“And they tend to forget which ones they belong to,” Tommy said with a grunt that was older than his years. “Only yesterday, Aunt Millie scolded me and told Nanny not to give me dessert.”

“Tsk tsk.” Hugh shook his head in sympathy. “And where is Nanny now?”

All of the children shrugged, their shoulders bobbing up and down in a poorly choreographed dance of sorts.

Hugh sighed, making a face as he thought. “Well, we cannot just sit here in the library forever. So, our options are to go and find Nanny…”

“No!” the boys and the oldest of the girls cried.

“Or,” Hugh continued with a nod of agreement, “we devise winter games that will not subject us to the dreaded freeze the mamas warned you about.”

That got their attention.

The children stared at him, curious and eager, and the girls, at least, sat up, giving him their full attention.

“How, Mr. Sterling?” another of the blond girls asked, folding her arms rather like he’d seen Elinor do a time or two.

“Well…” He frowned and hummed at her. “What was your name again?”

She scowled, again like her elder relation. “Amelia. A gentleman wouldn’t forget.”

Hugh smirked at her sharp response. She was the spit of Elinor, and where that once would have disgusted him, it now amused him.

As Elinor now amused him.

And fascinated him.

“As we were not properly, nor officially introduced, Miss Amelia,” Hugh replied with a warm smile, “I believe I may be excused while still maintaining my gentleman status.”

She looked doubtful, but she offered no argument against it.

He looked around at the children, speculating without giving anything away. “Let me see… Hmm… I can’t decide…”

“On what?” one of the older boys demanded.

Hugh shook his head, heaving a dramatic sigh. “On who would make the best snowman.”

The children exchanged bewildered looks before returning their attention to him, most bearing the appearance of questioning his sanity.

“A snowman?” Amelia repeated. “One of us?”

“I do not want to be covered in snow!” Phoebe insisted firmly, folding her arms with a sharp hrmph of disgruntlement.

Hugh grinned swiftly, shaking his head. “No one is getting covered in snow, Phoebe. We will stay safely indoors, which will satisfy the mothers, and still get to play in the snow.”

No one looked remotely convinced.

He sighed as patiently as any adult surrounded by uncooperative children is able. “We will be using our imaginations. Like this.”

Tugging at his cravat, he slid the fabric free from his shirt and gestured for one of the younger boys to come to him. The tyke did so, torn between confusion and curiosity.

“John, isn’t it?” Hugh prodded with a smile.

The boy nodded. “Yessir.”

Hugh nodded in return, then draped his cravat around the boy’s neck loosely as one might a scarf. “John, you are now a man of snow, as I lay this imaginary scarf upon you.”

Obediently, John stared straight ahead and held his arms out at the awkward angles one might have seen in sticks used for such a purpose.