God Rest Ye Merry Spinster Page 9

  Uncle Dough chuckled heartily and patted him soundly on the back. “Not to worry, lad. You’ll find that most of us are poor shots, but the worst shot of all is Rupert there.” He indicated the beefy, red-faced younger man currently holding a rifle as though it were a grand walking stick of sorts.

  It was the most inane spectacle he’d ever seen.

  Which was saying a great deal.

  There was no recourse but to shake his head. “Is it wise to give him a firearm, sir?”

  “Of course not,” came the chortled reply. “But it’s a far cry safer than giving one to Walter.” He gestured to a scrawny, timid, almost skittish-looking man with the same looks as the other, only appearing to be rather starved by comparison.

  Hugh watched as one of the cousin husbands said something to him, and the man twitched and crossed himself before responding.

  “I can see that,” Hugh muttered.

  “You feel better now, don’t you?”

  Hugh grinned at the older man. “I do, indeed.”

  Again, he was thumped on the back. “Good. Stick with me, Sterling. We’ll get through this.”

  That seemed a strange thing to say, but he had no opportunity to ask about it, as the gamekeeper and his lads appeared with the hounds, and they were off to begin the hunt.

  Which, as it turned out, was more of simply shooting at grouse and pheasant that the dogs scared out of hiding places.

  Hugh probably ought to have known such a thing, but his claim of not being a sportsman was not an idle one. He truly could only count the number of activities out of doors he had participated in on one hand.

  Including this one.

  “You can fire that gun, can’t you, son?” Uncle Dough asked, his tone rife with amusement as he handed his gun off for reloading.

  Hugh cast a hard look at him. “Of course.” Then his expression broke for a sheepish grin. “Though it would likely be around fifteen years since I have done so, and the first time I’ve had permission.”

  “Gads, Sterling,” John Winthrop laughed, coming over to stand beside him. “We can remedy that straightaway.”

  The two of them gave him a brief tutorial on the thing, taking care not to bring attention to his lack of experience, which was not difficult, as the forewarned competition among cousin husbands had already begun.

  And Rupert had already injured one of the gamekeeper’s lads. Not seriously, but enough that it ought to be noted.

  With the help of his instructors, Hugh managed to successfully aim, fire, and eventually shoot one of the birds, which seemed a miracle worthy of celebration, though he would keep that opinion to himself in light of the ongoing competition just down the field.

  Not wanting to taint the moment of his success with repeated failures, he set the gun aside after his victory and watched the rest of them.

  Uncle Dough was quick to do the same.

  Hugh smiled as the man stood beside him. “You don’t need to keep me company, sir. Please, continue to shoot, if you’d like.”

  “I would not like, as it happens,” Uncle Dough informed him, folding his arms and watching the others as though he had been named a judge in the competition. “Can’t abide shooting myself.”

  That was not something Hugh had expected to hear, especially after the lengths the man had gone to in instructing Hugh in his own shooting.

  He stared at Uncle Dough, mouth gaping slightly. “Why didn’t you say something before? I told you I was no sportsman, and if you don’t care for shooting either…”

  Uncle Dough shrugged, chuckling in an irritatingly knowing way. “It’s tradition, man. Once a year, I overcome my aversion to shooting for the sake of being with family. I keep my mouth shut and quietly shoot a round or two, then the thing is done.” He eyed Hugh, still smiling wryly. “If you paid any attention, Sterling, you would have seen that I don’t aim with any care. Simply shoot in the general direction, and I appear to participate without having to do much.”

  “Genius,” Hugh murmured, shaking his head in appreciation. “You’ve mastered an art form.”

  “I’ve had a few years to perfect it,” came the amused reply. “I find more entertainment in the observation of the others than the action itself.”

  They watched in silence for a moment, and soon both of them were laughing to themselves at the antics of the others, for good or ill. Some were excellent shots but had terrible tempers, some were good-natured despite being miserable shots, and some were completely frustrated the whole way through, regardless of outcomes.

