God Rest Ye Merry Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  Elinor coughed a laugh, fisting her gloved hand before her mouth to avoid choking on her own breath.

  Hugh eyed her with a sly grin. “Something to add, Miss Asheley?”

  She shook her head, swallowing with difficulty. “No, not at all. I swallowed poorly, forgive me.”

  He nodded slowly in understanding. “Swallowing can be a struggle for some, though I do believe one is usually accustomed to the action at a younger age than you can boast.”

  Elinor narrowed her eyes at him, wondering when he had become so adept at playful teasing.

  “For shame, Mr. Sterling,” Elizabeth chuckled, having no need to feign her amusement. “One does not discuss a lady’s age in polite company.”

  “Whose age?” Letitia demanded as she suddenly, and insistently, made herself known to their small group. “Not mine, I hope.”

  Elinor barely restrained a snort. “No, Letitia, not yours. Indeed, we were not discussing you at all.”

  “Personally, I never do,” Edmund admitted freely. “Never.”

  “No reason to at all,” Elizabeth chimed in.

  Letitia glared at them all as though they had risen from hell itself. “In some families, you know, there is a measure of respect for each other.”

  “Hmm,” Elinor mused, tapping a finger to her chin. “What would that be like?”

  Letitia’s upper lip curled in a snarl before transforming into a sickeningly simpering expression as she snaked her hand through Hugh’s arm. “Do come and join our conversation, Mr. Sterling. It will be a far better use of your time than standing here with these jaded cynics.”

  She tugged on his arm, leaving no polite way for him to refuse, and he let himself be tugged.

  “Jaded cynics, miss?” Hugh echoed in a pained tone, though his pleading expression towards Elinor and her siblings left them in no doubt regarding what he was pained about.

  “Aren’t you going to save him?” Elizabeth asked softly, giggling to herself.

  Elinor shook her head as she waved at Hugh. “Not for the world,” she replied.

  “What has poor Mr. Sterling done to deserve Letitia’s company?” Ellen asked as she practically bounced into the room. “Lord, what a prospect. Are we saving him?”

  “No,” her siblings replied in the same unconcerned tone, watching their cousin lead their guest to other eager cousins, all vying for any scrap of attention.

  It was a comedy that anyone of sense would have found amusing.

  “You four are really quite horrible,” Uncle Dough remarked. “At least Mr. John has Barbara near him, she’s the best of the lot, but Mr. Sterling? Surely he deserves some sort of ally.”

  “Excuse me,” Ellen huffed with all the indignities a girl of fifteen can muster. “I have only just arrived, and I would never subject anyone to Letitia who was not fully apprised of what was coming.”

  Elinor bit her lip on a giggle, which, somehow, Hugh must have heard, for he glanced up at her, looking as cross as anyone.

  Uncle Dough hummed to himself, sipping his glass of Madeira slowly. “And did Mr. Sterling get an apprisal of what was coming?”

  “He did not,” Edmund said simply. “There wasn’t time.”

  “And Elinor did nothing to stop her,” Elizabeth added, as if it would be helpful.

  Elinor looked to Uncle Dough with a smirk. “I am not Mr. Sterling’s keeper. Perhaps he will find Letitia a charming companion.”

  There was a pause among the group at the thought.

  “I may be ill,” Ellen suddenly muttered, leaning against Uncle Dough as though she were faint.

  “You’re not the only one,” their uncle replied.

  Elinor burst out laughing, not bothering to cover her mouth. “Uncle Dough! You cannot say such things about your niece!”

  “I certainly can,” he retorted, puffing out his expansive chest. “I have no qualms about claiming favorites among your generation, and while I may not admit to the identity of those favorites, I will tell you that she has not made the list.”

  “My poor sister,” Lavinia mused as she swept into the room, far and away fairer than her sister, and infinitely more sensible. “She does so want to have a husband, and I don’t believe she particularly cares as to his identity.”

  “Careful, La-la,” Uncle Dough warned with a smile, using the pet name she’d borne as a child. “There are too many candidates for the position hereabouts, and they might be of a similar mindset.” He gave his niece a careful look. “And you might find one of them more agreeable than the rest yourself.”

