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“That is quite considerate,” Lady Nightingale said, bending down so that Lord Hoskins could see into the basket. “Tell her we’ll be in just as soon as we finish up here.”
“Very good, my lady.” The man bowed, then turned and made his way back into the cottage.
Isaac was struck with how much kindness Lady Nightingale had shown her butler. Not only had she been polite in her words, but she’d spoken to him with warmth. In fact, he got the distinct impression that Lady Nightingale saw Mr. Clarke as a friend as much as a person she employed.
Lord Hoskins took out first a carrot and then a couple pieces of coal.
“Careful with the coal,” Lady Nightingale said, her gaze going to her son’s knitted mittens.
“Allow me,” Isaac said, stepping forward. He knelt down beside her and across from her son and held out his hand. “It is far easier to wipe away soot from leather gloves than it is from mittens,” he explained.
Isaac was quickly given charge of the coal, which he used to create eyes and buttons down the front. As he did so, Lord Hoskins and Ponto were sent toward the nearby tree line in search of arms.
“Just stay where I can see you,” Lady Nightingale called after the two small, retreating forms.
“You sound like my sisters,” Isaac said.
“Oh?” Lady Nightingale asked, wrapping a scarf around the neck of the snowman. “And are they married with children?” The scarf slipped, and she moved to set it back in place.
“Yes. My oldest sister, Frances, married a Mr. Reeves, and they have two children. Eleanor is my other sister. She married a Mr. Fernside, and they have three children. Her youngest is six, actually.”
“Just older than Joseph, then.” Lady Nightingale continued to struggle with the scarf which seemed more bent on becoming a belt around the snowman’s middle than to stay up around his neck.
Isaac reached for a side of the scarf. “I’ll hold this part in place while you secure the other side.”
Lady Nightingale nodded. “I think we may have packed in too much snow around his neck while securing his head. There’s no good place for the scarf to rest.”
“Perhaps if we wrapped it securely all the way around?” Isaac took the scarf and did as he suggested.
Lady Nightingale took one look at his work and, placing a hand against her mouth, giggled a bit.
“What?” Isaac asked, standing back. At least the scarf was staying put now.
“It looks like a noose.”
“But a very fashionable noose.”
“The poor snowman looks like he’s about to be hanged.”
He rather did. Isaac tugged a bit on the scarf, loosening it around the front of the snowman’s neck.
“Careful, or you’ll take his head right off.” Lady Nightingale hurried up beside him, her shoulder pressing against his as she tried to shove him out of the way and do it herself.
Isaac pushed back gently. “I won’t remove his head.” The scarf began to slip off one shoulder and Isaac instantly moved to tighten the scarf in that area.
Lady Nightingale’s shoulder shoved against his chest. “I won’t let you decapitate him,” she said with a laugh.
Isaac righted the scarf; it appeared to be staying now, and not too tightly either. Lady Nightingale lifted a hand, but there wasn’t a chance Isaac was going to let her ruin what he’d just gotten perfectly right.
He took hold of her wrist, laughing in response to her own giggles. “No, leave it. It’s just right.”
“No it’s not. You’ve fashioned a noose again, is all.”
Isaac wrapped his arms around her waist. “Leave”—he lifted her fully off the ground—“the scarf”—moved her back several steps—“alone.”
The minute her feet touched the snow-covered ground once more, she pulled away from him. But Isaac wasn’t ready to let her go just yet, not when he was certain she’d ruin all the work he’d put into getting the snowman’s scarf just right.
The result was that Lady Nightingale managed to turn around and face him, but not break free of his arms. She looked up at him, her hands pressed against his chest.
