The dining room's lingering warmth still clung to Eleanor as she lingered near the hearth, tidying her things from dinner. She had not seen William all day; her father had mentioned in passing that he was around the estate while Theodore had been away on a short trip. Eleanor had assumed he would arrive later, but now, as the door opened and William stepped inside, her spirits lifted.
"Eleanor!" he exclaimed, a broad smile breaking across his face. "I was beginning to think you'd hidden from me all day."
She laughed softly, closing the space between them. "And miss you entirely? Never. I heard you were here earlier, but you were… otherwise occupied."
William's grin deepened. "Ah, Theodore's absence left me free to wander a bit. But seeing you now makes up for lost time."
The evening stretched before them, the two finding themselves in the drawing room. The piano's keys gleamed under the candlelight. Eleanor sat, allowing her fingers to dance lightly over the notes, while William leaned beside her, humming the familiar tunes of songs they had played together in youth. Laughter and music intertwined, a melody of ease and fondness.
"I can hardly believe how crowded the ball was," Eleanor remarked between notes. "People everywhere… so many vying for attention. And yet, somehow, I felt alone in it all, surrounded by faces and whispers alike."
William nodded thoughtfully. "I know what you mean. I, too, had my circle of admirers and acquaintances hovering about. But it seems you were the one everyone watched. I was merely a… convenient conversationalist for those who found you intimidating."
Eleanor chuckled, lowering her hands from the keys. "And Theodore? He looked stiff, utterly composed, as if the whole evening weighed upon him."
"He does carry himself with such precision," William agreed, smiling wryly. "No hint of playfulness, not a note of levity. Quite unlike… well, you and me."
Their laughter softened into a quiet pause, the familiarity of their companionship settling around them like a comfortable shawl. Eleanor's curiosity began to edge into her thoughts, her mind skimming the surface of propriety and expectation.
"Tell me," she asked lightly, though her eyes searched his, "what do you intend? Who… do you imagine yourself marrying someday?"
William raised an eyebrow, playful yet thoughtful. "Ah, you are weaving serious questions into this evening's music. I do not yet know, Eleanor. There are obligations, expectations, and… yet, the heart often has its own inclinations."
Eleanor tilted her head, allowing a faint smile to linger. "Obligations and expectations… that sounds as if marriage is merely a matter of arrangement. Do you not… wish for more?"
William's gaze softened, and he paused thoughtfully, fingers brushing lightly against the piano keys again. "Perhaps. Perhaps the heart deserves its say, even among duties and social alignments. And yet… some things are not mine to decide alone."
Eleanor nodded quietly, sensing the weight of his words while cherishing the lighthearted ease of their evening. They continued to play, laugh, and reminisce, sharing tales of events they had attended, gentle teasing of social stiffness, and the unspoken bond that had grown steadily between them over the years.
Though the night was filled with music and mirth, Eleanor's thoughts wandered occasionally to Theodore — absent, distant, and composed — and she could not help but wonder how the course of her heart might be influenced by obligations, by expectation, and by the quiet tension that seemed to linger between the three of them.