  Lavinia scoffed quietly. “That would be a feat. Next, you’ll be telling me Elinor will find one. Or Barbara. Or that one will persuade Lucinda out of the kitchen to socialize.” She looked over her shoulder and made a brief chirp of a sound. “Speaking of candidates…” She glanced at the others, her lips quirking into a smile. “Perhaps I shall devote myself to controlling Letitia this evening. ‘Twould be a kindness, don’t you think?”

  “Certainly would,” Edmund muttered as their cousin moved to sit decidedly between her sister and Hugh. “Might get her nominated for sainthood.”

  Elinor could only nod as she watched the irritation flash across Letitia’s plain features, and as Mr. Davis and Rigby entered the room, talking with a few cousin husbands with great enthusiasm.

  The room would soon be filled with the rest of the adults, and there would barely be room enough to breathe. Her father would ask Fredericka to play something, and with the excess of eligible gentlemen, Letitia would offer to sing.

  She would have to save herself from that ordeal, but the particular excuse would need to be right. Her mother greatly disapproved of blatant avoidance, but Elinor and her siblings had always banded together over their escape.

  Emma was fortunate enough to have her children for an excuse, but as for the rest…

  “What a fine meal!” Elinor’s father boasted as he came into the room, his cheeks red already with too much brandy. “I have never had better, I do declare.”

  “Lord above,” Elizabeth grumbled, opening her fan and fluttering it gently. “Who gave Papa brandy?”

  “No idea,” Uncle Dough grunted, downing his Madeira in one gulp.

  “Music!” her father cried, clapping his hands. “Let us have music!”

  Edmund groaned and craned his neck. “We had music last night, isn’t that enough?”

  “Shh!” Ellen hissed, nudging their brother hard. “It’s the only night we get to escape. He never lets us leave during cards or theatricals.”

  “Does he know we leave during the music?” Elinor mused, glancing at her younger sister. “I seem to remember him being quite forgetful when it comes to these things.”

  Elizabeth rounded on Elinor. “Did you give him the brandy?”

  Uncle Dough snickered darkly and shook his head. “I am moving to another part of the room. I don’t want your actions on my conscience.” He bowed to them quickly, then moved to talk with great-aunts Julie and Beatrice.

  “Coward!” Elizabeth hissed after him.

  Elinor cleared her throat. “So how are we escaping Letitia’s recital?”

  Edmund shrugged a shoulder and tugged at his cravat again. “Like this.” He took one final sip of his beverage, set the glass down, then grabbed Ellen’s hand and tugged her out of the room without another word.

  Elinor and Elizabeth gaped after their siblings, then immediately stood closer together to avoid any sign of gaps.

  “I cannot believe he did that,” Elizabeth hissed, her cheeks flushing.

  “Oh, I can.” Elinor watched as, to be expected, Fredericka moved to the pianoforte, Letitia practically at her heels. “Edmund is not known for his tact, and by taking Ellen, he can freely admit he was helping his sister, which will settle Mama’s ruffled feathers.”

  Fredericka began to play, her fingers almost flying across the keys, her attention entirely focused on her music.

  No doubt to tune out what was about to happen.

&nb
sp; “Do you ever wonder if Fredericka hates this more than we do?” Elinor asked her sister softly.

  Elizabeth coughed delicately. “Probably.”

  Letitia began to sing, her eyes pointedly skirting to every unmarried man in the room, including Walter and Rupert, and somehow, impossibly, each of them avoided looking as though their ears were being tortured.

  Rupert actually seemed to be enjoying it, which only proved he must have been deaf as well as dull.

  Poor Fredericka looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment, which did not seem very festive at all.

  “Whenever you make your escape,” Elinor murmured to her younger sister, “see if you can take Fredericka with you. Maybe say one of her girls is asking for her.”

  “Lovely,” Elizabeth said with a nod. “But who will play instead?”

  Letitia finished her attempt at a song, and their cousin Mary was idiotic enough to actually shout a word of praise.