  Elinor’s father and uncle were in good spirits for the whole of it, which Hugh was beginning to sense was simply their way. He’d only been among them for a few days, but among his hosts he had yet to see anything but generosity of spirit and cheerful countenances. The extended family held a variety of expression and natures, as evidenced by Mr. Perry currently reciting some proverb or other quite loudly, but the brothers Asheley were never anything less than warm and content.

  “Your family seems to be full of the best sort of spirit, Uncle Dough,” Hugh heard himself murmur with a smile.

  “Feel free to just call me Dough,” the older man replied, exhaling a cloud of fog in the cold air. “Or Donald, even, if you want to know. I don’t think anybody in the family remembers that, as I have been Dough since the first of the children were little.”

  Hugh laughed easily. “What a name to have earned!”

  Dough shrugged his broad shoulders. “You earn all sorts of names from children, Sterling, as you will come to discover yourself one day.”

  “Fairly soon, actually,” Hugh replied, finding himself smiling. “My brother’s wife is due to be delivered of the first of their children directly.”

  “Prepare yourself for the creativity of children,” Dough told him as he turned with a broad smile. “It’s a marvelous source of amusement.”

  Hugh nodded at that. “I will keep that in mind. Now, where do you fit in among the siblings?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Not what?” Hugh asked with a frown.

  “A sibling,” Dough clarified, his eyes twinkling in the winter light. “I am not sibling to George, Howard, James, and Catherine. I’m a cousin, actually. And a rather obscure one. At least one time removed, and the exact family line is a bit muddled. We tend not to discuss it, as it only confuses the lot of us.”

  Interesting, indeed. Elinor was rather fond of her uncle Dough, he could safely say, and for him to not only not be a direct uncle, but also a more obscure relative than could be explained easily?

  Sounded rather like the mass of confusion that was the Sterling family, actually.

  Hugh began to chuckle at memories, names, and faces he had not considered in months, if not years. Cousins and extended relations that had been part of his childhood, but rarely in his adulthood, all forming distinct impressions in his life. They’d never shared holidays together, he could say that safely, but every now and then, they would gather at the largest estate in the family, wherever that happened to be at the time, and raise all manner of hell and confusion in the most enjoyable ways.

  “Amused by us, are you?” Edmund Asheley asked as he came over, a polite smile on his face. “We are a comical gathering, I’ll allow.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about my own family,” Hugh told the man, who was only a year or so younger than his own age. “There’s a great lot of us, and exact connections are unclear for the most part.”

  Edmund made a face of consideration, nodding at his answer. “Yes, that would be us, as well.”

  “Certainly would be,” Dough grunted by way of reply.

  A burst of laughter could be heard in the distance, and Hugh turned towards it, curious. “What was that?” he asked of the others.

  “The ladies,” Dough told him. “Ice skating, I believe. Another activity I do not engage in.”

  “For which we are all grateful,” Edmund quipped without missing a beat.

  Dough cuffed his nephew wit
h a laugh. “Rascal.”

  John Winthrop looked in the direction of the laughter with a speculative expression. “Do all the ladies skate, Asheley?”

  “Most of them,” Edmund informed him, shouldering his rifle with a grin. “The more proper of my female relations remain indoors, but all of my sisters do. And as for my cousins, Barbara, in particular, enjoys the activity.”

  John’s expression remained the same, but he nodded firmly. “I rather enjoy it, as well. If I will not be missed, might I proceed there now that I have done shooting?”

  “Of course.” Edmund nodded, gesturing towards the obvious path. “Take Davis with you, if you will. There are plenty of ladies that will require the arm of steady gentlemen while on the ice.”

  John ignored this comment, but did take Davis, as well as his brother, Lord Winthrop, down the path.

  Hugh watched them go, then turned to Edmund with a grin. “You knew how to spur him on, didn’t you?”

  Edmund lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “It was a guess, to be sure, but I had some idea. Barbara is my favorite cousin, and it seems Mr. John Winthrop doesn’t consider a bluestocking to be such a poor candidate for his affections. I’ll leave the speculating to the ladies, but…”

  “Well done, lad,” Dough praised with a laugh. “Well done, indeed.”

