How had Letitia gotten worse in the last year? It was utterly unfathomable.

Even Letitia’s mother looked appalled, and Aunt Catherine, as a rule, always thought of, spoke of, and complimented her daughters well. She would never have been so careless as to display a physical reaction to a flaw from one of them. If anyone asked why her expression looked so wan, she would have claimed indigestion and scolded one of her brothers for having Mrs. Larpenteur make the food too rich.

Elinor glanced at Emma, the only one of her siblings still in the room, and it was clear she was attempting a retreat. But Mr. Partlowe, ever concerned about appearances, had his hand over hers in a gesture of fondness, though Elinor was entirely convinced it was a restraining hand rather than a comforting one.

Huzzah for the lack of husband to insist on such suffering for the sake of politeness.

A movement in the center of the room caught her attention, and she immediately began preparing a statement kindly refusing an offer to take a seat, one explaining her current position, and one that would carefully praise her cousin without actually praising anything at all.

Her guard lowered when she saw Hugh Sterling discreetly making his way towards her.

His expression was entirely unreadable as he approached, and, for a moment, she thought he might pass her and leave the room entirely, which likely would have been cause for comment among the cousins later. But then he stopped beside her and turned to face what was apparently supposed to be music.

“Yes?” Elinor asked quietly, keeping her voice low.

“Save me,” he murmured as he fixed a polite smile on his face.

Elinor fought a smile herself. “From?”

“You have to ask?” came the hissed reply.

“I do.” She nodded as though with great care. “I am no mind reader, sir, and in order to assist you in any way, I will need to know the specifics.”

Hugh cleared his throat softly as Letitia butchered a run of notes. “That.”

“For shame, Mr. Sterling,” Elinor said, quickly losing the battle with her smile. “My cousin is trying her best, and it is quite daunting for a young woman to perform in front of so many.”

Hugh glanced down at her. “I concede to her trying her best. I do not fault the effort.” He winced as her voice ventured hoarse for a moment before returning to its usual sound. “Only the delivery.”

“Welcome to Christmas with my family, sir,” Elinor informed him as she reached for the glass her brother had set down, finishing his Madeira in one gulp. “This has become a tradition as much as the greenery is.”

“Enduring this has become a tradition?” he asked incredulously. “Good heavens, why?”

Elinor snorted to herself. “Because Letitia doesn’t take hints well, and no one has the nerve to tell her outright that she would be better suited to silently sitting and embroidering the lyrics of a song rather than vocalizing them.”