He was old. And not just old, but hard of hearing and his gray hair was balding. Regardless, he was unattached and eligibly rich. So I had no right to complain.

Sir Swanson Byrd offered me his arm and began to lead me towards the looming mansion. “A bit chilly this evening, isn’t it, Miss Weston?”

That made me smile. His old bones couldn’t bear even a slight decline in temperature.

Everyone had quirks like that. Special tendencies that painted them as an individual. I liked to think of everyone as a character, like the ones in the novels I read. Sir Byrd was someone looking for contentment in his last days. And me? I was a character playing towards a higher purpose. Eleanor Weston, a woman if ambition and expensive taste. 

Eleanor Weston. Yes, that was my name. But, with any luck, I’d be Lady Eleanor Byrd within the next month.

I didn’t hate him, but I didn’t love him either, which made marriage difficult, but it wasn’t like I’d be bound for eternity. He would pass on, and I’d inherit his ridiculous hoard of wealth.

I just had to hope everything went the way I planned it.

Doormen ushered us into the mansion, and a boy took Sir Byrd’s coat and top hat, and my silk wrap. The boy was given a jingling tip, which made him grin in a bright thanks.

Generosity was on Sir Byrd’s pros list. The only cons I could find in the old man were the sweltering temperature of his mansion and the fact that he could be my father. Otherwise, he was a perfect match for me. No matter, though. Cons or not, I had no other choice.

Well, ‘no other choice’ may be a bit pessimistic.

As we made our way through the nobles and commons within the ballroom, a familiar sight caught my eye.

Anthony Bartlett stared at me from across the room, his umber eyes illuminated with — with something I’d much rather not see and identify. It was probably just the lighting of the room that cast such a longing glow on his face.

We were — we had been friends for longer than I could rightly recall. His family’s manor was just a skip away from the house where I grew up. We’d planned such bright futures under that willow tree, all those years ago.

And now here we were, on the same road, but heading in quite different directions.

I knew for a fact Anthony didn’t approve of my methods of finding happiness.

But you don’t care. Anthony can think what he wants.

Meanwhile, I would enjoy the party and be escorted home by Mister Opportunity himself.

About an hour into the festivities, Sir Byrd had the distinct inclination to sit down. He led me, or rather, I led him to a parlor seat, its cushion of red velvet providing perfect support for old rears, and offered to fetch some refreshments.

“Indeed not, Miss Weston. It isn’t according to the laws of polite society that you acquire a drink for me. It is I that should be the one to offer.”

I batted my eyelashes and bowed my head. “Of course. Forgive me for forgetting. I only care about your health.”

“I am in fine shape, my dear. You needn’t worry about me. Rejoin your society friends — I’ll be here associating myself with likeminded business men.”

“If you insist.” I bowed politely again, and began to make my way back through the crowd, despite having no real friends to speak of. So I searched for any familiar face. Simply someone who could distract me while my escort regained his strength. And then I could count tonight as a success.

Just when I thought I recognize a face across the active ballroom, I felt a touch at my bent elbow.

I halted and turned gracefully, keeping up the charm of a future landowner’s wife. My intentions fell flat and my breath hitched in my chest.

Umber eyes peered at me. “Care to dance, Miss Weston?”

Despite myself, I replied, “As much as I’d love the chance to step on your feet, Mister Bartlett, I have pledged all of my dances to my suitor.”

A muscle in Anthony’s cheek ticked. “It seems he’s busy at the moment.”

I opened my mouth, but then the music started and Anthony took my hand, sweeping me forward. I hated that I actually wanted to dance with him; the childhood friend I’d grown to despise.

I let him guide me in a waltz along the dance floor. My floor length gown shifted and twirled, and I realized I was enjoying myself. I never let it show in my face, but the feeling was there in the pit of my stomach, nonetheless.

The song ended with a fluid flourish, and the couples made their bows. I hadn’t even straightened before Anthony took my hand again. I scowled, a blush heating my cheeks as he led me away.

He was making a spectacle of us—gossip would stir and people would hiss with questions. Wasn’t I being courted by the respected Sir Swanson Byrd? Why was I being dragged along by a country boy with no land to call his own? Has an affair started? I could just hear the gasps. I’d have to explain things to Sir Byrd — but was there really anything to explain? No.

At least not yet.

Anthony pulled me outdoors, onto an empty balcony away from the other party goers. My heart was thundering in my chest, but I could hear another waltz starting.

I faced Anthony. His brows were furrowed, and annoyingly enough, he was the first to speak.

“You were surprised to see me when you walked in.” It wasn’t a question.

I feigned confidence. “You weren’t the first person I expected to see at this party, no.”

Anthony’s voice lowered. “You were the first person I expected to see. You were the only person I wanted to see.”

I managed an unruffled chuckle. “Talk enough nonsense, and nonsense is all you speak. Common knowledge is lost.”

