God Rest Ye Merry Spinster Page 2

  Elinor gave her younger sister a quelling look. “If the woman is mad enough to actually consider Rupert and Walter eligible candidates, I have no hesitation whatsoever in letting her fend for herself. I had no idea she was so desperate. Lavinia isn’t, and you know Lucinda isn’t.”

  Ellen snorted loudly. “Lucinda doesn’t care about anything but perfecting her tarts and pies. Who in their right minds wants to be a cook when they are gently born and bred?”

  “She’s trying to convince her parents to let her move to Paris,” Elizabeth said, lowering her voice. “She wants to study their food, for some reason.”

  “With all the trouble France has caused of late?” Elinor scoffed and shook her head. “It’s possibly the worst place in the world she could wish to be, but perhaps the food is worth almost certain death.”

  “I doubt that,” Ellen muttered. “It’s French.”

  “This seems promising. Where are my passel of little sisters off to?”

  They all turned towards the stairs they had just passed, looking up at their lone brother, Edmund, coming down towards them. It struck Elinor at that moment that, of all the Asheley children, Edmund was the only one to have inherited their father’s dark eyes. They all looked unnervingly similar in every other respect, though the girls were certainly distinct enough to tell apart, and they’d all heard the comments enough to have memorized responses for each.

  Edmund approached them, his tall, lanky form moving with the same careless ease it always had done, and he grinned broadly, as he usually did. “Well?”

  “We’re escaping the cousins,” Ellen informed him bluntly. “They were trying to marry off Elinor.”

  “You started it,” Elizabeth shot back.

  “Did not. I merely added context.”

  Edmund glanced at Elinor, and she rolled her eyes, which he echoed. “Lovely, Ella-belle. So helpful, I’m sure. Sister clearly appreciated your efforts.”

  “So much,” Elinor remarked with the dryness of the Sahara. She sighed and eyed her brother, who was clearly preparing for a ride. “Going somewhere?”

  He shook his head. “Just out. Trying to escape cousins myself. Walter and Rupert seek to bring me into the fold of the church, and only half of the cousin husbands are sportsmen. Better to get a ride in before the snow gets any worse.”

  “Isn’t there a hunt?” Elizabeth asked, propping one hand on her hip. “There’s always a hunt, and the snow isn’t treacherous. It’s Derbyshire, not Scotland.”

  Edmund shrugged. “The hunt is not the same as a true ride, E. I never gallop there, and I do on a ride. Besides, Simms was saying the roads are growing nigh impassable both north and south. Mud and ice and snow, and carriages have been struggling. A single rider would be fine, but…” He smiled in a would-be eager manner. “Good thing all our blessed relations have arrived, isn’t it?”

  “Huzzah,” the girls all responded in the same flat tone.

  “Hmm,” hummed a familiar voice from the drawing room nearest them. “Why do I always grow suspicious when my children gather together?”

  Elinor chuckled as she looked over at her mother, standing in the doorway, arms cradling a sleeping baby. “I haven’t the faintest idea, Mama. We’re all so innocent.”

  “Is that what you call it?” she replied. “Interesting.” She shifted her gaze to her son. “Edmund, you’d best leave now, I know your father and James will want you to assist them this afternoon. Girls, Emma and Partlowe could use your help with the mistletoe and greenery. They’re encamped in the blue room with Alice and Anna, and I’ve just sent Hannah, as well.”

  “Does anyone else wonder how Uncle James manages with Anna as his wife and Hannah as his daughter?” Ellen asked as they all did as their mother bid. “So very similar.”

  Elinor gave her sister a bemused look. “They don’t live together, Elle. Hannah and Mr. Layton live in Bath.”

  “Even so…”

  Elizabeth huffed, ever the impatient one. “One could say the same thing about our family. Ellen and Elinor? Could be quite confusing.”

  Ellen’s brow furrowed with surprisingly deep crevices. “But it isn’t. That’s quite clear.”

