In the corner, curled up on a bed of fresh hay, lay a sleeping, black-haired puppy.
“It’s a dog,” Spencer said, his voice filled with quiet wonder.
“It is indeed,” Andrew agreed, entering the stall. He gently scooped up the small dog, and was rewarded with a contented doggie sigh. “I’ve wanted one ever since your uncle Philip acquired Prince, who is a very fine dog indeed. Would you like to hold him?”
Spencer, eyes wide, nodded. “Oh, yes. Please.”
Andrew carefully handed over the sleepy dog. Seconds later, the puppy lifted his head and let out a tremendous, pink-tongued yawn. When he caught sight of Spencer, he immediately turned into a wiggling mass of tail-wagging canine joy, licking every bit of Spencer’s chin he could reach, much to Spencer’s laughing delight.
Andrew stepped closer to Catherine and said out of the corner of his mouth, “I believe my dog likes your son.”
“Hmmm. And clearly my son likes your dog. But I have a sneaking suspicion you knew-”
“That they would fall in love with each other?” She felt him turn to look at her, and it required all her strength to keep her gaze fixed upon Spencer. “Yes, I admit I suspected as much.”
“He’s grand, Mr. Stanton,” Spencer said, accepting ecstatic puppy licks to his cheeks. “Where did you get him?”
“In the village, from the blacksmith. I’d stopped to make a purchase, and he introduced me to the entire litter his dog had birthed two months ago. Six adorable little devils. It was difficult to make a choice. This fellow sort of chose me, and the feeling was mutual.”
“I imagine so,” Spencer murmured, burying his face in the dog’s curly fur.
Unable to resist, Catherine reached out and scratched behind the adorable puppy’s ears. A look of utter devotion entered the pup’s black eyes. “Oh, you’re a charmer, aren’t you,” she said with a laugh.
“What is his name?” Spencer asked.
“The blacksmith called him Shadow, and it seems to suit as the little fellow followed me all about. What do you think?”
Spencer held the puppy at arm’s length and inclined his head first right, then left. Pink tongue panting, tiny ears perked, the puppy mimicked his actions, tilting his little head. They all laughed, and Catherine said, “It seems that Shadow is indeed the perfect name.”
“Then Shadow it is. Now, we’re heading outside, behind the stables. Spencer, would you mind carrying Shadow for me?”
Catherine couldn’t help but laugh. “That is like asking a mouse if it minds eating a bit more cheese.”
They walked outside together, and Andrew led them to a large blanket spread on the lawn under the shade of an elm. Catherine gazed curiously at the tarp to one side of the blanket. “What is under there?”
He smiled. “We’re going to make some magic. But it’s a two-man job, I’m afraid. I need someone strong to assist me.” He made a great show of looking around.
“I’ll help,” Spencer said eagerly.
“A volunteer. Excellent. Lady Catherine, would you be so kind as to mind Shadow, so Spencer and I can proceed?” Catherine agreed, taking the puppy from Spencer.
“Just make yourself comfortable on the blanket,” Andrew said, “and I’ll brief my helper on his duties.”
Catherine lowered herself onto the blanket and laughed at Shadow’s tail-chasing antics. From the corner of her eye, she watched Andrew and Spencer speaking in muted tones, and the pleased flush that stole over Spencer’s cheeks. They returned several minutes later, and with a flourish, Andrew pulled the tarp from his stash of supplies.
Catherine craned her neck and stared at the five buckets of varying sizes he’d uncovered. “What’s in those?”
“Ice, salt, cream, sugar, and strawberries,” he said, pointing to each one in turn. He then indicated a cloth bag with a nod of his chin. “Bowls and spoons.”
“We’re going to make strawberry-flavored ice, Mum!” Spencer said.
“Really?” She scooped up Shadow then walked over to have a better look. “How are we going to make that?”
“Just watch,” Andrew said. “You’ve never eaten anything like this, I promise you.”
“I had a flavored ice in London last year,” Catherine said. “It was delightful.”
“This will be extraordinarily delightful,” Andrew promised with a smile.
Nearly an hour later, after much strenuous shaking by Andrew of an outer bucket filled with chips of ice and salt while Spencer vigorously stirred an inner bucket filled with cream, sugar, and strawberries, Andrew finally announced, “It’s ready.”
Spencer, his face red from his exertions, blew out a loud breath. “Thank goodness. My arms are about to drop off.”
“As are mine,” Andrew agreed. “But trust me, once you taste this, the pain will instantly fade.”
“I feel horribly guilty,” Catherine said. “While you two shook and stirred, I merely sat here and enjoyed the lovely weather.”
“You were watching Shadow,” Andrew reminded her, scooping heaping spoonfuls of pink stuff into porcelain bowls.
“Not a difficult task, as the imp has been sleeping for the past three-quarters of an hour.” She looked down at the bundle of black fur sprawled across her lap and tried, without any success whatsoever, to stem the affection flooding her. “I believe I bored Shadow to sleep.”
“Well, she who bores the dog to sleep serves the cause just as much as those who stir and shake,” Andrew said, handing her a bowl and spoon. “Taste.”
Catherine dipped her spoon into the creamy concoction, then lifted it to her lips. Her eyes widened with pure delight as the smooth, sweet, strawberry-flavored chill slid down her throat. “Oh, my.”
Andrew laughed. After scooping out a generous portion for Spencer, then himself, they all sat upon the blanket and indulged in their treat.
“You’re right, Mr. Stanton,” Spencer said, “this is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Made all your arm aches disappear, I’ll wager.”
“Every one,” Spencer agreed.
“Where did you learn to make this?” Catherine asked, savoring another delectable spoonful.
“In America. The family who owned the stables where I worked was fond of serving this to their guests.” A phantom of some emotion she could not read flashed in his eyes. “Whenever they did so, their daughter would pilfer an extra bowl for me. Eventually I asked their cook how it was made.”
A spurt of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy shot through her at the thought of Andrew sitting on a blanket with his employer’s daughter, eating a frozen delight that she’d brought him.
“The girl who brought you the ice-what was her name?” Spencer asked, voicing the question Catherine hadn’t had the courage to speak.
“Emily,”Andrew said, softly, looking down into his bowl.
“Was she nice?”
“Very nice.” He looked up and gave Spencer a slight smile that looked more sad than happy to Catherine. “In fact, you rather remind me of her, Spencer.”
“I remind you of a girl?”
Andrew chuckled at his horrified expression. “Not the fact that she was a girl, but because she… struggled to find where she fit in. She did not feel very comfortable around people. Indeed, except for me, she had very few friends.”
Spencer’s brow puckered as he pondered this. Then he asked, “Are you still her friend? Do you correspond with her?”
There was no mistaking the pain that filled his eyes. “No. She died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“As am I.”
“When did she die?”