God Rest Ye Merry Spinster

by Rebecca Connolly

  All they had to do was…

  Hugh slid the hand on her arm down until it reached her hand, cradling it in his own. Then he brought it up to his mouth, his lips caressing the back of her hand, her knuckles, and the base of her wrist, each one eliciting a further shiver that rippled across her skin.

  He turned her hand over and pressed the gentlest of kisses to the burning palm of that hand, exhaling softly against the skin.

  Oh, to burn in such a place and at such a time…

  “Elinor?” the voice of Elizabeth drifted down to them. “Papa has asked that we sing again and requested I seek you out. Can you come?”

  She was beyond singing anything at the moment, but she swallowed hard and sighed with some regret when Hugh brought her hand back down, holding it carefully in his own.

  “Can I?” she asked him, though the question was a foolish one.

  Hugh smiled and nodded. “I would like nothing better than to hear you sing again.” He inhaled deeply, then released his breath and dropped his hand from her face, offering her a gallant arm.

  Elinor stared at it for a moment, finding something quite sweet in such a gesture. She looped her arm in his, her now freed hand going to his upper arm and rubbing fondly.

  “Then sing I shall, sir. Lead me on.”

  “With pleasure, Miss Asheley. With pleasure.”

  Chapter Eight

  There is something quite magical in the air the closer one gets to Christmas day. One might even expect miracles, if so fortunate.

  -The Spinster Chronicles, 17 December 1818

  The Asheley family were undoubtedly welcoming curses of all sorts for trimming Deilingh with all the greenery and ribbons and anything that could be considered festive the day before Christmas Eve, rather than on Christmas Eve itself.

  They had their reasons, their annual Yuletide Ball being the most significant one, so Hugh supposed they wouldn’t be so very cursed.

  Besides, what was a little curse among such boisterous and festive spirits?

  Hugh rubbed his hands together as he paced the corridor just outside his room. He had been jittery all day, knowing what was to follow in the evening. After such a stunning evening and moment under that fortunately placed mistletoe, he had more hope than any man had a right to feel at one time.

  Elinor Asheley was the beginning, center, and end of those hopes.

  He had no set design, no speculation, not even a thought of what could possibly come from the ball tonight. After all, he’d attended several balls over the years with Elinor in attendance, and nothing extraordinary had happened at them. He’d been looking at Elinor for years without really seeing her and felt nothing at all in those moments.

  Blind, blind fool.

  But tonight… Tonight it could all be different.

  He was seeing her now. And, if she were to be believed, she was seeing him.

  It was strange; she was the first person from his past that he had connected with since he’d considered himself changed, and she had been the one that had terrified him most. Yet she had given him more joy and hope in the last few days than he felt he had a right to expect in his guilt and shame.

  She had lightened him, and she was well aware of his burdens. She had made him laugh when he hadn’t laughed in months. She had…

  She had made him fall in love with her.

  Lord above, was it possible?

  He hadn’t even been here a week, and now he was in love with someone he had known and despised for years. He couldn’t deny it, the truth of the statement filled his heart and soul with glory. He loved her vibrancy and wit, her candor and her laugh, he loved the way her smile was slightly greater on her right side than left, that her eyes saw everything around her, and that she muttered under her breath no matter the circumstance.

  She wanted sincerity in a man, she’d said.

  Well, he was pretty bloody sincere at the moment, and when the moment was right, she would see that.

  He loved her.

  A wild laugh bubbled up within him, and he faintly pounded a fist against the wall with it.

  Love.

  So, this was what had turned his brother Francis into the man Hugh had considered to be a lovesick fool.

  Lovesick his brother undoubtedly had been and was, but Hugh could no longer consider him a fool. Or, if he was, then they both were.

  What a strange bond this was.

  It was a pity Francis was not here now. Hugh desperately needed the advice of someone who had been through this mess, and it would help immensely if it was someone he could trust.

  Francis would give him hell for it, but no more than Hugh deserved.

  There would be time for that soon enough. If all went well, it would all happen quite soon.

  For now, there was just tonight, and the Yuletide Ball.

  Hugh patted the wall and pushed off of it, now striding to the stairs and practically dancing down them. Very faintly, he could hear the musicians beginning to tune, preparing for the guests and the dance. Supper would come later, and was destined to be excessive, as was everything else with this family, but he didn’t mind that.

  He was rather beginning to enjoy it, actually.

  The musicians began to play a jaunty tune, and Hugh found himself whistling along as he entered the ballroom, pausing for a moment to appreciate the spectacle of the room. If Christmas could have decorated for its own ball, it had done so here. The room even seemed to smell of the festive greenery, mulled wine, Yule log… Every scent that could make one believe it was Christmas was alive in this room.

  “Quite the sight, isn’t it?”

  Hugh turned with a smile to Elinor’s father as he came beside him. “Indeed, Mr. Asheley. I can safely say I have never seen anything like it.”

  That seemed to please the man, and he looked around the room proudly. “A great compliment, that. We do try to do the thing properly at Christmas.”