  “That answers that question,” Elizabeth stated rather simply, not bothering to applaud.

  “Certainly does.”

  “Right, this is my cue,” her sister murmured, moving gracefully towards Mary’s husband.

  Elinor watched as Elizabeth spoke softly with the particular cousin husband in question, who nodded repeatedly, patted Elizabeth’s hand, then cleared his throat.

  “Mary, would you not accompany Letitia for the next? You both sound so accomplished when blended, and Fredericka’s fingers must be fatigued after so masterful a performance.”

  Mary blushed at the comment, and Fredericka was off the bench in less than two seconds, smiling as warmly as humanly possible at her cousin. Elizabeth intercepted her, linked arms, and strolled with her out of the room without a single additional comment being necessary.

  “Nicely done, ladies,” Elinor said under her breath, shaking her head at the beauty of such an escape.

  Now to try for her own.

  There was no easy way to do this, she considered as she looked around. Her mother was already glaring at her, having seen what the others had done, so short of fainting dead away…

  That was a thought.

  But no, if she were to faint, then the music would be disrupted and everyone would fuss, and it would all lead to Elinor being cooped up in her room and subjected to the treatments of the great-aunts, who somehow considered themselves as capable healers at their age.

  Letitia’s warbling might have been safer.

  A startlingly high and off-key note began the next number and Elinor’s skin tingled and crawled in distress.

  Never mind. Letitia was far and away worse. But that did not mean Elinor would let herself be treated into an actual sickness by her currently punch-guzzling great-aunts.

  The trouble with standing near the fringe of the room was that any possible allies were elsewhere, and with her sister already escaping with a cousin, it would be painfully obvious for Elinor to do the same.

  Well, experience had taught her that Letitia had at least five songs in her, only one of which would include another person, and she could not endure that much.

  She flinched as her deluded cousin attempted another note beyond her range, then craned her neck to try to restore her body to its usual state.

  How had Letitia gotten worse in the last year? It was utterly unfathomable.

  Even Letitia’s mother looked appalled, and Aunt Catherine, as a rule, always thought of, spoke of, and complimented her daughters well. She would never have been so careless as to display a physical reaction to a flaw from one of them. If anyone asked why her expression looked so wan, she would have claimed indigestion and scolded one of her brothers for having Mrs. Larpenteur make the food too rich.

  Elinor glanced at Emma, the only one of her siblings still in the room, and it was clear she was attempting a retreat. But Mr. Partlowe, ever concerned about appearances, had his hand over hers in a gesture of fondness, though Elinor was entirely convinced it was a restraining hand rather than a comforting one.

  Huzzah for the lack of husband to insist on such suffering for the sake of politeness.

  A movement in the center of the room caught her attention, and she immediately began preparing a statement kindly refusing an offer to take a seat, one explaining her current position, and one that would carefully praise her cousin without actually praising anything at all.

  Her guard lowered when she saw Hugh Sterling discreetly making his way towards her.

  His expression was entirely unreadable as he approached, and, for a moment, she thought he might pass her and leave the room entirely, which likely would have been cause for comment among the cousins later. But then he stopped beside her and turned to face what was apparently supposed to be music.

  “Yes?” Elinor asked quietly, keeping her voice low.

  “Save me,” he murmured as he fixed a polite smile on his face.

  Elinor fought a smile herself. “From?”

  “You have to ask?” came the hissed reply.

  “I do.” She nodded as though with great care. “I am no mind reader, sir, and in order to assist you in any way, I will need to know the specifics.”

  Hugh cleared his throat softly as Letitia butchered a run of notes. “That.”

  “For shame, Mr. Sterling,” Elinor said, quickly losing the battle with her smile. “My cousin is trying her best, and it is quite daunting for a young woman to perform in front of so many.”

  Hugh glanced down at her. “I concede to her trying her best. I do not fault the effort.” He winced as her voice ventured hoarse for a moment before returning to its usual sound. “Only the delivery.”

