by Aileen Fish
Emily waited until the two gentlemen had calmed to add, “With snow people, sir.”
“I’m quite certain, Miss Calvert, that I can create a snow man more worthy than your snow woman,” One said with a quirk of his brow.
“That sounds remarkably like a challenge,” Lady Bernice retorted, her pale green eyes dancing.
“I’ll wager my pin money against your allowance that we can create a most delectable snow lady that will put your snow rake to shame,” Emily taunted.
“We?” Bernice asked, her brows lifted in surprise.
“We shall divide into teams of three and may the best snow person win.” Emily turned to Lucinda. “Are you with us, Lucy?”
“Oh, yes!” she answered.
“I say, I’ll take Nick and Jamison on my team,” Parker One responded.
“I’m afraid you will have to do without me,” Lord Jamison replied, rising to his feet. “I intend to take Major out for a good hard ride.”
“Nick?” One turned to his friend.
“I’m in,” Nick replied, watching Emily closely. She was staring down at her plate piled high with rashers of bacon, kippers and coddled eggs. Her lower lip was caught in her teeth, her forehead furrowed. She was clearly calculating how to best them in the challenge.
“I’ll join your team,” Ollie volunteered after ascertaining that his wife would rather watch from a chair on the porch with a hot brick at her feet.
“Here are the rules,” Emily stated as she looked up to meet One’s gaze. “First, we are limited to three snow balls placed one atop the other. After they are in place we may carve and mold them to whatever shape we like but no additional snow may be added.”
“Of course,” One agreed.
“Secondly, we are limited to seven non-snow objects with which to decorate our snow figures, none of which can fully cover any ball.”
“What say you, Margaret?” Charles called out to his sister. “Shall we show these young guns how it’s done? Andy, you in?”
“By Jove, let’s!” Nick’s father cried as he jumped to his feet.
“Not bloody likely,” Margaret replied.
“If you’ll have me,” Mr. Boone offered. “It’s been years but I still know how to make a right honorable snowman.”
“The final rule is that once you dress your snow creature, you may not remove any articles of clothing or accessories.” Emily raised her voice to be heard over the chatter that had erupted around the room.
Veronica looked around, spied Mr. Kildare and arched one blonde brow in question. He gave her a decisive nod before turning to his sister.
“Oh, Lord no,” Lady Dillon replied with a tinkling laugh. “You’ll have to find another third.”
“I’ll join your team,” Miss Endicott exclaimed. “What fun this will be.”
Veronica rolled her eyes at the girl’s enthusiasm and Nick had to wonder why she’d wanted to make a team at all.
After everyone had finished their breakfast they trooped back to their rooms to bundle up in their warmest clothing before congregating on the wide front porch.
“Which teams shall build ladies and which gentlemen?” Miss Endicott asked.
“If we cannot determine their gender upon completion, we’re all in real trouble,” One drawled, prompting the girl to break into shocked giggles.
Emily smiled at the girl while Veronica once again rolled her eyes. Nick was never more pleased that he’d had the good sense to choose Emily than at the moment. A lifetime of Veronica Ogilvie’s constant eye rolling and catty remarks would surely have driven him right around the bend. To the loony bin.
“Who’s to judge our snow creations?” Charles Calvert asked as he bounded down the steps and sunk in the snow to his shins.
“Why those of us with the good sense not to prance around in the stuff,” Margaret replied.
Nick wandered off with One and Ollie to the north of the house where the land was flat and the trees sparse. He turned to find Emily, Lucinda and Bernice trudging up a small hill, their heads bent close as they planned their strategy.
“We haven’t a man to roll the balls so the hill will do the brawny work for us,” Emily explained.
“Good thinking,” Bernice said in approval.
“But how shall we lift them?” Lucinda asked.
“We needn’t make the second and third balls too large,” Emily replied as they crested the hill and turned to look down. Nick’s team had already rolled their bottom ball to a good location not too far from the house. Da’s team appeared to be debating where to build their snowman. Veronica’s team had broken up and each was rolling a ball toward a stand of pine trees at the edge of the drive.
