“If you will excuse me,” she said as she turned away, “I believe you are expected elsewhere.”
Halford did not stop her.
“Of course,” he said. “We shall speak again.”
Eleanor did not answer that. She walked away without looking back, though beneath that control, the memory still lingered. Only this time, she did not question where she stood.
Eleanor had not intended to be alone, and yet she found herself in one of the smaller drawing rooms at the far end of the house, a place rarely used except in the quietest parts of the day. The door stood partially open behind her, allowing in the muted sounds of movement from the corridor, enough to remind her that she was not entirely removed from the rest of the household. She had chosen the room without thinking, drawn more by the need for space than by any particular destination.
She had just reached for the back of a chair, intending to sit, when she heard the door shift.
“Lady Harrowby.”
She did not start this time. The earlier shock had settled. She turned slowly, her expression already composed by the time she faced him.
“Mr. Halford, I told you that–”
“You said that we would speak later. It is later.”
He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with care. There was nothing improper in the action itself, nothing that could not be explained by a desire for privacy inconversation, and yet the deliberate nature of it did not escape her.
“I hope I am not intruding,” he said, his voice softer than it had been before. “I wished to speak with you, if you would allow it.”
“You seem to have already decided that I would.”
“I hoped,” he corrected gently. “You said earlier that I named it a misunderstanding. That was not well chosen on my part.”
“No,” Eleanor said. “It was not.”
“Then allow me to speak more plainly. I made a mistake. I should not have treated you as I did. I should not have spoken as I did, nor allowed matters to conclude in that manner. It was inexcusable.”
She studied him carefully, watching for the same ease that had once made his words so easy to believe. It was still there, though tempered by apparent sincerity.
“You were very certain of yourself at the time,” she said.
“I was,” he admitted. “And I was wrong. I allowed myself to be guided by what society wanted. There were expectations placed upon me, pressures that I believed I could not disregard without consequence. I convinced myself that I was acting sensibly, that I was choosing the path that would lead to the least complication.”
“And instead,” Eleanor said quietly, “you chose the path that required the least from you.”
A faint shadow crossed his face, though it did not disrupt him.
“Yes,” he said. “That is precisely what I did. I regret it, not simply because of the outcome, but because of what it cost you. I did not fully understand that at the time. I do now.”
Eleanor’s fingers tightened slightly against the back of the chair.
“You understood enough to know that I would bear the consequence.”
“I understood that there would be consequences,” he said. “I did not consider how entirely it would fall upon you. That was my failing.”
Eleanor did not want to listen to what he had to say, but she had to admit that he was convincing when he wished to be. There was an unmistakable sincerity in his voice that she could not miss, and though she did not know how much to believe, she did not mind letting him talk a while longer.
“I have remained in London,” he continued after a moment. “I have seen how your name has been spoken of, how you have since married well in spite of it all. I have also heard the rumors of how such a match came to be, of course.”
He did not look away as he said it.
“I have influence there,” he went on. “I am in a position to correct what was allowed to take root. I can speak where it will be heard. I can ensure that your name is restored to what it should have been.”
“You would do that?”