  “Welcome to Christmas with my family, sir,” Elinor informed him as she reached for the glass her brother had set down, finishing his Madeira in one gulp. “This has become a tradition as much as the greenery is.”

  “Enduring this has become a tradition?” he asked incredulously. “Good heavens, why?”

  Elinor snorted to herself. “Because Letitia doesn’t take hints well, and no one has the nerve to tell her outright that she would be better suited to silently sitting and embroidering the lyrics of a song rather than vocalizing them.”

  The man beside her snickered, covering the sound with a gloved hand. “And yet it would be an apt statement.”

  Elinor shook her head. “Not really. She embroiders as well as she sings.”

  “But no one else is harmed by the act,” he pointed out. “At this moment, I am being harmed. Please save me.”

  “How?” Elinor asked with real honesty. “My siblings have abandoned me, and my mother is watching.” She indicated her mother, who, sure enough, was fixated on them.

  Hugh stunned her by bowing politely in that direction. “Lovely woman. She looks just like you, especially when she scowls.”

  Elinor jabbed him in the side with an elbow. “I’ll not save anything of yours if you don’t behave.”

  He was instantly contrite. “Of course, Miss Asheley. Whatever you say, Miss Asheley. May I ask you to please show me the way to the guest rooms? I fear I am missing one of my cufflinks there, and I have no recollection of the way.”

  Of all the ridiculous excuses, that was what he would go with?

  She gave him a dubious look, but he stunned her by raising his arm to show, true to his word, he lacked a cufflink.

  Oh. Convenient, indeed.

  She nodded politely, only slightly ashamed. “Of course. Come with me.” She nodded at her mother, who warily nodded back.

  Turning out of the room, Elinor let her face relax entirely, Hugh only a half-step behind her. “Oh, lord,” Elinor groaned as they moved away from the room. “She’s so much worse than she used to be.”

  “I believe it,” he replied easily. “I don’t mean to disparage any woman, but…”

  “It’s an abomination,” Elinor overrode. “I know.” He seemed surprised that she’d said anything, and Elinor shrugged. “This way, you did not disparage her. I did.”

  Hugh laughe
d once and clasped his hands behind his back. “So you did. Thank you for saving me.”

  She only nodded, fidgeting with her gloves. “Now, which room are you staying in? We can take the long route to avoid more of Letitia’s singing.”

  “Considering she informed me she was singing to land a husband,” Hugh mused, his tone rife with humor, “that sounds most agreeable.”

  “She said that?” Elinor bleated, pausing to gape at him.

  Hugh nodded. “She did, and she made sure that I, Mr. John, Mr. Davis, and Mr. Rigby could hear. Though I think only the large and perspiring man in the back seemed remotely interested.”

  Elinor laughed merrily, covering her face. “That would be Rupert, and he’s the son of my father’s cousin. Letitia doesn’t mind, so long as she gets a husband.” She moved to the stairs and, rather than ascend them, sat down with a sigh. “I love my family. I do. But occasionally, I forget just what a strange lot we are, and somehow, having guests witness the melee makes everything worse.”

  “Believe me, I comprehend the feeling,” Hugh admitted, coming over to lean near her. “I’m a Sterling, remember? We could populate our own county, if we chose. And not every branch has the sanity of Tony or Francis.”

  Elinor smirked at the thought and peered up at him. “And what sort of branch were you?”

  He shrugged. “Roughly in the middle, but certainly the top half. I’ll never be Francis, but I’m not exactly one of the relations to avoid.”

  “Is Francis the pinnacle, then?” she asked, wondering for possibly the first time about the nature of things between the brothers. Francis, Lord Sterling, was on her list of close to perfect men, and he had proven himself to be a good friend to the Spinsters.

  Hugh was nothing like him.

  Or so she’d thought.

  Hugh gave her a humorless smile. “Isn’t he always?”

  She was honest enough to admit the truth there and smiled in return. “The lot of a younger sibling, is it not? I am always being compared to Emma, even before she was married. And now…”

  “What?” he asked when she did not finish. “Now that she is no longer a spinster, you must follow the same path?”