“Certainly would,” Edmund muttered as their cousin moved to sit decidedly between her sister and Hugh. “Might get her nominated for sainthood.”

Elinor could only nod as she watched the irritation flash across Letitia’s plain features, and as Mr. Davis and Rigby entered the room, talking with a few cousin husbands with great enthusiasm.

The room would soon be filled with the rest of the adults, and there would barely be room enough to breathe. Her father would ask Fredericka to play something, and with the excess of eligible gentlemen, Letitia would offer to sing.

She would have to save herself from that ordeal, but the particular excuse would need to be right. Her mother greatly disapproved of blatant avoidance, but Elinor and her siblings had always banded together over their escape.

Emma was fortunate enough to have her children for an excuse, but as for the rest…

“What a fine meal!” Elinor’s father boasted as he came into the room, his cheeks red already with too much brandy. “I have never had better, I do declare.”

“Lord above,” Elizabeth grumbled, opening her fan and fluttering it gently. “Who gave Papa brandy?”

“No idea,” Uncle Dough grunted, downing his Madeira in one gulp.

“Music!” her father cried, clapping his hands. “Let us have music!”

Edmund groaned and craned his neck. “We had music last night, isn’t that enough?”

“Shh!” Ellen hissed, nudging their brother hard. “It’s the only night we get to escape. He never lets us leave during cards or theatricals.”

“Does he know we leave during the music?” Elinor mused, glancing at her younger sister. “I seem to remember him being quite forgetful when it comes to these things.”

Elizabeth rounded on Elinor. “Did you give him the brandy?”

Uncle Dough snickered darkly and shook his head. “I am moving to another part of the room. I don’t want your actions on my conscience.” He bowed to them quickly, then moved to talk with great-aunts Julie and Beatrice.

“Coward!” Elizabeth hissed after him.

Elinor cleared her throat. “So how are we escaping Letitia’s recital?”

Edmund shrugged a shoulder and tugged at his cravat again. “Like this.” He took one final sip of his beverage, set the glass down, then grabbed Ellen’s hand and tugged her out of the room without another word.

Elinor and Elizabeth gaped after their siblings, then immediately stood closer together to avoid any sign of gaps.

“I cannot believe he did that,” Elizabeth hissed, her cheeks flushing.

“Oh, I can.” Elinor watched as, to be expected, Fredericka moved to the pianoforte, Letitia practically at her heels. “Edmund is not known for his tact, and by taking Ellen, he can freely admit he was helping his sister, which will settle Mama’s ruffled feathers.”

Fredericka began to play, her fingers almost flying across the keys, her attention entirely focused on her music.

No doubt to tune out what was about to happen.

“Do you ever wonder if Fredericka hates this more than we do?” Elinor asked her sister softly.