“Quite right,” Bernice said, drawing Emily back to their discussion. “We’re not building a heifer. Our lady shall be voluptuous but not fat.”
“Tall, with a lovely bosom and perfect child-bearing hips,” Lucinda agreed.
“You shall be our model, Bernice,” Emily decided. She eyed the other woman, an idea taking shape in her mind. She giggled. Really it was too perfect.
“Oh, I like that,” Bernice agreed excitedly. “I’ve a wig with me we can use.”
“You wear a wig?” Lucinda asked.
“On occasion, when my Abby can’t get my hair to curl. It’s just lovely, very long with curls the exact shade as my own hair.”
“Have you a whale bone corset we could use?” Emily asked.
Bernice tossed back her head and laughed. “I do adore you, Em.”
“Oh, but we couldn’t,” Lucinda squealed. “Surely you don’t mean to dress our lady in undergarments.”
“Think of it as art,” Emily replied. “We’ve all seen statues of scantily clad ladies. Our snow goddess will have all the essential parts covered.”
“Are you sure it’s proper?” Lucinda asked skeptically.
“Proper?” Bernice seemed to taste the word before replying, “Perhaps not proper, but she will be decent.”
“And there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind that she is a woman,” Emily added.
“We’d best hurry,” Lucinda suggested, casting her gaze down the hill where the other three teams were hard at work.
“Whatever for?” Bernice asked. “There is no rule as to how long we have to build our goddess.”
“Oh, yes, you’re right,” Lucinda agreed happily.
“And why allow the other teams even a hint as to our design?” Emily asked.
“Once they dress their boring snow effigies, they cannot change a stitch on them!” Bernice cried out, grasping Emily’s secret weapon.
The three ladies erupted into gales of laughter that traveled on the winter wind to reach the three teams below.
“What on earth are they waiting for?” One asked, looking back over his shoulder to the ladies atop the hill.
“They are under no time restriction,” Nick pointed out and as he said the words, Emily’s devious plot became quite apparent. No adding snow, no removing any of the seven non-snow objects. They’d all be finished with their snow men or ladies long before Emily, Lucinda and Bernice began to dress theirs.
“The little minx,” he murmured as he and Ollie hefted the middle ball onto the bottom.
Just as Nick had predicted, the other teams had finished their snow figures while Emily’s team was still busily carving snow from what appeared to be a tall snow woman draped in a pale lavender robe.
Nick stood back to appreciate his team’s dapper snow gentleman.
They’d dressed George, named in honor of the King, in a tall, black top hat and gray silk tie, thereby alleviating the need for three black buttons down his chest. Instead they’d used two of those buttons for his eyes, placed a pipe under his sculpted mustache. They’d given him bushy sideburns and plump, rosy cheeks. After all, there was no rule that said they could not make use of the red juice from the winter berries that grew in abundance near the copse of trees behind George.
One had carefully carved out the line of G
eorge’s short pudgy legs, and then created two small caverns at the base where they’d wedged in an old pair of shoes.
“An exceptional rendition,” One pronounced as he tilted the top hat just so.
“I say, let’s have a look at the others,” Ollie suggested.
As they approached Veronica’s team’s snow woman from behind, she appeared to be only three round balls. Nick could not hold back a crack of laughter when he stood facing their creation.
“Meet Miss Esperanza,” Veronica said, waving one gloved hand at the perilously top-heavy snow woman. Her breasts were enormous, encompassing the whole of the middle ball. A bright pink shawl hugged her rounded shoulders, dipping low to create a “V” where her deep cleavage showed. An emerald stone on a long chain dangled down that cleavage. They’d carved plump, curving arms and hands clasped below her hefty bosom on what must surely be her waist. She wore a short gray apron and poking out below the ruffled hem were two legs as thick as tree trunks with dimpled knees over gray half boots.