  There was another burst of female laughter, and it made Hugh smile all the more broadly.

  Edmund groaned, shaking his head. “That would be Elinor. No doubt Elizabeth or Ellen have fallen on the ice, and she finds entertainment in their injury.”

  “Too harsh,” Dough reprimanded. “You laugh when they fall, too.”

  “But I’m a brother,” Edmund pointed out. “It’s different.”

  Hugh let the two men debate the topic while his ears strained for another peal of that laughter, whatever caused it.

  As if he had willed it into existence, the laughter came again, this time joined by others. But he only heard hers, just as it had been with their singing that first night.

  He only heard Elinor, and it made him smile all the more.

  Chapter Seven

  One may find a friend in the oddest of places, and at the most convenient times. It is advised that you cling to such friends and keep them close.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 25 February 1817

  The ladies were all rosy-cheeked for some time after their traditional ice-skating excursion, but no one’s cheeks held more color than Barbara, who also had not stopped smiling since Mr. John Winthrop joined them on the ice.

  Even looking at her cousin now, Elinor herself was quite simply full of smiles.

  She had never seen Barbara looking like this, but no man had ever paid Barbara the sort of attention that Mr. John was, and everyone was beginning to notice.

  Especially Letitia.

  Glares had never been so potent in this family.

  “D’you know, I’m becoming quite fond of that pairing,” Ellen told her in a matter-of-fact manner, as she usually did. The girl flopped down onto the couch beside Elinor and sighed. “I think he should propose straightaway.”

  Elinor coughed a faint laugh. “Do you, Elle? It’s only been a couple of days, and all we know is they appear to be fond of each other.”

  Ellen gave her a dark look. “Barbara is smiling like it’s her birthday and she’s received a pony. Mr. John is continuously fascinated by whatever she says, which is a rarity, and he had her arm the entire time she skated. If they’re not perfectly paired, I despair of all marriages.”

  “Careful,” Elinor warned, smiling fondly at her cheeky sister, so much like herself. “The family will call you either a matchmaker or a marriage cynic.”

  “Oh, what, like you?” Ellen scoffed loudly, not having a care at all if anyone else heard her. “Absolutely ridiculous. Barbara’s a spinster, anyone would say it, but no one ever despaired of her. Not particularly fair to you, is it? You’re not a spinster by age, but everyone despairs of you.”

  Barbara instantly went red, her eyes wide, and she stiffened at suddenly being involved in the conversation by association.

  The humor Elinor had been feeling faded at once. “Ellen…”

  “I don’t understand it at all,” her sister went on, her voice rising. “I adore the Spinsters and their Chronicles, and one can hardly claim they are improper when four have married excellent men. Not to mention Emma snatching Partlowe.”

  “Steady on,” Partlowe replied, the color fading from his cheeks.

  Emma did not look any better as she bounced one of her twin daughters on her knee. “Ellen.”

  “What?” Ellen asked, looking around at the room. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You are wrong,” Cousin Joan replied simply, giving her youngest cousin a pitying look. “There is a great difference between Barbara’s situation and Elinor’s.”

  “Explain that, if you please,” Ellen stated primly, even as her eyes flashed.

  “Please don’t,” Elinor murmured, glancing over at Barbara, who shared a petrified look with her.

  The room was silent, waiting for the continuation of what had started out as a quiet conversation between sisters, but was now a full family discussion.

  And not a pleasant one at that.

  “It’s quite simple, dear,” Joan began, her pitying smile spreading into outright condescension. “Barbara is exceptionally intelligent. She has a brilliant mind and is well educated. A bit plain, perhaps, but so are we all.”

  Elinor glanced at Barbara again, and her poor cousin had lowered her eyes to the floor, her ears the color of holly berries.

  Mr. John Winthrop didn’t look much better, his eyes on the window, his arms stiff by his side.

  “But Barbara is not to be faulted for that,” Joan went on, her tone becoming almost sing-song in nature. “The right sort of man will find her educated mind charming. Elinor, on the other hand…”

  Joan broke off to give Elinor a despairing look.

