God Rest Ye Merry Spinster Read online

  “More or less, yes.” She shook her head and clasped her hands before her, slouching a little. “The matrimonial part wasn’t mentioned for quite a while, for obvious reasons. Now that she has married and borne children, I am suddenly to be found wanting.” She rolled her eyes, laughing slightly. “Emma was never to be found wanting at my age, but there it is.”

  Hugh stared at her, his expression just as inscrutable as before. “What could be found wanting in a young woman enjoying herself in a healthy, proper manner? Or have you really sworn off men entirely, as they say?”

  Elinor bit her lip, her laugh now not quite as forced. “I have not, though I was close at times. I am not quite as violent in my spinsterly passion as I was before. I am sure that gives relief to some.”

  Wisely, Hugh did not respond except to shrug. “I couldn’t say. I haven’t had association with any in London for some time now.”

  “Were you not headed to London?” she found herself asking, truly curious.

  He shook his head. “Oxfordshire, actually. Francis and Janet are at the family house this Christmas and invited me to join them. I thought to refuse, but then I had a letter from Alice…” He smiled almost wistfully. “I find that I have reached the point where my shame is dwarfed by my desire to see them, and I found myself in a carriage before I fully comprehended what that would mean.”

  Elinor grinned at that. “Traveling in the winter does tend to require some preparation.”

  “Now you tell me,” he replied, flashing a quick smile in her direction before he sobered again. “I’m not entirely sure how I will be received, but if I cannot come home repentant at Christmas, I may never be able to.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Elinor commented, rubbing her hands together absently. “They wouldn’t have invited you if they wanted you away, not if I know Francis. And Alice seems a rather genuine girl, I doubt she would pretend to want you back if she felt otherwise. I’d say you could return repentant at any time and be well received.”

  Hugh hummed once. “You think so?”

  “I do,” she confirmed with a nod. Then she smiled more broadly at him. “You may make it in time for the birth even with the delay.”

  Hugh returned her smile with one equally as grand. “I confess, the prospect of my impending uncle status did sway me a little.”

  “Don’t expect family connections to make you a godparent,” she warned as she got to her feet. “My sister had twins, and I wasn’t named godmother for either.”

  He tsked sympathetically. “There is always next time, I suppose.”

  “If I agree,” she retorted. “I may not.” She brushed at her skirts and sighed. “Now, which room are you in? We must fetch your cufflink and return, or a search party will hunt you down.”

  Hugh grinned rather slowly and rather slyly, then reached into a pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and within was the cufflink.

  Elinor stared at it, then flicked her gaze up at him with a laugh. “You are unbelievable!”

  He shrugged and held the cufflink out for her to fasten. “I needed a legitimate excuse to flee. Voila.”

  She shook her head and fastened his sleeve, then she stood and smiled. “I applaud your ingenuity. I think we may be safe to return, but perhaps you could request dancing? Mary really is furiously talented, and it would liven up the gathering.”

  “I shall do my best. Would you dance with me?” he queried, walking beside her. “Or do you still think me venomous?”

  Elinor barely avoided biting her lip again. “I don’t know…” She suddenly reached for the mistletoe she had hidden the day before and lobbed it at Hugh’s head.

  “What in the world?” he demanded on a laugh, barely ducking in time.

  She burst out laughing, wrapping her arms around her midsection. “I have been wanting to do that for ages!”

  Hugh shook his head and picked up the offending plant, looking at it before returning his attention to her. “Now that you have cursed me, I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Asheley. It’s only fair, as I may sprout horns at any moment.”

  Still giggling, Elinor nodded. “One can only hope, but I shall keep a weather eye open for my own safety.” She inhaled deeply and sighed with satisfaction. “I feel so free at this moment. Yes, Mr. Sterling, let’s dance.”

  His smile made her stomach flip just a little as he bowed, gesturing for her to lead the way. “Let us indeed, Miss Asheley.”