Her round face consisted of two sapphire jewels for eyes and a slash of red for her mouth. He knew he’d seen Veronica watching him crush berries for George’s cheeks. On her head she wore a bonnet of pale pink straw and long trailing red ribbons.
“I say,” One exclaimed in a parody of shock. “Your lady is showing a shocking amount of leg.”
“That’s precisely what I said!” Miss Endicott cried.
“We were only permitted seven objects,” Mr. Kildare assured the lady. “I’m certain allowances shall be made for her shocking state of undress.”
“Your gentleman has no clothing on whatsoever,” Veronica pointed out, eyeing George’s portly presence. “But for the tie, that is.”
Both teams wandered over to watch Viscount Talbot wrap a bright green turban around the head of their team’s snow person. As Nick rounded the figure he saw they had draped a long swath of vibrant red silk around the middle ball, leaving openings on both sides for the sculpted arms of the pasha. They’d tucked the red silk under the arms so it looked to be wound across his massive chest. He also wore a long chain with a huge amethyst stone cut into the shape of a star. Nick stepped forward
“You didn’t,” he murmured around a chuckle.
“Good God, you’ve given the man a pelt of dark swirling chest hair!” One exclaimed over Nick’s shoulder.
“I say,” Viscount Talbot boomed out as he tucked the end of the turban behind the snow pasha’s head. “All those hairs only count as one object, don’t they?”
“We plucked them all out of one fur muff!” Charles roared. “They damn sure only count as one object!”
Nick looked down to see Charles, Mr. Boone and his father had managed to carve a space down the middle of the bottom ball and given the man a wide-legged stance. A black loin cloth was wrapped around his waist and tucked between his legs. They had given the snow man quite a package in that loin cloth.
“That should do it,” Mr. Boone cried as he jammed a gold filigree broach into the turban just above the man’s forehead. Two eyes of black jet were set above high cheekbones, a beak of a nose and a slash of a mouth.
“I must say, sirs, you’ve done a splendid job!” Ollie said as he walked in a circle around the snow pasha. “Although, I believe you have eight objects.”
“What?” Charles and Lord Talbot roared in unison.
They all proceeded to count the various objects and sure enough, with the hair on his chest, Ali Baba was in fact adorned with eight objects.
Charles Calvert stepped forward and ripped the broach from the turban, shoving it into his pocket. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Or me.”
He shot a hard look at Veronica, accurately guessing that she was the only one who might tattle on him.
“I shan’t say a word,” she assured him archly.
As if on cue, nine weary snow artists turned toward the final snow figure at the base of the hill. Three lines of grass trailed down the hill, each shorter than the last. The ladies had faced their creation away from the house and the other teams’ building sites.
From behind, it was obvious the ladies had sculpted a tall, curvaceous woman. They were currently wrestling some sort of pale blue garment around the snow lady’s torso while attempting to keep the flowing purple robe in place.
“Do not come any closer!” Emily yelled to them. “We are not yet finished with our goddess!”
“We won’t interrupt your work!” One yelled back.
“Not one step closer, Timothy Parker!” Bernice whipped her head around to glare at him.
“Bossy wench,” One grumbled.
“Come on up to the porch and partake of a hot toddy,” Lady Margaret urged the group.
By the time Emily and her team stepped back to appraise their handiwork nearly an hour later, Nick had availed himself of two hot toddies and handfuls of warm peanut brittle. Lady Margaret was clearly tipsy and she and her brother were singing old Irish ballads at the top of their lungs as the Duchess of Martindale and Viscount Talbot danced a jig on the snow-covered front lawn. Their collective antics had everyone in stitches.
Veronica sidled up next to Nick where he leaned against a stone pillar. She brushed her shoulder against his upper arm before leaning forward to look out over the balustrade. It was no accident that she angled her body so that her backside rose in the air for his perusal.
Nick kept his eyes on Emily as she walked around the snow goddess, straightening the drape of the robe here and there. Was it his imagination or was Bernice pulling the robe down to expose one round shoulder?