  “Why do I bother?” Elizabeth asked Elinor, eyes widening yet again. “Why?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  Somehow, it seemed that the warmth of being with her cousins and other relations had yet to descend upon her. For the moment, she was still slightly disgruntled and wondering how long they were going to have to remain so completely surrounded by family and so utterly removed from anything resembling Society. Although both Louisa and Martha had managed to marry into the peerage, and Lord Winthrop had said his brother John might arrive for Christmas. And he might bring friends.

  Letitia might get her husband after all.

  But how exactly she would manage to accomplish that when the house was overrun with children at any given time was beyond comprehension.

  A series of successive shrieks from above them emphasized that point rather soundly, and Elinor bit back another sigh. She didn’t mind children. Quite the opposite. In fact, she would much rather have been up in one of the nurseries playing with the children. They’d all be permitted down with the adults this afternoon until dinner, and it would be a blessed relief. None of them cared if Elinor ever married or not, and not one of them thought her association with the Spinsters ought to be commented on.

  She might even be able to slip away during the chaos of the children joining them and get an article or two written for the Chronicles. It was always a bit difficult to manage the newssheet during the winter, and particularly around the holidays, but none of them had seemed to mind yet, and somehow, it always worked out well enough.

  If she thought about it long enough, she might be able to submit articles about Christmas itself, or removal to the country for winter. Or even the burden of extended family.

  Surely there were several people who could relate with that particular trial.

  But her mother was most particular about Elinor’s writing time during family occasions. Something about seclusion and making the most of the limited time they all had together; Elinor hadn’t listened attentively enough to actually capture the full speech. The meaning was clear enough.

  Never mind that there was nothing limited about two full weeks, sometimes three, with everyone remotely connected to them via her father’s bloodlines.

  She’d have to sneak time before bed at night. And she could take mental notes throughout the day. She’d have to protect identities, of course, and alter quotes enough to avoid being blatant in the retelling. It would not do to offend her entire family, especially since she generally liked them.

  Generally.

  And there was the possibility that no one would find her stories as amusing as she did. Some things required years and years of context for the true scope to be appreciated, and without knowing the persons she would be describing, there would undoubtedly be something missing in the retelling.

  So perhaps it would be best if she left it to something generic and relatable rather than the peculiar extremes she was used to.

  Not nearly as amusing, but infinitely more sensible.

  She snorted to herself. Sensible. When had she become that?

  They neared the blue room only for a commotion to be heard from the front of the house. Curious, they altered course to move towards the entry hall instead, the sounds of male voices growing louder by the minute.

  “Did the cousin husbands venture out this morning?” Elinor wondered aloud.

  “I don’t believe so,” Elizabeth replied. “Lord Winthrop’s brother? And several friends?”

  Ellen skipped like a child for a few paces. “Someone tell Letitia!”

  They burst into helpless giggles and Elinor pushed back a stray lock of her fair hair, tugging her shawl more tightly about her as they neared the cool air from the wintery day.

  “Come in, come in, one and all are welcome. Plenty of
room, plenty indeed.”

  Elinor raised a brow at her father’s cheerful boast, smiling slightly. Room they had, but plenty of it, they did not. Still, there was no dampening her father’s generosity and spirit.

  She stopped, and her sisters along with her, and watched as her slightly rotund father gestured and waved, bustling in with what had to be six men, and her uncle James. The slick surface of her father’s balding head reflected the light of the day a bit, his hat being used to emphasize his broad gesturing.

  “Sally! Marie! Hopkins, where the devil is everyone?” her father called. He caught sight of Elinor and her sisters, who all waved at him in amusement.

  His face broke into a beaming grin. “Hark, my herald angels!”

  “Oh, lord,” Elizabeth muttered, smiling to herself.

  Their father chuckled at his own wit, then turned back to business. “Ella-belle, go and fetch Mrs. McKinley, tell her we’ve more guests. And Winthrop, as well. He will be most anxious to greet his brother.” Ellen moved quickly, her eyes sliding to investigate the arrivals even as she left.