  Chapter Six

  It is entirely unclear what a party of gentlemen discuss whilst engaging in the hunt. It is even more unclear why such a sport is still engaged in during the winter months. What could possibly be pleasant about shooting in the snow?

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 9 January 1819

  Hugh whistled a rather jaunty rendition of Adeste Fidelis as he worked at his cravat, letting the knot be a bit haphazard. Generally, he did his best to make a good impression, but he had felt so comfortable of late with the family, and with his surroundings, that he did not mind leaving things a bit more casual.

  Comfortable. What a concept.

  He hadn’t been comfortable in ages. Even before his self-imposed banishment, he could not say he had been comfortable.

  Ignorant, perhaps. Slothful, certainly. Self-indulgent, absolutely.

  Comfortable, never.

  Three days here, and he was almost perfectly at ease.

  Almost, because a certain young woman he had spent a deal of time raging against and avoiding as though she guarded the gates of hell itself was becoming the person he sought out. Someone who could make him laugh. Someone who brought a smile to his face just by entering the room.

  It was enough to make a man question everything in his life, but he really did not care to think about it all that much.

  Imagine anyone trying to comprehend how Hugh Sterling found himself growing ever more attracted to Elinor Asheley, and not just because of her physical appearance.

  He shook his head now, still whistling.

  No one would understand.

  He didn’t understand, but he was rather enjoying it all the same.

  The coach would likely be mended and ready for departure today, but, if he were to be honest, he would have admitted he was loath to leave. He was enjoying himself, and there was nothing that said he needed to be with his family on Christmas Day, particularly if they were unaware that he would be coming. He could get there by Twelfth Night and still be festive.

  If he wished to be festive.

  The Asheley family, and their extended cohorts, were a warm and inviting bunch, even the desperate spinster cousins. Or cousin, he supposed. After dancing with each of the eligible cousins, including Lucinda, he would have to say that only Letitia was desperate. Lucinda’s conversation had been purely on food and cuisine, Lavinia had been droll, Barbara had stammered, and Letitia… Well, she had been attempting flirtation, which had made him exceedingly uncomfortable.

  He could only be grateful they had kept to more lively dances and avoided anything resembling or related to a waltz.

  Elinor had laughed at him the entire time, including their two dances together.

  Two.

  He almost never danced with the same woman twice, preferring a variety of partners to any repetitions, but last night had been an exception.

  One he’d rather liked.

  Time would tell if they would dance together again, let alone multiple times in a night. He would need to have a care for her reputation, and being surrounded by her family meant suspicions would reign twice as high, but surely…

  He stopped whistling and paused by the stairs. He realized he was already planning on multiple dances with her, no matter what hesitant speculation was going on in his mind. As he understood it, there was to be a formal ball in a few evenings, the night before Christmas Eve, and the family were making plans to invite any and all neighbors, as well as seeing that the house was suitably trussed up.

  He would dance with Elinor then, to be sure, and would e
asily get away with multiple dances in a night when the numbers would be so increased.

  It was the smaller, improvised dances where he would need to take care.

  Provided she actually consented to dance with him. Elinor was exactly the spirited type that would refuse him on a principle, and even on a whim. She had no qualms about throwing the polite practices of Society to the wind and thought nothing of the consequences. She knew precisely what she was doing at any given time and saw no need to be anything less than herself.

  She would not have been as easily persuaded into behavior that others would frown upon or do anything that would make her family ashamed. She was far too strong to be turned in such a way, to be swayed as he had been.

  Elinor Asheley was made from sterner stuff than Hugh Sterling, and that was the truth.

  In a shocking turn of events, he would be forced to admit that he did not deserve her.

  Not that he had her, or had plans for such, or anything of the sort, but if it should ever come up, he did not deserve her, and he knew it.

  What a revelation!

  Hugh exhaled with some difficulty, feeling he might need to ponder on the subject a bit more in private in order to truly comprehend the change.

  This woman hated him. Had raged against him. Would have damned him to hell, had she the power to do so.

