When they had finished their glasses, Philip brought new ones—his own included this time.
He had realized that Eloise and Abigail's conversation was mostly concluded.
He sat down naturally beside Abigail and just as naturally joined their discussion.
Philip was far quieter than Ryan, but his stories about the army were compelling enough that both Eloise and Abigail listened with sparkling eyes.
The tale of how he had become isolated during battle and struggled to return to his unit, and the account of the ghost he had seen on the battlefield, were so harrowing they trembled involuntarily.
Meanwhile, very slow music began drifting from the banquet hall—different from what had been playing until now.
It was time to calm the heated atmosphere slightly.
The young people who had danced themselves to exhaustion moved back. The children who had been running wild sat down on chairs and ate the sweets adults handed them.
But the hall was not empty.
Those who had been hesitant to dance the faster sets now considered this their opportunity. They took their partners by the hand and ventured out for a slow dance.
As Abigail watched them, Philip stood.
"Abigail, will you dance with me?"
"What? Me?"
Abigail asked in surprise at Philip's proposal.
Everyone knew she had an injured leg.
So asking her to dance was... rather impolite.
That was why no one had ever asked Abigail to dance at any gathering before.
Abigail shook her head in confusion at the first invitation of her life.
"I'm sorry, but I can't."
"You can stand without your crutch without difficulty."
"That's true, but if I take a step, I'll stagger—"
"I will support you."
Having said this, Philip added with a smile:
"You know all the steps."
"..."
At these words, Abigail's face flushed. As Philip had said, Abigail knew all the dance steps. And not only the slow ones.
She knew the fast dances, too.
Even though she understood she would never be able to dance them.
"Don't worry about falling. If I lack the strength to hold you steady, what kind of soldier am I?" Philip took Abigail's hand and helped her stand. "So... teach me the steps."
With that, Philip led Abigail into the banquet hall.
Instead of a crutch, she leaned on him and walked into the center of the room for the first time.
When she entered with Philip, people looked at them in surprise.
Abigail was going to dance. For the first time.
All eyes turned to them.
The music, which had paused briefly, resumed. People continued their slow dances. Philip began as well, holding Abigail's hand firmly and taking measured steps.
Unable to remain still, Abigail moved her foot, too. Normally, she would have fallen.
*Ah.*
Thanks to Philip holding her securely, Abigail was able to take steps like everyone else.
Of course, it wasn't perfect. She was slightly unsteady, and the pace was slow. But Philip, adjusting to her rhythm, moved slowly as well.
Among the slow-moving couples, they moved even more slowly.
But no one laughed.
On the contrary, the orchestra began playing a little slower. Those around them deliberately slowed their own movements.
Abigail's movements—initially tense—became bolder. She took longer steps, and the hand that held her so tightly relaxed slightly.
A faint smile appeared on her previously frozen face.
The music gradually quickened, but Abigail continued moving without tiring.
*This only happened in my dreams.*
She had only ever danced in her dreams. And now she was doing it in reality.
Abigail turned her head and looked at Eloise, as if boasting.
Eloise looked back at her with even greater joy than Abigail felt herself.
*"I hope next year will be just as wonderful."*
Remembering the words Eloise had spoken moments ago, Abigail took Philip's hand again and stepped forward.
It was her first true summer festival.
---
Eloise watched Philip and Abigail dance for a long while. Then, feeling someone tugging at her skirt, she looked down.
"Eloise..."
Andrew clung to her with sleepy eyes and began to whine.
"I want to sleep."
During the day, he had explored the estate and run through the gardens. In the evening, he had eaten nonstop with the adults and danced. It was time for the small child to rest.
Eloise picked Andrew up in her arms.
*Oof.*
Last year she could lift him easily. Now she had to exert effort to lift the growing boy.
Someday—perhaps soon—Andrew would dance among them, too.
The time would come when he, dancing his first dance, would blush while looking at his partner.
"Andrew, look. See Abigail dancing?"
At these words, Andrew rubbed his eyes, gazed out at the hall, and smiled broadly.
"Is Sister Abigail dancing now, too?"
"Yes. And she'll dance until the very end of the celebration."
The music would quicken again, but there was no need to worry. Philip Osborne would help her.
At that moment, Andrew—hugging Eloise around the neck—murmured:
"I want to grow up quickly and dance, too."
"Yes. It will happen sooner than you think."
Eloise suddenly imagined where she would be when that moment arrived.
And with whom.
She patted Andrew, who had already fallen asleep, and left the banquet hall.
Glancing at her watch, she saw it was already well past midnight.
*I need to take him to the nursery.*
During the summer festival, children were usually the first to fall asleep. This obliged parents to sit with them, preventing them from fully enjoying the festivities.
So every year, someone experienced with children was hired at Blissbury to watch over them.
A separate room was also prepared where the children could sleep.
Thinking she needed to bring Andrew there quickly, she hurried down the corridor—and someone suddenly appeared ahead.
*Oh!*
Though she knew she was in Blissbury, she gave a short cry of surprise.
Ryan emerged from the shadows.
"Ryan?"
He was holding several bottles of wine.
"What are you doing?"
"As you can see—bringing wine from the cellar. Many guests don't care for beer. And I couldn't ask the servants."
The wine cellar held so many expensive vintages that only a few people possessed keys to it.
"And Mr. Palmer?"
"He's been running back and forth all day and was exhausted." Ryan brushed dust from his clothes. "So I went myself."
Watching him shake the dust from his sleeves, Eloise thought that he had been like this from the very beginning. In the best sense.
Sometimes guests of Baron Stanford stayed at Blissbury.
At first, they thanked Mr. Severton and behaved modestly.
But the longer they remained, the greater their demands became. They began acting arrogantly—like owners.
Ryan was not like that. Even though he had arrived as manager and could have conducted himself like royalty, he did not.
Even setting that aside—having arrived for medical treatment, he could have commanded people without a twinge of conscience.
Had it not been for his well-tailored clothes and handsome face, he might have been mistaken for the finest worker in Blissbury, so diligently did he labor.
Even now, during the celebration.
Concerned for the butler, he had fetched wine himself.
"You must be tired."
At Eloise's words, Ryan looked at the child sleeping in her arms.
"What you're carrying looks heavier."
Eloise adjusted Andrew and showed Ryan his sleeping face.
"This is the Ogilvys' youngest son, Andrew."
"I know. He was disappointed the entire banquet because you weren't there. Last year he sat across from you and seemed to hope it would be the same this year."
At these words, Eloise kissed the sleeping Andrew on the cheek.
*Sad because I was gone. How sweet.*
Ryan froze for a moment, watching her.
As Eloise had said, Andrew was a sweet child. The Ogilvy family's blond hair suited him beautifully.
And then, suddenly, a thought occurred to him.
**What if she held in her arms now not a blond child—but a dark-haired one? Like him?**