  A young, dark, and handsome man grinned, brushing at snowflakes on his scarf. “Not so anxious, I trust. He’ll be more pleased to see Davis than me.”

  “Surely not,” Elinor’s father scoffed warmly. “Indeed not.” He turned, nearly tripping over his feet to check the following guests. “Come, come, my fine fellows. I will send my men out for the carriage once you’re all settled. Don’t fret, Mr. Morris, your fine horses are well in hand with Mr. Smythe.”

  Elinor’s ears perked up and she stepped forward. “A carriage, Papa?”

  Her father turned, his shoes skidding on the floor a touch. “Indeed, my pet. Got fretfully stuck in the mud on the southbound road from Buxton. Two broken axles and one wheel was quite done for. Nearly overturned, and the lot would have frozen there, completely stranded. Your uncle and I happened upon them on our way back in, and insisted they come with us.”

  “Lord Winthrop won’t like to hear that,” Elinor commented with a smile.

  “No, love, it was not Mr. John’s carriage,” he corrected, patting the man in question on the back. “They arrived at the same time your uncle and I did with the weary travelers. A happy lot we make, eh?”

  “Mr. Ames and Mr. Morris, do take yourselves on down to the kitchens,” Uncle James was saying. “Sally will show you the way. Mrs. Larpenteur will warm you up creditably. Mr. Davis, do come along, and Mr. Rigby, of course.”

  Elinor looked at Elizabeth, and she returned her startled look, then both turned back to their father. “And they are all to stay, Papa?”

  “But of course, they are!” he boomed. “It’s Christmas! Gentlemen, do allow me to introduce two of my daughters. This is Elinor, and beside her, Elizabeth. My youngest you may have noticed hastening off for the housekeeper. Girls, Mr. John Winthrop, Mr. Davis, Mr. Rigby, Mr. Morris and Mr. Ames you see going down to the kitchens, they are the drivers, you know. Oh, and I do believe, Elinor, you might be acquainted with the last gentleman there.”

  Elinor hadn’t seen another in the sudden crowd of them, and smiled politely mid-curtsey, “Oh?”

  Her father nodded repeatedly, patting his waistcoat absently, still grinning. “Indeed. He’s a London man, and was the poor fellow stranded in the mud.” He turned towards the group, going up on his toes in an attempt to see. “Come, come, man, you will find only friends here.”

  A bit of shuffling, and then the man was before her.

  Elinor stiffened, a gasp welling and dying in her throat.

  “You do know Mr. Hugh Sterling, don’t you, Elinor?”

  Chapter Two

  The unexpected is highly overrated.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 8 August 1818

  It could have been worse, he supposed. She could have spat in his face or shrieked with horror or collapsed in a dead faint at his feet.

  But anyone who had ever been on the receiving end of a disgusted glare from Elinor Asheley felt the impact of it in several suddenly aching places, and they burned most disconcertingly.

  He was sure he’d experienced the sensation a time or two, but having spent the last few years at least mildly intoxicated at nearly every moment, he’d likely passed the experience off as indigestion from excessively rich food.

  Still, the expression she’d worn at his presentation had left nobody in the room in any doubt of her feelings, except perhaps for her father, who, while all kindness and generosity himself, seemed the slightest bit oblivious.

  They were all quickly shuffled off to vacant guest rooms to change and rest, if desired, while the servants of the house brought in all their things. While he appreciated having a moment of solitude after the morning he’d had, Hugh Sterling could honestly say he’d never been more uncomfortable in his entire life.

  And that was saying a great deal indeed.

  He wondered if his cousin Tony had arranged to have Elinor recommended to the army as a weapon yet. An enemy would certainly hesitate in the face of such a look, though it might not stop an offensive entirely. Still, the hesitation itself may be enough to turn the tide of a battle.

  He hadn’t meant to be here, and in fact, there was no place on earth he would rather be less than this. Of all the Spinsters, Elinor was the one who hated him the most.

