Chapter 25
“Ishall leave you both to it.”
It was all Eleanor could say before she quickly left the room, closing the door behind her and taking steady breaths.
Sebastian Halford.
The name alone had been enough to unsettle her, but seeing him had brought everything back to her. The memory had not faded with time as she had once hoped it might. Instead, it felt as though it had happened mere weeks before.
He had been attentive without being overwhelming, thoughtful without appearing calculated. He had listened, or at least had given every impression of doing so, and she had believed him. That had been the mistake.
She slowed slightly, her hand brushing lightly against the wall beside her.
He knew what he was doing. He had known she would believe him, and when the truth had come out, when it had become impossible to maintain the illusion, he had not attempted to soften it.
He had not offered an apology or an explanation in any form that carried sincerity.
He had dismissed her, not caring what became of her.
Her husband had not been much better.
Eleanor exhaled slowly, forcing the memory to leave her be, though it did not retreat as easily as she would have liked.
Footsteps approached, and she knew who it would be before she turned.
“Lady Harrowby.”
She stopped, and she did not face him. The sound of his voice carried the same tone it always had, and again it felt as though no time had passed at all.
“Mr. Halford.”
“I had not expected to find you here.”
“Nor I you,” she replied.
“A coincidence, then.”
“If you choose to call it that.”
There was a brief pause, as Eleanor did not believe for a moment that he had not known that she was there. Halford regarded her for a moment, as though assessing something he had already decided.
“I hope I did not startle you,” he said. “Our last meeting was abrupt, I know.”
Eleanor held his gaze, her expression steady.
“That is one way to describe it.”
“I have often thought it could have been handled differently,” he continued. “I think there was a lack of clarity, and circumstances were not taken care of as they should have been.”
“By whom?” she asked.
He did not answer that directly.
“There was a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding,” she repeated. “I was not aware that I had misunderstood being told I was an obstacle.”
“You must see that the situation was more complicated than that.”
“I see it very clearly now.”
“Eleanor– it is not as simple as it seemed at the time. I had an impossible decision to make, and I had to do the best I could.”
He took a step closer, though not enough to breach propriety, only enough to lower his voice and have her hear him still.
“I did not intend for things to unfold as they did.”
“And yet they did.”
“You cannot believe that I would have spoken so harshly without just cause. There were expectations, pressures that were not immediately apparent. I was poorly advised.”
“And so you chose to place the consequence of that upon me.”
“It was not so simple.”
“It was exactly that simple.”
Her words were strong, and Halford regarded her for a moment longer.
“You have changed.”
Eleanor did not respond to that immediately. He tilted his head slightly, as though acknowledging his point without fully conceding it.
“I do not want you to think that I regarded you lightly.”
“You could have felt any way you like. The result remains the same.”
“I had hoped we might speak without returning to it so directly.”
Eleanor met his gaze without hesitation.
“Then you should not have named it a misunderstanding.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Eleanor nodded slightly. She had been afraid when she first saw him, but it was not as frightening as she had thought. He was in her home, and so she held the power.
“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 in conversation, 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?”
“I would,” he replied. “It should have been done before now. I owe you that much.”
“Do you mean to say you have come here to correct it.”
“I have come here to offer you the means to correct it,” he said. “If you will accept it. You would be received properly again. There would be no question of your standing. I will ensure it.”
“And this is something you can promise.”
“It is.”
His confidence did not waver. Eleanor felt the weight of it, not only in what he said, but in how he seemed to believe it too. He had always spoken that way, with a certainty that made what he said difficult to question.
“And do you mean to say that you expect nothing in return?”
“I expect nothing that you are not willing to give,” he said.
Eleanor held his gaze, and yet, as she stood there, listening to him speak with that same quiet certainty that had once persuaded her so easily, she could not ignore the fact that the last time she had believed him, she had paid for it in ways he had not had to consider.
He had been convincing then. He was convincing now.
And that, more than anything else, made the choice before her far less simple than he seemed to believe.