“Good Lord,” Veronica purred, glancing over her shoulder to look at him. “What on earth can be taking them so long?”
“Emily does nothing by halves,” he replied with a smile.
Veronica let out an exasperated huff when she failed to draw his attention away from the ladies kneeling before their goddess, heads bent as they fiddled with something at the base, shoes perhaps.
“We’re nearly finished!” Lucinda Davis cried merrily.
“You may pay homage to the Goddess of Winter!” Bernice sang out, her voice husky with laughter.
“About time,” Veronica muttered as she straightened from her provocative pose and tucked her hand around Nick’s forearm.
The group of tipsy judges and snow artists traipsed through the snow toward the ladies and their snow woman. As they neared, Emily tossed a wig of curling red hair over the goddess’s head and walked around adjusting the long tresses to spill around her shoulders and back nearly to her waist. Nick immediately thought of Emily as she’d looked last night standing in the doorway to his bed chamber, her fiery hair cascading all around her.
The party goers converged on the ladies, circling around their snow sculpture until they stood in startled silence before her.
“Oh. My. God.” Lady Margaret was the first to speak.
Her words started the rest of them talking and laughing and oohing and ahhing.
Nick was struck completely speechless.
Snow goddess, indeed.
They’d used Lady Bernice as the model. The wig obviously belonged to her as it was the exact shade of her hair. Spiraling curls fell in abandon around the snow lady’s shoulders and trailed across arms adorned in the long voluminous sleeves of the lavender robe that barely covered one shoulder and hung artfully off the other to the elbow. They hadn’t bothered with fingers, instead allowing the robe to hang down beyond where hands would have been, as if the garment was slowly slipping right off the woman’s majestic form.
The robe gaped open to the waist, revealing a delicate blue silk corset trimmed with creamy lace and ribbons. Perfectly round breasts overflowed the flimsy garment, giving the appearance that one deep inhalation might cause them to spill right out.
The ladies had belted the robe lightly around a tiny waist where the middle snow ball met the bottom snow ball. The result was a flow of silk over luscious hips and legs, pooling in the snow at her feet. Her b
are feet. The ladies hadn’t been putting shoes on their goddess when they’d been on their knees before her. No, they’d been carefully carving three perfect little toes of one foot and two on the other and a pair of well-turned ankles. Nick followed the feet up over two long slender legs, a hint of two dimpled knees and the shadow of her thighs before the robe once more covered her.
Now Nick knew why they’d draped the robe over the snow figure before they’d begun to carve her. They had only carved those parts of her that would be visible. The hidden parts likely remained round balls of packed snow. Very clever.
He dragged his eyes up and smothered a laugh. Cherries. They’d split a cherry in half to form a perfect little bow of an upper lip and mauled another into a full rounded lower lip. The Goddess of Winter was clearly blowing a kiss to her worshippers.
Two bright peridot gems served as eyes, complete with impossibly long dark lashes. They’d carved her a straight patrician nose and high cheekbones.
With only seven objects and just over two hours the ladies had transformed three balls of snow into a sensual, half-naked woman.
“Amazing,” Nick breathed.
“Do you think so?” Emily asked as she appeared at his side, her gaze in front of her on the startlingly erotic figure she had helped to create.
“Oh, yes,” he replied but his eyes were no longer on the snow lady, they were firmly on the flesh and blood lady beside him with her wild curls tumbling from the old wool hat she’d crammed onto her head and her cheeks rosy from the cold.
“My hat’s off to you,” Veronica whispered. “Who would have thought three innocent ladies could have even imagined such a thing, let alone brought it to life?”
“Bernice Sutton!” The Duchess of Martindale joined the group, caught sight of the snow goddess and screamed in shock. “Is that your… and your… What were you thinking?”
“Now, now, Rose,” Charles Calvert soothed as he wrapped one arm around the lady. “It’s perfectly innocent. Nothing more than art.”
“But…that’s her…” the duchess stammered in mortification.