Page 7 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
Margaret had been one of Arial’s only childhood friends; when her pain had subsided enough for distraction to make her more comfortable, Lord and Lady Charmain brought along their daughter as a playmate. That first meeting had been followed by many more. After Margaret’s own mother died on the heels of the disaster of her first season, Margaret spent more time at Greenmount than she did in her own home.
Arial laughed as she put up four fingers and counted off one. “Let me see. Peter had to come up to town early for a meeting of the Privileges Committee, so we came with him, to save him a four-day journey there and back to get us. He is quite certain onlyhecan ensure our safety on the road.” She looked up to heaven with her one eye. The ruins of the other were hidden behind the beautifully painted mask that covered half her face from just above the mouth.
Margaret laughed, as she was meant to.
Arial counted off the second finger. “We arrived last night, and I came over as soon as I was certain I could make the short carriage ride without…” She trailed off, and patted her belly, from within which another little Stancroft was disrupting his or her mother’s mornings.
Folding down the third finger, she said, “Apart from the tentative start to the day, I am marvelously well, as are all the rest of our household. I shall leave it at that, or I will talk your ear off.” She smiled.
“At least tell me about the children,” Margaret begged. “How is our darling little Harry?” John Henry, Arial’s son, was Lord Ransome to the wider world, but remainedHarryto his doting relatives and their friends.
Arial laughed again, this time for sheer delight. “I cannot remember why we thought it would be a good idea for him to walk. He is never still, he climbs everything in sight, and we’ve had to appoint a nursery maid whose sole responsibility is to fish him out of trouble.”
Her beaming smile spoke of her pride, and Margaret scolded herself for her frisson of envy. If anyone deserved happiness, it was Arial, after her many years of pain and social isolation.
“The little girls?” Margaret asked. Arial and Peter had filled their house with female relatives—his sisters and her cousins—most of them still in the nursery or schoolroom.
“Flourishing, and excited to be in Town, for Peter has rashly promised to take them to Astley’s and Gunter’s and a dozen other places. As to this one—” Arial’s hands once more went possessively over her belly—“the midwife says all is proceeding as it should. We expect to give Harry a brother or a sister in September.”
Margaret remembered her manners. “Come and sit in the summerhouse, and I shall send for something to drink. Would you prefer tea? Hot chocolate? A small ale? I believe Cook still has some lemons, if you would like lemonade.”
Arial wrinkled her brow as she considered. “Lemonade can be very good or very bad. I take it yours is good, Margaret?”
Margaret nodded. “Very good. Cook squeezes the lemons over a block of sugar, then heats the mix until the sugar melts, and cools it by pouring it through a sieve onto ice cubes. She uses filtered water, for the ice cubes, of course. She adds slices of ginger root and sprigs of mint to the glass.” Margaret smacked her lips at the thought. She was certainly having the lemonade.
Soon, the two ladies were sipping their cold drinks and sharing anecdotes from their time apart, adding detail to snippets that had peppered the weekly letters they exchanged.
“Has Lord Snowden taken the hint and stopped bothering you?” Arial asked.
Three refused proposals over two years followed by a visit from the husbands of her friends made a fairly strong hint, Margaret had to agree. “He has, but I don’t believe he has given up hope of acquiring me and my delightful coal seams. His son has been a regular visitor since I returned to London.”
Arial’s eye widened at that. “The same son who was instrumental in Regina’s abduction last year? I cannot believe it!”
Margaret had thought that might be her friend’s reaction. Their friend Regina and her husband, Elijah Ashby, had not pressed charges. With both of the instigators dead, the Ashbys saw no point in opening Regina’s reputation up to public comment.
Goodness only knew what Regina would say if she knew young Mr. Snowden and his father had brushed the whole thing off as a youthful error of judgement. Mr. Snowden seemed to think his apology was penance enough.
Margaret doubted the Ashbys took the same view.
“Aunt Aurelia would not hear of me turning them away. She seems to think that, since neither of them were prosecuted, they are both innocent.”
Arial was frowning. “Do you wish Peter to—”
Margaret shook her head. “Snowden is no more trouble than any of the other immature young men. Less than some. He has a fair share of charm and is perfectly willing to take no for an answer, whether it is to drive or to dance at a ball. I only see him when he attends my afternoons at home, or when we come across one another at entertainments.”
In fact, he and his father were far more of a nuisance in the country, where there were fewer other people to dilute their presence. She was nostalgic for the days when the men in the district, including her own family, had disregarded her as negligible.
Arial sipped the last of her drink and put the glass down. “That’s good, then. But if things change, be sure to let me know.” She folded her hands together in her lap and leaned forward. “Now, Margaret. You said in your letters that you had had an adventure and met an interesting man. Tell your best friend all about it.”
Margaret smiled. She was so pleased that Arial had come up to London early. “Would you believe I was attacked in the slums, and rescued by the bookkeeper of abrothel? Arial, he is the most gorgeous man you have ever seen, at least until he opens his mouth, when he makes it clear he thinks I am a frivolous, useless aristocrat. Oh, and he is enough like young Snowden to be a brother.”
Her friend stared at her with her mouth open. When Margaret said no more, she shut it, and said, “You cannot stop there, Margaret. Start at the beginning and leave nothing out.”
*
Once a week,Snowy had lunch with a group of fellow investors—a working meal, during which they reported on existing projects and discussed new opportunities.
Today’s vigorous discussion was about reinvesting the profits now flowing in from their very first joint project, a canal in the north of England. Several of the investors backed another canal project, promoted by Gary—Gaheris Fullerton—whom Snowy had known since Oxford.