“Knowledge shared by many people is instinct. Knowledge shared by two people is. . .”

“A secret. One that shouldn’t be breathed, by chance it would waste the air it took to speak.”

Anthony stared at me, his brows rising. He sighed. “In some ways, you’re still the same Eleanor. But you’ve changed. I miss the you that was carefree.”

“Carefree is simply another word for careless.”

“Is this what our friendship has wasted away to? Proverbs and taunts?”

“It seems so.”

He turned away from me and marched to the rim of the balcony. He was heated, but he’d been asking for it. Dragging me up here with zero word of explanation. I closed my eyes and sigh. What did he want me to say? Sorry? I was wrong?

How could I admit anything of the sort? If he couldn’t understand, I was too exhausted to make home do so.

“I’m sorry, but reality isn’t as lovely as you believe.”

“Why can’t it be, Eleanor?” He sounded exhausted too. Worn out, grasping at strands of hope that were fading.

“It just isn’t so.”

There was a long pause in the conversation. So long, in fact, that I thought I was hard of hearing just like Sir Byrd, and Anthony was spouting a long sermon on his whys and whatnots.

But no, the silence was real. And I only wanted to escape.

I held back tears and took a step away. Anthony didn’t reach out to me as he had during the dance. He just let me sway away. We were in the same mansion, but somehow it felt like we were miles apart.

What would bridge the gap?

♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎

Weeks go by.

Sir Byrd brings me to several more social gatherings and I’m paraded about. Nearly a month after the interaction with Anthony, I became engaged — the future Lady Byrd.

And now, I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling of my rented room. A heavy weight pulled down on my heart and I didn’t want to move for fear something might break. I clutched my sheet tightly, trying to squeeze away my worry.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I told myself. Money, a title, a home. The ability to never worry a day in my life. But here I was — worrying.

I was worried sick.

I laid for nearly two days in bed — my head spinning in a vortex of unwelcome thoughts. I should’ve been content, but I wasn’t. I had a ring on my finger, but all it looked like now was a chain.

He’s a good man, I thought. He loves me. He just didn’t know me. He only knew and loved the person I chose to show him.

As the hour ticked to midday, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to my vanity. Just as I reached for stationary, a letter caught my eye. 

A service maid must have brought it up, I guessed. Or rather, hoped. I picked it up and stabbed the paper with my dagger of a letter opener.

His familiar scrawl made my heart plunge even further, into the depths of anxiety and held-breaths.

Even as I was reading, all I could think was no, no, no, no. But as soon as I finished, my heart thrummed a steady yes.

My dearest Eleanor,

       I will be leaving to the country in three days time. However foolish it may be, I cling to the hope that you might come with me. Return to the place you used to consider your home.

       I won’t ask you to come with me, but I want to relieve myself of the thoughts that I’ve held back for too many years before I never have the chance to speak them again.

      I cannot confess to knowing your mind, but I do know mine. You torment me with every glance you don’t throw my way. You gaze at riches, luxury, and estates. All the things I don’t have. So I know I could never be enough for you, but I must confess nonetheless that I hope. So fervently I hope. I hope for so many things, but the most important thing I hope for is you.

       I love you.

       I love you.

       I love you.

       If being in love is madness, then say that I am mad. Say I am out of my starstruck mind. It is true. You hold my heart in your hands, whether you realize it or not.

      I pray this is not goodbye.

                 Forever always yours,

                                     Anthony

I don’t hold back the tears that stream from my eyes. What could I do? Run to him, fall on my knees and plead with him to stay? Or could I live with the fact that I would never see my best friend ever again?

♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎

The train station was a bustle of activity. In my simple slippers, I stand on tip toe and peer over the crowd as best I can.

My meeting with Sir Byrd had been quick. He cried. I cried. And then I fled. The poor man would have to live without me. And I would have to live without his money.

I could do it. I had to. Ambition was more than the seeking of wealth. It was reaching for the chance of a love like no other.

A beautiful love that couldn’t be kept secret any longer.

I plow my way through the milling people. All my politeness and lady-like graces had been discarded, left at the gate of Sir Swanson Byrd’s estate.

I was simply a woman following her heart. And that was true ambition.

Locating a bench, I stepped onto it and looked over everyone’s heads. Here went nothing, but possibly everything. “Anthony! Anthony Bartlett!”

Finally I spotted him, his head swiveling left and right as he tried to find whoever was practically screaming his name with such desperation.

“Anthony!” I shouted again. With relief this time.

He caught sight of me and a grin spread over his face. I cried when he started running in my direction, as best he could in the crowd.

I jumped into his arms and he swung me around.

“You came. You came,” he whispered on repeat in my ear.

“I’m yours, Anthony. I always will be. Forever.”

He kissed me and I sank into his warm embrace. I heard a few onlookers gasp. But who cared? We were both mad. Madly in love and finally happy. And that was true success.