  “It could hardly be more properly done, sir,” Hugh assured him, “and I cannot thank you enough for welcoming me in and allowing me to experience it. I have not enjoyed a Christmas such as this in many, many years, and never quite like this.”

  Mr. Asheley turned and grasped him by the upper arms. “Not at all, my boy, not at all. You are most welcome, and it has been a pleasure to have you with us, to be sure. Always welcome at Christmas, and any time after this.” He patted Hugh’s arms and moved off to greet some arriving neighbors, all of whom appeared delighted to be there.

  Hugh couldn’t blame them. He was rather delighted himself.

  He stayed off to one side of the room, watching as others entered and as some of the dancing began, though in small numbers.

  Some of the cousins had trickled in and greeted him, and he remained tucked away, mostly to avoid Letitia, who was wild enough to try for any of the men, and had done.

  As far as he knew, none of them felt likewise.

  Then, in grand procession, came Mr. Asheley with his wife on his arm, and his children behind him. Mr. and Mrs. Partlowe followed first, then Edmund, Elinor, Elizabeth, and Ellen, the ladies all wearing some festive shade of red and bearing holly leaves in their hair.

  Hugh could only stare at Elinor, her red and gold brocade perfectly embodying Christmas, the holly and gold ribbon wrapped around her exquisite golden hair seeming very much like a gift in itself. She glowed with her natural beauty, her cheeks tinged with a joyful blush that was only broken by her smile.

  He had never seen anything so glorious, and it became difficult to swallow.

  He didn’t trust himself to go to her right away, preferring to let the ball officially open and the dancing commence as it would. She danced with her brother, with Dough, with two cousin husbands, and with some young man that made her smile far too much for his liking. He’d been mildly chastised by John Winthrop for scowling in a corner instead of actually enjoying the evening.

  Winthrop had a valid point there, and Hugh could not deny it.

  Would not.


  The strains of a waltz began, and Hugh found his feet moving before he meant to, driving him towards the only woman he cared to dance with this evening.

  She turned to him as he approached, and he prayed the light in her eyes when she saw him was not imagined.

  He hoped it was not.

  He bowed to her, then held out his hand. “Will you dance with me, Miss Asheley?”

  Her hand was placed in his without hesitation, her fingers curving around his hand. “Yes, Mr. Sterling,” she replied, smiling in a way that made him wish he could kiss her in this now crowded ballroom.

  They moved out to the floor without a word, staring at each other, and he felt himself grow more breathless with every step. Now that he knew he was in love with her, the very sight of her was enough to render him thus. Pleasantly breathless, that was it.

  Did he need to breathe, in all truth? It seemed an excessive action, all things considered.

  The waltz commenced, his arm around her, her hand in his, the skirts of her gown continuously brushing against his legs. Each pass felt like the brush of skin to him, and it stirred his soul into something destined to drive him mad. They didn’t speak; for his part, he could not.

  Words failed him.

  Holding her close as he was, there was nothing he could say. She was a vision, loveliness itself, and her perfect, full lips pressed into a small smile that curved with such charm he wanted to trace them with a finger. Her waist beneath his hand felt all too perfect, the dress perfectly molding to her impeccable form, and what skin was exposed seemed tinged with the same adorable blush that ever touched her cheeks.

  Even in his mind, he was raving with compliments of her, flattery he could not speak, sincere though it was. She wouldn’t wish to hear it, true though it was. And he would find a way to ruin whatever poetic phrasing he might have been able to prepare anyway.

  Elinor had his full attention, and that was all he could do at this moment. Twirling with her, holding her, moving with her in this room, her natural citrus, cinnamon, and honey fragrance filling every one of his senses, he felt that everything in his world, in his life, was perfectly right.

  He needed nothing else.

  Need.

  Oh, the word rose within him, repeated itself over and over in his mind, beat to the tune of the very waltz they danced to. He needed her, in ever so many ways. He needed her to make his life complete, to make his joy complete, to become the man he wished to be. Need for this woman and all that she could provide him.

  Only her.

  His grip on her hand tightened with the fervency of his wish, and the corners of her mouth spread a bit further, the barest hint of her teeth showing.

  She looked as though she might laugh, and he so wished she would.

  “Why do you smile like that, Elinor?” he asked, his own smile moving in response.

  She hummed slightly. “I’ve never had a waltz such as this, Hugh.”

  “And that makes you laugh?”

  “Yes,” she replied simply. Then, of all blessed things, she sighed, and her smile grew further still. “Oh yes, it does. A perfect waltz must be enjoyed.”

  Perfect? Lord, but it was. It was perfection in a dance, but it was only perfect because of her, because love for her was going to burst his heart, because for the first time in a very long time, there was hope in his life.

  She was his hope.

  “Yes,” he murmured, his hand gripping at her waist, his thumb absently grazing. “Yes, it surely must.”

  Elinor exhaled, seeming to shiver unsteadily as she did so, and he pulled her closer, mesmerized by the change he was witnessing in her fair eyes.

  “Hugh…” she whispered, her lips barely moving.

  They moved on a particularly large swell of music, and he felt his heart rise and fall with it. “Elinor.”

  Her lashes fluttered, and he knew he was lost. They were. Together.