  Elinor wanted to glare back. She ought to have. She was used to fighting for herself and being bold in doing so. She had no qualms about expressing her opinions, letting her face express every emotion she felt, polite or not. Her entire relationship with the Spinsters had been built on such a thing, and her family had dealt with her much longer.

  But she could do nothing. Say nothing. Show nothing.

  Shame filled her, followed quickly by embarrassment. She did not want Hugh to hear this. He’d spent so long railing against the Spinsters and actively working against them in any respect; what if bringing them up again in this context forced him to reveal some of those same feelings? She would lose the image of him that had been building the last few days. An image she had come to grow especially fond of.

  She swallowed hard and forced herself to be as composed as possible in the face of her cousin’s accusations.

  “Elinor,” Joan said again, “has thrown away her reputation and chances at a good match by her association with the Spinsters. A group of unmarried women, who maintained such a status for their own ends, who flaunted their opinions and precarious positions as though it were some flag of misguided independence.”

  She looked around the room for support, and found several nodding heads, mostly of the ladies, though a few obedient husbands did the same.

  Joan nodded an affirmation to them all. “It makes no difference that some of them have married now, as those husbands clearly are doing so in order to attempt a reining-in of their actions. Poor, deluded men, too weak to restrain them from continuing to write such damaging, scurrilous sheets. It has all come to naught.” Joan looked directly at Elinor again, her expression now cold. “You will never, ever manage a good, decent, acceptable match while you maintain such poor connections, Elinor. While you seem determined to remain unmarried, it would be unwise to express your opinions to any young ladies equally unattached.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Ellen blurted, horrified at their cousin’s words.

  Elinor covered her
sister’s hand, squeezing tightly.

  “You will be poisoned by her words, Ellen,” Joan insisted, maintaining a superior tone. “Do not look to her for an example, I beg you.”

  Ellen stirred beneath Elinor’s hold, but Elinor only held her more firmly. “Hush,” she whispered to her. “It will serve no purpose.”

  “You will forgive me, Mrs. Ramsay, for offering a contradictory opinion,” a stern, male voice broke into the silence, “but I fear I must.”

  Elinor looked over at him at once, struck by the perfection in his faint curls, almost the color of toffee, and his strong, proud figure standing before the gathering. He looked the part of a perfect gentleman, his clothing pristine. He held a glass of Madeira in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat. If it weren’t for the stern set of his jaw, he would have appeared perfectly cordial.

  His tone said otherwise.

  “Please, Mr. Sterling,” Joan replied in surprise, gesturing for him to go on.

  He nodded politely, despite still looking disgruntled. “Have you ever met the Spinsters, madam? Personally?”

  Joan’s eyes widened, then she swallowed and shook her head. “No, sir. And I’ve no wish to, frankly.”

  “That is much to your detriment, if I may be equally frank,” Hugh replied, his tone clipped but in no way rude. “I have been acquainted with almost every one of them for several years at this point. I cannot pretend to have always agreed with them, or even thought well of them, but I can tell you that if I had paid more attention, had more sense than folly, and seen them for the intelligent, considerate creatures they are, my sister might have been spared a near-disastrous experience that will haunt me for the rest of my days.”

  The room was utterly silent at this stunning announcement, and Elinor, for one, was transfixed on Hugh, nearly breathless for a multitude of reasons she didn’t dare comprehend.

  “But beyond that,” Hugh went on, “I can tell you for a fact that the women with whom Elinor, and I might remind you Mrs. Partlowe, have chosen to associate with, are of the very best you will find in London society. They care for one another rather than compete with one another, they never hesitate to aid someone in need, and they have been courageous enough to find an unconventional way to bring wisdom, entertainment, and hope to others in England. My sister being among them.” He tilted his head in inquiry. “You praise Miss Barbara Asheley for independence of mind, yet you condemn Miss Elinor Asheley for the same. They express that independence in different ways, yet their marriage state is the same. I question the scale on which these rulings have been made.”