He smiled with what he hoped was polite warmth. “Always, Miss Elizabeth, especially at breakfast.”

“E,” her brother scolded as he took the seat across from her, “commenting on a person’s appetite is impolite. Would you like Mr. Sterling to ask after yours?”

Elizabeth shrugged easily. “Why not? I have one, after all.”

Hugh took a bite of ham, chewed carefully, then asked, “How is your appetite, Miss Elizabeth? Is it in good health?”

Someone down the table coughed a laugh, and he suspected it might have been Elinor.

Elizabeth smiled tightly, her eyes dancing with restrained laughter. “What a polite phrasing, Mr. Sterling. Yes, thank you, my appetite is quite well. It is always quite well.”

Hugh nodded in acknowledgement. “I should hope it is well, Miss Elizabeth. And if I may say, you appear none the worse for wear because of it.”

Elizabeth returned his nod primly and replied by taking an extra-large bite of her potatoes.

“Lovely, E,” Edmund snorted as he buttered a scone. “Really, quite ladylike.”

Hugh bit into his own scone, then gave the young woman a questioning look. “E?” he repeated. “Why do they call you E? Surely that must be confusing for the rest.”

“One would think so,” Elizabeth managed around the remnants of her potato. “But when I was small, it seemed my parents had difficulty remembering which name belonged to me. In an attempt to remedy the oversight, they began to call me simply E.” She batted her lashes playfully. “I learned to reply.” She snorted softly and returned to her breakfast. “You can imagine how much worse things got when Ellen came around. Yet somehow, her name is never forgotten…”

Edmund chortled, wiping at his mouth with the serviette. “And Elizabeth never fails to remind us all of that fact whenever it seems relevant.”

The siblings gave each other simpering smiles, and Hugh had the distinct impression that Elizabeth kicked her brother under the table.

Oddly enough, the action made him miss his brother and sister with a sudden sharpness.

“Edmund, do make haste,” Mr. Asheley boomed as he rose from his seat and sidled towards the door. “And Mr. Sterling, you as well, sir. We mustn’t be late for the hunt. Mr. John, sir, do join us.”

Edmund jumped up from his seat, shoving the rest of his scone in his mouth, taking no care for the politeness of it. He immediately strode from the room, clapping his father on the shoulder.

John Winthrop and Hugh exchanged surprised glances, and Hugh looked at Elinor. “Is it not too cold for the hunt?”

Elinor smiled slyly. “Not at all. It’s tradition, Mr. Sterling. Just bundle up, you’ll be fine.”

He wrinkled up his nose at the thought. “Never been much of a sportsman myself.”

Now she laughed. “Don’t say that too loudly. Uncle Dough and Uncle Jones will take you under their wing, and then Mr. Perry will recite every psalm and proverb about God’s creations that he knows.”