Eleanor did not answer him immediately. She remained where she was, her hand resting lightly against the chair.
There was no visible sign that his words had unsettled her, for she could not afford that.
“You speak as though it would be easily done,” she said at last. “As though what was taken could simply be returned because you have decided it should be.”
“I would not insult you by calling it easy,” Halford replied. “But I would say it is possible, and that is more than most would be able to promise you now.”
Eleanor held his gaze, studying him carefully, searching for the same calculation she had once failed to see clearly enough.
“And you expect me to trust that promise,” she said, “after you have already shown me what your assurances are worth.”
“I expect nothing so easily given,” he said. “I know I forfeited that when I allowed matters to end as they did. I am not asking for your trust. I am offering you an opportunity that exists regardless of how you feel about me.”
She let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. She shook her head, the movement small but decisive.
“You cannot undo it,” she said quietly. “You can only change how it is spoken of.”
“That is all that has ever mattered in London,” he replied. “You know that as well as I do.”
Eleanor did not know what to say, because that, at least, was true.
Reputation had never been about truth, not entirely, but about perception, about what was repeated often enough to become accepted.
What he offered was not restoration in the purest sense, but it would be enough for society to receive her again without question, enough to allow her to step back into that world as though she had never been pushed from it.
She had told herself she did not need it, had given up her life in London and accepted a quieter life in its place. That acceptance had not been easy, but it had been necessary.
Now, standing before him, she could not pretend that the offer meant nothing.
She drew a slow breath, steadying herself, aware of the direction her thoughts threatened to take.
“You presume a great deal,” she said. “You presume that I wish to return to a society that proved so willing to turn against me.”
“I presume that you recognize the difference between being excluded from it and choosing to stand outside it,” he replied. “At present your absence has been decided for you, not by you. I am offering you the ability to change that.”
“And what would you gain from it,” she asked. “You say this is not a negotiation, and yet you would not be here if it were of no consequence to you.”
Halford considered that for a moment before answering.
“I gain the knowledge that I did not leave matters as they were,” he said. “I gain the opportunity to correct something I handled poorly. That is not nothing.”
Eleanor did not respond at once, because that answer, too, had been chosen with care. It was precisely the kind of answer he had always given. She knew it in a way she had not before.
“You speak very well,” she said quietly.
“I speak plainly,” he replied.
“No,” she said, her gaze steady on his. “You speak in a way that makes things sound simple when they are not.”
He did not deny it.
“And yet,” he said, after a moment, “that does not make what I offer any less real.”
Eleanor turned slightly then, her hand leaving the chair as she took a step away. Her thoughts had begun to move in directions she did not fully welcome, not because they were wrong, but because they were dangerous in their own way.
Because he was right about one thing. What he offered could change everything, and that was precisely why it unsettled her.
She had already been made a fool once by believing too easily, by allowing herself to trust in something that had not been as it seemed.
She had told herself she would not make that mistake again, that she would not allow anyone the same power over her.
And yet, only a few nights before, she had allowed herself to believe in something again.
Not with Halford, but with Julian.
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself before turning back toward Halford, her composure once again firmly in place.
“I do not forgive you,” she said, her voice calm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “What you did cannot be undone by any offer you make now, no matter how generous it appears.”
“I understand that,” he said.
“And I will not forget it,” she continued.
“You have every right not to.”
She held his gaze for a moment longer, ensuring that he understood the weight of it before allowing the conversation to move forward.
“But what you offer is not nothing,” she said at last, the admission quiet. “It is not something I can dismiss without second thought.”
“That is all I ask.”
Eleanor did not respond to that. She turned away again, her thoughts no longer as steady as they had been when he first entered the room.
For the first time since leaving London, she allowed herself to consider what it might mean to return, not as she had been forced to leave, but on her own terms, with her name restored.
And beneath that thought, quieter but no less present, lay another she did not examine too closely.
That leaving might also mean escape.
She was not needed where she was. Julian did not love her and he had made it clear that he never would, and she would never truly have a home there, so what was the harm in leaving?