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“No,” he said, wrapping his gloved fingers against the saddle horn. “It is only that I find myself rather on my own today. Parsons is calling on Miss Turner. And Robins was up so late last night that he had yet to appear when I left Cresthearth this morning. I was hoping to ride out with Mr. Allen, but...” He ended with a shrug.
Lord Hoskins stood up straight. “You can build a snowman with us.”
“Thank you,” Isaac said, unable to stop from smiling at the young boy’s generous offer. “But I am sure you two have it well in hand.” And he was sure Lady Nightingale wouldn’t care for his intrusion.
However, instead of sending him off, she took another step toward him. “You are free to join us if you care to.”
That was most unexpected. As was her soft smile and the encouraging look she gave him. She had the same nose and mouth as Mr. Allen, probably inherited from their shared grandparents. Though Lady Nightingale had not his freckles. Which was a shame. Isaac had always found freckles rather charming. If Lady Nightingale ever chose to go out without her bonnet, would she freckle as her cousin had?
The image his imagination produced at such a line of thought caused a tingling to spread from his stomach outward, down his arms and legs, and even up into his head.
Isaac shook himself. He had to stop staring. Where was his mind today?
“Thank you,” he said, and he almost declined...but he could not deny that Lady Nightingale had begun to intrigue him. “I would very much enjoy joining you both.” The words came out, surprising even himself.
“Wonderful,” Lady Nightingale said, stepping back as he dismounted. “I was beginning to worry I’d have to summon Mr. Clarke to lift the snowman’s head into place. The one Joseph and I made is rather large.”
Isaac walked around the tall mound of snow and found a large ball of packed snow sitting just behind it. Itwasa rather large head.
“I think for a head that size, the snowman needs to be taller.”
At that statement, Lord Hoskins cheered. For the next hour, Isaac helped pack snow both at the base of the snowman and on the top. Lord Hoskins didn’t stop chatting nearly the entire time while the young dog yipped and danced about them. As the base filled out, Isaac lifted Lord Hoskins up on his shoulder and let the boy pack more snow along the snowman’s shoulders—or at least where they would be once the head was in place. After they were all pleased that the snowman’s body was big enough to support such a grand head, he hoisted the large ball up on top and held it in place while Lady Nightingale moved around him, packing in snow around the neck so the head wouldn’t fall off.
Her nearness brought back the tingling he’d felt before. He hated to admit it, but he believed he would have to rethink his original assessment of her. After all, Lord Hoskins was clearly being raised with love and attention. Otherwise, he would not exude such joy and openness.
And there was nothing in Lady Nightingale’s manner or speech that showed her to think herself above others or to be conniving in any way. Then again, one look into her lovely green eyes and Isaac was reminded that if ever she did choose to fool him, he would never see it coming.
He shook his head and looked back toward Lord Hoskins, who appeared to be doing some kind of jig with his dog.
“What do you think?” he asked, his hands still around the snowman’s head. “Will it stay if I let go?”
“Did you pack it tight, Mama?” the little boy asked Lady Nightingale.
“Perhaps you’d better come check and make sure I did.” She beckoned her boy toward her. With a quick bend and scoop, she had him in her arms. The sight of the two, heads pressed as tightly together as her bonnet would allow, sent a yearning pounding in his heart—a desire he hadn’t known was there until that moment. Lady Nightingale slowly circled around the snowman as she and her son inspected her packing job.
They neared him and the pounding grew, sending waves of hot awareness through him. Lady Nightingale lifted a finger and pointed to a spot, speaking in a low voice with Lord Hoskins as though they were discussing a secret plan. After a minute, Lord Hoskins nodded that he approved of that spot and Lady Nightingale took another step. As she moved to walk around Isaac, she lightly placed a hand on his shoulder. It was only to better steady herself in the heavily packed snow. And yet, the touch called to him as a siren on the sea. He knew an intense desire to turn around and take her hand in his own. Possibly circle and inspect the snowman with her and Lord Hoskins.
Instead, he focused all his will on remaining perfectly still. Partially because if he moved he might dislodge the snowman’s head—an ignominious death to an otherwise glorious day. Partially because he was afraid if he moved at all, he would do something foolish like reach for Lady Nightingale in return.
She finished walking around him, and her hand dropped away. The winter air rushed back against him and though he still wore several layers, not the least of which was his great coat, he felt the cold all the same.
Finally, Lady Nightingale and Lord Hoskins pronounced the snowman’s head properly attached and said Isaac could let go.
“Very well,” he said, hoping his large smile would serve as an effective guise for all that he was feeling inside. “Here we go.”
Gently, he pulled his hands away, careful not to jar the head.
The snowman remained standing, upright and proud.
Lord Hoskins cheered, and Lady Nightingale joined him. Their laughter was catching and soon Isaac was clapping and cheering with them. Even the dog, who Isaac had learned was named Ponto, barked happily as he ran around the snowman.
The crunch of snow alerted Isaac that someone else was coming their way. He turned, as did the others, and found a tall, greying man coming their way, a basket in one hand and an old, worn top hat in the other. By the look of his clothes, he had to be the butler of Evergreen Cottage.
“One cannot have a proper snowman without a few additional items,” he said with a smile that sent dozens of wrinkles spreading from the corners of his eyes across his entire face.
“Thank you, Mr. Clarke,” Lady Nightingale said, taking the basket and hat.
“Once you and Master Joseph are finished,” the man continued, “Cook has hot soup and some freshly baked bread waiting for you.”
