What a revelation that had been.

Considering the guests they had at Deilingh at the present, the ones she was not indirectly related to, at any rate, she would have to say that she did not hate any of them either.

Not even Hugh Sterling.

She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting pieces of it to rain down upon her head. All she could see was mistletoe.

Well. That was wholly inappropriate.

All she admitted was that she did not hate him.

It did not mean that she particularly liked him. And certainly did not allow for anything remotely resembling mistletoe where he was concerned.

Not unless she could catapult it at him.

She smiled at that idea.

“And now you’re smiling,” Elizabeth sighed, shaking her head. “Next, you’ll be telling me that you find Mr. John Winthrop attractive.”

Elinor glanced at her sister, then cast her eyes across the room to the tall, dark, and undeniably handsome brother of their cousin’s husband, currently being interrogated by one of her eligible cousins. “I am not blind, E, no matter what my opinions may be. I find him exceedingly attractive.”

“Too attractive, one might say,” their brother commented as he came up beside them.

Elizabeth chortled and gave Edmund a wry look. “Is there such a thing?”

Edmund nodded firmly, tugging at his starched cravat. “There most certainly is. And you never trust that sort of man, am I right, Sterling?”

“Generally speaking, yes,” Hugh replied as he joined them, bowing to Elinor and Elizabeth with a smile. “But I’ve got a rather poor history when it comes to judgments, so my word is not worth much.”

Elinor coughed a laugh, fisting her gloved hand before her mouth to avoid choking on her own breath.

Hugh eyed her with a sly grin. “Something to add, Miss Asheley?”

She shook her head, swallowing with difficulty. “No, not at all. I swallowed poorly, forgive me.”

He nodded slowly in understanding. “Swallowing can be a struggle for some, though I do believe one is usually accustomed to the action at a younger age than you can boast.”

Elinor narrowed her eyes at him, wondering when he had become so adept at playful teasing.

“For shame, Mr. Sterling,” Elizabeth chuckled, having no need to feign her amusement. “One does not discuss a lady’s age in polite company.”

“Whose age?” Letitia demanded as she suddenly, and insistently, made herself known to their small group. “Not mine, I hope.”

Elinor barely restrained a snort. “No, Letitia, not yours. Indeed, we were not discussing you at all.”

“Personally, I never do,” Edmund admitted freely. “Never.”

“No reason to at all,” Elizabeth chimed in.

Letitia glared at them all as though they had risen from hell itself. “In some families, you know, there is a measure of respect for each other.”

“Hmm,” Elinor mused, tapping a finger to her chin. “What would that be like?”

Letitia’s upper lip curled in a snarl before transforming into a sickeningly simpering expression as she snaked her hand through Hugh’s arm. “Do come and join our conversation, Mr. Sterling. It will be a far better use of your time than standing here with these jaded cynics.”