All of whom were here with their husbands.

Add to that her aunt Catherine, her husband Mr. Jones, and their three daughters, none of whom were married; her father’s cousin, Mr. Perry, who was the stodgiest clergyman known to man, his wife Hortensia, who looked as one might expect a Hortensia to look, and their two homely yet eligible sons, Walter and Hubert; Uncle James with his very young second wife Anna and his three daughters from his first marriage, two with burly husbands and impressively vocal children, as well as the four children from the second marriage, who were the spawn of the devil himself.

Also, her great-aunt Julie and her great-aunt Beatrice, who were both hard of hearing when it suited them, and had taken up the idea that being elderly gave them license to do and say as they pleased without consequence, as evidenced by their consuming the entire stock of port last Christmas and sliding down the bannisters of the great stairs, then lining up every girl in the family and telling them exactly what was wrong with their form, figure, or finishing, and ending with falling into a snoring, babbling sleep in front of the Yule log, which had seemed a dreadful risk to the entire house in general, given the amount of alcohol in and around their persons.

There were two or three other significant persons, aside from Uncle Dough, she was sure, but she really could not bear to go through the list again. Her own family seemed perfectly tame by comparison, and that was a terrible statement to make.

It was madness. Complete and utter madness, there was no other way to describe it.

And yet, every year, she found herself laughing, smiling, and generally admiring the fact that her perfectly respectable family could be filled to the brim with such extraordinary characters. No one quite understood her cousins the way they all did, and even they did not understand them half of the time. Nothing Great-Aunt Julie or Beatrice could say really bothered the lot of them anymore, and everyone knew full well not to go near Mr. Perry for any religious reasons.

It was the same thing every year, dreading being cooped away at Deilingh and then finding the dread growing less and less as the usual activities and traditions took place. There was some comfort in the fact that nothing ever really changed between them, no matter what might have gone on throughout the year or during the Season. Christmas at Deilingh remained as it ever had.

Somehow, she tended to forget that every year.

Along with the recollection that when all gathered together, everyone expressed their opinion about everything. Such as the idea that Elinor was doing herself no favors by cavorting about with the Spinsters in London, and she was ruining her chances for marriage.

Which was the current topic of conversation.

“It’s just not sensible, Elinor,” her cousin Joan told her as she picked up her second, or perhaps third, child from the floor. “You’ll frighten off any man who might wish to try for you.”