“Indeed,” Cousin Mary added, tugging a needle and thread through her abysmal attempt at embroidery. “What a terrifying prospect for a man. The Spinsters would surely ward them off.”

“Your sister had the sense to leave them,” Cousin Millie pointed out absently as she sorted through various pieces of Christmas music. “And the moment she did, there was Mr. Partlowe, and now she is a wife and mother, and happy as a lark.”

Elinor smiled tightly, smoothly pressing her own needle and thread into the handkerchief she was to give her father on Christmas Day. “Are larks actually happy birds, I wonder?” she mused to herself, keeping her tone mild. She looked towards her bluestocking cousin at the far side of the room. “Barbara, are larks considered jovial in the world of ornithology?”

Barbara looked up from her pile of books, her spectacles blinking in an appropriately owlish manner. “I don’t believe so… Their song is considered cheerful, but as to the birds themselves, I confess ignorance. I don’t believe there is any particular temperament considered in the study of birds, is that significant?”

“It ought to be,” Elinor’s sister Elizabeth muttered beside her, widening her eyes for effect as she sorted ribbons. “If Emma is compared to a lark, one would wish to know the manner of larks, would one not?”

Elinor bit back a snort, nudging her sister a little.

“What was that, E?” Joan asked with some distraction, as her child was now tugging at her lace cap rather insistently.

Elizabeth smiled with perfection. “I was only saying that Emma was fortunate enough to meet Partlowe while being with the Spinsters, Joan. She left them after the marriage, if I am not mistaken.”

Joan shared a look with her sister Millie, then shook her head at them. “No, I am sure you’re wrong. I am quite sure you are.”

“Silly me,” Elizabeth grumbled to Elinor, pretending to match a ribbon to her thread. “I must be mistaken, of course, I was only there for the whole of it…”

“Shh,” Elinor scolded softly, her affection for her sister growing stronger by the moment.

“Elinor isn’t getting married,” her youngest sister Ellen rang out with a devious edge. “She’s sworn against it.”

The entire room gasped, even Barbara, who was nigh on thirty herself and could not speak to men she was not related to without molting in parts. Elinor hissed through her teeth as she glared at Ellen, who knew full well she would be in for it later.

“That cannot be so,” Cousin Letitia breathed, horrified at such an idea. “Your life would be over.”

“Was it an earnest vow?” Fredericka asked as she crossed herself three times. “Surely it was not made in a church.”

Elinor looked up at the delicate moldings of the faded ceiling above her. “No, I am no apostate, nor am I inclined to making public vows. I am inclined to be a spinster due to the lack of incentive to marry, and the lack of appealing prospects in the potential candidates. I am quite satisfied that my soul is safe from eternal damnation, given the Lord himself would not object to a young woman wanting the best husband possible for her life and not just any man who might ask.”