  Yet she hadn’t flinched at seeing him in at least thirty hours. She had not sneered after his outbursts that first night, and, aside from her antics during his time as a snowman, she’d really not been up to any mischief where he had been concerned.

  He didn’t count her throwing mistletoe at him. He’d actually found that rather charming.

  Amazingly enough.

  He smiled at the memory, and continued down the stairs, rounding the balustrade and heading for the breakfast room.

  The Asheleys, he had learned, were rather relaxed when it came to breakfast. Most of the ladies took trays, but a few were intrepid enough to venture down to partake with the men.

  Elinor was among them.

  She met his eyes as he entered and immediately smiled just a touch as she brought her tea to her lips.

  Hugh let himself watch her do so, fascinated by the play of her lips, and how full they were. He’d never paid much attention to lips, really, but something about Elinor’s when they smiled was perfection.

  She widened her eyes at him, and he jerked, wrenching his gaze away and striding for the open seat at the far end of the table. Quickly filling his plate, he focused on the task of enjoying the meal without doing anything to draw comment or give anyone insight into his thoughts.

  “Hungry, Mr. Sterling?”

  Hugh bit back a groan, but carefully dabbed the corner of his mouth with the linen serviette, looking up at the woman he had unwittingly sat beside.

  Elizabeth Asheley.

  The spit of her eldest sister with the fire of her elder sister, and he had yet to determine where her good sense lay along the paradigm of young ladies.

  He smiled with what he hoped was polite warmth. “Always, Miss Elizabeth, especially at breakfast.”

  “E,” her brother scolded as he took the seat across from her, “commenting on a person’s appetite is impolite. Would you like Mr. Sterling to ask after yours?”

  Elizabeth shrugged easily. “Why not? I have one, after all.”

  Hugh took a bite of ham, chewed carefully, then asked, “How is your appetite, Miss Elizabeth? Is it in good health?”

  Someone down the table coughed a laugh, and he suspected it might have been Elinor.

  Elizabeth smiled tightly, her eyes dancing with restrained laughter. “What a polite phrasing, Mr. Sterling. Yes, thank you, my appetite is quite well. It is always quite well.”

  Hugh nodded in acknowledgement. “I should hope it is well, Miss Elizabeth. And if I may say, you appear none the worse for wear because of it.”

  Elizabeth returned his nod primly and replied by taking an extra-large bite of her potatoes.

  “Lovely, E,” Edmund snorted as he buttered a scone. “Really, quite ladylike.”

  Hugh bit into his own scone, then gave the young woman a questioning look. “E?” he repeated. “Why do they call you E? Surely that must be confusing for the rest.”

  “One would think so,” Elizabeth managed around the remnants of her potato. “But when I was small, it seemed my parents had difficulty remembering which name belonged to me. In an attempt to remedy the oversight, they began to call me simply E.” She batted her lashes playfully. “I learned to reply.” She snorted softly and returned to her breakfast. “You can imagine how much worse things got when Ellen came around. Yet somehow, her name is never forgotten…”

  Edmund chortled, wiping at his mouth with the serviette. “And Elizabeth never fails to remind us all of that fact whenever it seems relevant.”

  The siblings gave each other simpering smiles, and Hugh had the distinct impression that Elizabeth kicked her brother under the table.

  Oddly enough, the action made him miss his brother and sister with a sudden sharpness.

  “Edmund, do make haste,” Mr. Asheley boomed as he rose from his seat and sidled towards the door. “And Mr. Sterling, you as well, sir. We mustn’t be late for the hunt. Mr. John, sir, do join us.”

  Edmund jumped up from his seat, shoving the rest of his scone in his mouth, taking no care for the politeness of it. He immediately strode from the room, clapping his father on the shoulder.

  John Winthrop and Hugh exchanged surprised glances, and Hugh looked at Elinor. “Is it not too cold for the hunt?”

  Elinor smiled slyly. “Not at all. It’s tradition, Mr. Sterling. Just bundle up, you’ll be fine.”

  He wrinkled up his nose at the thought. “Never been much of a sportsman myself.”

