The three of them were in a parlor that had long been dubbed the Sister Parlor, and they were presently avoiding the melee of their extended family by taking their late breakfast together there. It was a pleasant, quaint room, the walls decorated with some of the drawings and paintings they had done over the years, though none had been truly masterful. Miniatures of each girl had been done at the age of fourteen, and those hung near the windows, though to this day, it was difficult to recall which portrait was of which girl.

Emma used to eat with them in here or retreat up to this room with them during particularly unbearable family moments they’d all wish to flee. She rarely came up here anymore, what with her husband and now the girls. There were simply too many other demands on her time.

Would the same happen to Elinor if she gained such a life?

No, she decided firmly as she took a sip of tea. She would ever be herself regardless of her situation. There was no reason why children could not come to this parlor and crawl upon the floor or sleep in bassinets or any other thing.

Any husband that Elinor would have would never object to such a thing.

She wasn’t aware that she had stopped smiling at any point, and may not have done, but she smiled further at the thought.

“Oh, it’s getting worse. I didn’t think it could get worse.”

Elizabeth choked softly on a bit of fruit, casting an amused look at Elinor.

Elinor looked at her youngest sister with a hint of a scold. “I am happy, Ellen. Why should I not smile if I am happy?”

“I do not object to your happiness,” her sister insisted firmly. “Of course, I don’t. But you are not a smiley person, sister dear. You never have been. Yet there you sit, all smiles and dazed looks, a sickening portrait of a woman of bliss, and I hardly recognize you. Must we have a discussion as to the cause of your smiles in order to return you to your natural state?”

Cautiously, Elinor took another bite of toast, wondering what she dare tell her younger sisters. The cause of her smiles was easy enough to identify, but how could she tell them that Hugh Sterling made her smile and laugh and dream, and that the heavenly experience of kissing him beneath the mistletoe had thrown her world on its head?

They might never believe her, and she had no explanation for the change in her.

No explanation for the waltz that had been the most evocative, romantic moment of her entire life.

No explanation for the breathlessness the touch of her fingers with his had caused.

No explanation for falling in love with the handsome, amusing, honest, and kind Hugh Sterling.

She paused, her teacup halfway to her lips.

Falling in love.

Love.