* * *
"You are not listening."
Eleanor blinked, her attention returning with a faint delay. Anne was looking at her as though she had been waiting for a response.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You have not heard a word I have said for the last several minutes."
"Then perhaps you should not speak for so long without interruption," Eleanor quipped. "I am an excellent listener."
"Yes, a brilliant one."
Eleanor allowed herself a small smile, and Anne did the same. Her friend was not truly angry with her at all, only very clearly confused. Eleanor did not blame her for that, because she knew as well as Anne did exactly where she had been looking.
"Do forgive me. I appear to be distracted."
"I have noticed."
They stood apart from the main body of the room, near one of the tall windows where the conversation was less likely to be overheard. Eleanor had been navigating the evening with ease, or at least, she had appeared to.
"What were you saying?" she asked.
"I was speaking of Lord Harrowby," she said. "Strangely, that was precisely where you were looking."
Eleanor’s expression did not change. Anne regarded her for a moment, as though deciding how much required explanation.
"He is under considerable pressure," she continued. "I heard two maids saying so this afternoon."
"All gentlemen in his position are. He has to protect his family and secure funds and all the other things that we could also do if we were allowed."
"Yes, but he must also care for his sister. You might say he is doing the work of a wife, too."
"Then he should have a wife. It is his own choice to do all that he does as a bachelor."
Anne looked at her knowingly then, and Eleanor felt herself pause. A part of her knew what her friend was about to say, and if that were the case then she did not know why she felt anything at all about it.
"He has determined," Anne continued, "that he will marry. Allegedly, he will say as much tonight."
"That is hardly remarkable," Eleanor said. "Gentlemen often declare such intentions."
"No," Anne replied. "But his reasons are what make it so interesting. It is not sentiment, nor any particular desire. His household requires it, his sister in particular."
Eleanor’s gaze shifted, almost without intention, toward the gentleman that had danced with her, the one that she found tooproper. It made sense to her that he would make such a decision simply because it was necessary. She looked away again at once.
"That is very dutiful of him," she said. "And love does not make a difference to him, I suppose?"
"No, he does not believe in it," Anne added. "Or if he does, he does not consider it relevant to marriage. It is efficient, I suppose, though not particularly pleasant for his future wife."
"That depends on one’s expectations."
Anne’s gaze rested on her more closely now.
"And what are yours?"
Eleanor did not answer at once. Across the room, a pair of young ladies laughed too brightly at something that did not warrant it. A gentleman leaned in too far, his interest too easily read. The familiar patterns continued, uninterrupted, unremarkable.
She had known them all her life. She had understood them, she had participated in them, and she had grown very tired of them.