The man was one of the Duke of Winshire’s foreign retainers, trained as a warrior. He had also served as valet at various times to the duke and several of his sons. He certainly suited Snowy. He lacked any trace of servility and had quickly become almost a friend—certainly a companion.
Which was good, for Snowy was feeling lonely.
Ridiculous of him. His social life had expanded, and he had extended his circle of acquaintances by joining a gentlemen’s club, Westruthers, his name put forward by Peter Stancroft. The members were a mixed lot. Retired military officers, professional men, landowners—some of them peers, industrialists, investors.
What they had in common was an interest in innovation, whether in politics, business, or technology. Snowy had several exciting discussions over a meal or the billiards table. He would probably introduce Drew and Gary to the club. They would fit right in.
Joining the club gave him a reputable address to use for invitations and legal letters. Since he’d not looked forward to hiring a lot of strangers to run a house that was much larger than his needs, he’d shelved his plans to move from his rooms.
Unlike the previous valet, Rahat showed no disdain at the location, nor did he avail himself of the services of the residents. At least as far as Snowy knew, and since Rahat accompanied him everywhere, Snowy figured he would know.
“The emerald stick pin, my lord? Or the sapphire?” Rahat asked.
“Both paste,” Snowy commented, but pointed to the supposed sapphire, just the color of Margaret’s eyes.
There he went again, thinking about Margaret. To be honest—if only to himself—lonelywas not the right word. He was lovesick, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
He stood so Rahat could help him into his coat. She would be at the ball they were attending this evening, or so she had said when they’d met in the Park this afternoon.
Ned’s retreat to the country made a lot of sense but left Snowy with no good excuse to keep calling on Margaret. He couldn’t even cast himself on her mercy to continue moving into Society, for he’d met enough hostesses to be guaranteed invitations every day—often several times a day.
He was a curiosity and a talking point, of course; the man whose claim to be the rightful Viscount Snowden had been presented to the Lord Chancellor. The Lord Chancellor had sent the competing claims to be decided by the Committee on Privileges. The ton was abuzz with speculation as they waited for it to hold their first hearing.
Snowy’s action to prosecute Snowden for attempted murder had also leaked to the papers, which only increased his popularity with those who thought his notoriety would add a sparkle to their entertainments. The magistrate had ruled there was a case to answer, but released Snowden on the principle that the man was a gentleman and could be trusted to present himself for trial.
At least Margaret was at many of the same events Snowy attended, and he always gravitated to her side. If there was dancing, he made certain to be one of the first to ask to partner her. At musicales and lectures, he usually managed to secure a seat in her vicinity.
He took her walking in a maze at a garden party, sadly with other guests too close for him to steal another kiss. He caught up with her walking in the Park one afternoon and had the privilege of escorting her and her companion for close to an hour.
He kept telling himself he could not afford to allow his focus to shift from his battles with his father’s cousin to his obsession with one beautiful, dignified, capable, sometimes infuriating, always intriguing countess.
“Perfect, sir,” said Rahat, stepping out of the way so Snowy could see himself in the mirror. In all his finery, he had to admit, he looked like a viscount. He still didn’t feel like one, and he certainly could not bring himself to believe he should inflict his dark soul on such a pure and innocent lady as Margaret.
Even if she would have him, he should keep his distance, at least until he had resolved the problems with Snowden. His attention was only putting her in danger.
Nonetheless, he kept succumbing to the urge to be near her.
“My lord?”