  He was not alone in this. He couldn’t be. This moment was for both of them, the pair they had made, and the dance they were in.

  No longer separate individuals, but moving as one.

  Together.

  The music stopped suddenly, and he blinked at the abrupt change, as if the moment was broken when the music stopped. As if only the music held that magic.

  They stopped moving, and he looked into her eyes with as much regret as he could muster while still under the influence of so much joy. He found it reflected back, and with it, some of the magic.

  All was not lost, then.

  He smiled with promise, and Elinor looked away, tucking an invisible strand of hair behind her ear.

  Her father stood by the musicians, his hands raised. “My friends, my friends, we have a most welcome surprise this year. Some rather pleasant locals have come and offered to sing us some songs, which I find to be most appropriate. So, if you will make some space for them, we will let our entertainment commence.”

  The guests moved, and Hugh and Elinor moved with them, shifting to one side of the room as simply, but warmly clad locals filed in, their cheeks bright with the cold.

  Elizabeth hurried over to Elinor, her energy high. “Isn’t this marvelous? They’ve never come before!”

  Elinor released Hugh’s arm and turned to her sister, the two of them whispering and giggling about something or other.

  Hugh couldn’t do so, as he suddenly felt the chill that these locals must have felt making their way from the village up to Deilingh. All because she had let him go. He cleared his throat, swallowing as he began a brief conversation he wouldn’t remember with whomever was standing beside him.

  A bell held by one of the villagers pealed once, which effectively silenced the gathering, then rang once more in the same almost haunting manner.

  Then a tall man began to sing in a perfectly clear voice, no instrument to accompany him, his voice echoing in hallowed tones off the walls of the room. Another much lower voice joined his, and the two of them began to alternate phrases, the haunting bell pealing the slow cadence of the song.

  A pleasant-looking woman began to sing then, followed by a girl who was clearly a daughter, singing in lower tones, just as the men had done. The joining of their voices gave the perfect tones usually only found in a church, and the gathering became something much more than a celebration of the season.

  The four voices began to sing together, their melodies and harmonies changing hands with a skill that Hugh had never heard before in any gathering or performance. This was impeccable musicality, and the true joy and thrill of it could never be replicated by another group.

  When the entire makeshift choir began to sing together, chills raced up and down his arms and his spine. His breath simply vanished from his lungs, and still no instrument accompanied the singers but the lone bell.

  A timid, bare hand brushed against his once, then again, and he glanced over to see Elinor just as transfixed on the performance as he was, her breathing the slightest bit unsteady. She held a glove in one hand while the hand nearest him was bare. When she brushed against his hand once more, he captured it in his own. He watched as her breath caught, and her lashes fluttered as the quartet joined the rest of the voices in exquisite harmony.

  Elinor turned her face towards him, and the same bewildered sensations he felt cascading across and through him were found in her expression. He slowly laced his fingers through hers, and barely breathed when her thumb began to move ever so gently against the skin of his hand.

  Amazingly, the musicians began to join in with the singers, their brilliant tones adding and lifting to the glorious sounds already before them.

  Hugh felt his spirit lighten and soar, as if it could have raised into the heavens itself on the wings of such a sound. He smiled with exhilaration at Elinor, and she returned it. They returned their attention to the exquisite music; the praises being sung seeming to him to perfectly fit the feeling of a particular thumb moving rather steadily against his suddenly tingling hand.

  He could barely breathe for t
he wonder he felt with this song, with this feeling, with this love that would soon overpower him. The room seemed to be filled with angels joining their voices with these carolers, their power and purity equally matched by the mortals before them. He had never felt so moved by music in his life, and sharing the experience with the woman he loved, feeling her touch as a profound accompaniment, was joy beyond expression.

  How would he ever go on after this?

  The choir’s voices began to fade, and with them the instruments. The initial quartet’s voices were more clearly heard, echoing each other with soft precision, until only the first singer’s voice remained, drawing out the last notes into the utter silence of the room.

  As the music died away, Hugh felt rather as though applause would be inappropriate, far too common a thing for what they had just experienced. But applause filled the room anyway, though neither he nor Elinor did so.

  They looked at each other instead, and he realized with a pang of agony that this connection between them, this moment, would shortly be broken. They would both go back to dancing at the ball without being able to be near each other. Not unless they wished to be open to comment, and he would not be able to hold her hand like this in public.

  Elinor stared back at him, her expression pained.

  He rubbed his thumb along her hand in a slow, deliberate stroke, and Elinor inhaled slowly, then exhaled the same, giving him a slight nod.

  Hugh curved a lopsided smile at her and ran his thumb over hers once more.

  She repeated the gesture, and he nearly declared his love right there and then.

  Somehow, he managed to avoid doing so, a crowded ballroom of her relations not being entirely the right place for such a statement.

  Reluctantly, he let her hand go, and she replaced her glove as the carolers commenced with a far more jubilant number, which prompted some of the more intrepid guests to return to dancing, though with the sort of feeling rarely found in Society. This was the rousing sort of dance the middle and lower classes usually enjoyed, and which Hugh had long secretly envied.