  Now she laughed. “Don’t say that too loudly. Uncle Dough and Uncle Jones will take you under their wing, and then Mr. Perry will recite every psalm and proverb about God’s creations that he knows.”

  “There are quite a few,” Elizabeth chimed in, taking a rather dainty bite of toast.

  “And the cousin husbands always invent a competition between them,” Elinor added, sipping her tea again. “Mr. Layton never wins, but Mr. Tyson, Mr. Clarke, and Mr. Burley-Pratt get quite vocal about the whole affair.”

  Hugh blinked at her, trying to comprehend. “And Lord Winthrop?”

  “Wins every year,” they recited together.

  It was madness. Absolute madness, the sheer number of people that were in this house.

  He shook his head. “That is a fair number of men on a hunt.”

  Elinor laughed rather darkly. “Oh dear, Mr. Sterling. All the men of the family go on the hunt. And all guests. You’ll be quite surrounded, and I fear all the ones related to us are quite nosey when it comes to guests. Do warn the others, won’t you?” She smiled what should have been a sweet smile, but it churned his stomach uncomfortably.

  He’d opened his mouth to retort when the butler came to the door and bowed. “Mr. John, Mr. Sterling, if you gentlemen would be so good as to follow me.”

  There was nothing for it, then.

  Hugh rose, shaking his head and glaring at Elinor.

  She waved her fingers almost merrily at him.

  “And what will you be doing?” he demanded.

  “We’ll be ice skating,” she informed him. “If we don’t sneak over to watch.”

  Oh lord, the very idea.

  Elinor waved him farewell again, and this time he left, following the somber-faced butler without another word.

  “I’m afraid I’m not suitably dressed for the hunt, Hopkins,” Hugh admitted with a sheepish smile. “Not much of a sportsman.”

  “Not to worry, sir,” Hopkins replied in a completely unconcerned tone. “The family is quite accustomed to such occasions. There’s an excess of coats and scarves and the like set aside for such things. I’ve had the footmen fetch your own coat and hat, sir, and anything else you might need will be provided.”
/>
  Well, there went that excuse.

  Hugh hummed softly in thought. “I take it the family values this particular tradition, Hopkins.”

  The butler nodded as he gestured to the footmen to help Hugh with his coat and hat. “Indeed, sir. Mr. James and Mr. George never miss an opportunity to have the Christmas hunt, and were Mr. Asheley here, he’d be part of it, too.”

  “That’s Howard Asheley, yes?” Hugh queried as he shrugged into his coat, his mind racing through the ridiculous number of names he was tasked with keeping straight for the time being.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hugh exhaled, looking towards the path to the gamekeeper’s cottage where the other men were gathering. “Any advice, Hopkins?”

  The butler raised one dark eyebrow. “On what, Mr. Sterling?”

  “Keeping them all straight,” he suggested, his mouth curving slightly. “Topics of conversation. Managing to maintain a good impression if I’m a terrible shot.”

  Impossibly, the butler seemed to chuckle. “Don’t address anyone by name, keep to festive themes, and be relatively self-deprecating. That should keep you safe, sir.”

  Hugh stared at the butler in shock, wondering if the lines at the man’s eyes were actually from restrained laughter rather than stoic disapproval. “Hopkins, you are a treasure of untold wealth.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Hopkins replied with an almost cheeky bond. He gestured for the door, seeming to smile a bit more fondly.

  Nothing for it, then. Hugh bit back another heavy exhale and trudged his way out into the snow.

  The gamekeeper’s cottage was not far, which was another unusual feature of the estate, though it was hardly strange. In fact, at the moment, he was quite pleased it was so close.

  Trudging through snow had never been a particular fondness of his.

  “Ah, Sterling,” the one they called Uncle Dough said, grinning with warmth. “Come to engage in this mess, are you?”

  “For my sins, yes,” Hugh admitted, nodding to the few others who had noticed his approach. He drew closer to the large man and rubbed his hands together against the cold. “I’ll admit it, sir. I’m a terrible shot.”