  They all had reason enough, but Elinor had seemed most violent about her hatred. The logical side of him wondered why, as she was one of the few he had not directly wounded in some way, but the more human side of him knew that would have very little to do with anything. Elinor Asheley was loyal to a fault, and it was quite an admirable thing.

  Or it ought to be. At the moment, it was rather terrifying.

  She would never believe what he had endured in the last several months. Would never believe the change that had occurred. She would never give him a moment to explain, apologize, cajole, or repent. He would ever be the villain in her eyes, the scum of the earth, if not the very devil, and it would make his waiting all the more unpleasant. He had barely managed to convince himself to take this sojourn as it was, and he feared the slightest provocation would send him back into hiding, setting back his recovery, as well.

  He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

  It was the most maddening thing. He had never been particularly sensitive in his entire life, but suddenly, he was more skittish than any colt he’d ever seen, and twice as doubting.

  A man on the road of repentance must adjust to all sorts of things.

  He eyed himself in the long mirror on the other side of the room, wishing one’s physical appearance changed when one’s heart did. He was no longer a wastrel or rake, though he had never quite managed to fully attain the status of the latter, despite his association with them. The bitter thorn that had taken root within him had been torn out, and the damage had begun to heal. He no longer knew enmity or resentment, except for a select few who had sinned beyond all reconciliation.

  He knew grief, he knew regret, and he knew self-loathing, all three in deep and profound ways. They had been his constant companions since the night his sister had nearly been ruined by the man he’d encouraged her to associate with. He had thought the man was his friend, and so had naively ignored every warning sign imaginable.

  He had been forgiven by Alice, apparently, though he couldn’t imagine how that was possible. Even his brother Francis had encouraged him to come home, that amends were not needed.

  He hadn’t listened to them. Couldn’t bear to face them.

  But now, he’d had enough of wallowing. He felt himself changed enough, thought that perhaps he might have been good enough to rejoin his family. For Christmas, at least.

  And then the carriage had broken and become stuck, and he’d wondered at least a dozen times if this were not a sign that he was not, in fact, meant to go home to his family.

  Instead, he was trapped. In the country. With her.

  It seemed he had yet more fires to walk through before he would be deemed ready.

/>   He already felt singed.

  This was not good.

  He smoothed down his straw-colored hair, which had grown too long in places, enough that his natural curl was noticeable, and he suddenly wished most fervently for a pair of shears. At least his clothing was more sensible than it once might have been. More tasteful in color and more reserved in style, the sort of look that would befit a gentleman.

  Or at least avoid labeling him a dandy, as it once might have.

  He had a reputation to expunge, and he would need all the help he could get.

  If he could avoid being killed, mauled, maimed, or otherwise irreparably damaged by Elinor for however long he was here, he would have no problem with the rest of London.

  Nobody hated him as much as Elinor.

  He exhaled and met his own gaze squarely in the mirror. “Compliments of the season, Mr. Sterling,” he muttered to himself.

  Tugging on his coat, he moved from the room to venture into the rest of the house.

  Deilingh was the epitome of everything a country house should be, with all the eccentricities one might expect from a country squire whose estate had been standing for a hundred years. Thick, darkly-stained wooden beams hung in the rafters, intricate carvings adorned the walls, and faded tapestries hung about, spots of wear beginning to show. The decor was comfortable and the arrangements well managed, despite the almost wild air of it all. It was clean, it was orderly, and seemed to extend in each direction as far as the eye could see.

  He wondered faintly if the servants shared the dining room with the family all the time or if that was simply for the harvest celebrations. Not that it mattered, nor was it even his business. They could do as they liked here, and it was exactly that sort of thinking that could get him into trouble, well-intended or not.

  Old habits were rather difficult to break, but he had spent the better part of seven months breaking all sorts of things once considered habit about himself.

  How to prove such a change to anyone was equally as difficult.

  How fortunate for him that he had the opportunity to begin the process with Elinor Asheley.