Mrs. Layton laughed and gave her stepmother a wry look. “Who in here do you suspect of getting into mischief?”

Mrs. Grover winced and indicated her abdomen. “This one, for one. The child thinks it’s already Christmas Day and is dancing on my ribs.”

The married women all grimaced sympathetically, while Mr. Partlowe looked mildly uncomfortable by the conversation.

Elinor frowned in confusion, then looked at Hugh, probably against her will, and the frown deepened markedly.

What had he done? He was simply sitting as he had been invited to, and she looked as though he had threatened a puppy.

Hugh returned his attention to the more pleasant members of the family, smiling with as much kindness as he could. “My mother would be beside herself. She fully holds to the tradition that no greenery could even be in our house before Christmas Eve. She was convinced it would bring us bad luck in the coming year.”

“More than she already had?” came Elinor’s low reply, though it seemed he was the only one to catch it.

The other ladies laughed instead. “And where do your opinions on the subject lie, Mr. Sterling?” Mrs. Asheley asked as she began to fold some boughs into each other.

Hugh shrugged a shoulder. “I am rather of the opinion that a person makes their own luck, ma’am. For good or for ill, we hold the power in ourselves to determine our fate.”

“That’s a distressing thought for some,” Elinor said without reserve, her tone sounding mild for the first time. “What if a person has led a disastrous life and their fate is to match it? Hardly encouraging, wouldn’t you agree?”

The pointed nature of her look left no doubt as to whom she was referring, not that Hugh had questioned it one way or the other. He met her gaze as squarely as he could, tipping his chin down enough to be quite direct.

“Do you believe in redemption, Miss Asheley? Or that a person can change when brought to an awareness of past mistakes? Or are we doomed to live as we have lived, even if we no longer wish to?”

Her eyes widened and she sat back on her heels, staring at him in outright bewilderment.

“That sounds like a question for our uncle, Mr. Perry,” Mrs. Layton said with a hint of a laugh. “He is very much concerned with all things spiritual, particularly with regards to one’s soul. He would never abide by the more pagan idea of fate or luck.”

“No, indeed,” Mrs. Grover agreed, nodding firmly. “But Mr. Sterling does ask a rather good question, I think. What is Christmas for but hope and the chance to improve one’s self?”

Hugh heard them, acknowledged their answers, but kept his attention fixed on Elinor. It was her answer he was most curious to hear, if she would take it in the proper spirit. He had backed her into a corner, he knew, and he was quite pleased to have done it. What would she do now, before her family, when the target of all her hatred had questioned her so?