Elinor stared at him as though she had never quite seen him before. Her expression was not filled with hatred, coldness, or disdain, but curiosity.

He dared not think anything else of it than that, and he did not blame her.

It was a curious change he had undergone; he knew it well.

“I told you, Elinor,” he murmured as he gestured for her to lead the way out of the library. “I am not the man I was. Is that so surprising, considering…?”

Elinor surprised him by shaking her head as they walked out of the room. “No, when I put it in the proper light, it’s not so surprising. How could any man do any less in your situation? And I am not so heartless as to not consider your words from last night in all sincerity, if not solemnity. I would never wish what happened with your sister upon any young woman or any brothers of one. Not even you.”

Hugh glanced at her as they walked side by side now, and a wave of pleasant surprise slowly rolled through him. He whistled very low. “Not even me?” he repeated with humor. “Whatever did it cost you to say that, Elinor?”

She smiled at that, which was the greatest shock of all. “Just a little chip of my pride. It needed to go anyway.”

He chuckled at that and smiled towards one of the great windows. “I’m not the great serpent of hell, then?”

“Not today, at least. You’re only human.” She made a small laughing sound. “But you may have a forked tongue. Of that, I am not entirely sure.”

Just to spite her, he turned back and stuck his tongue out as a spoiled child might have. “Well?” he asked around the blockage of his tongue.

Elinor pretended to inspect it, then sighed. “Pity. I shall have to amend my opinions, I see.”

She should what?

“Can you?” he asked, no longer teasing, her answer suddenly quite important.

She shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps. After all, I was quite wrong about Camden Vale. I admit it freely and without remorse. But in your case, it will all depend.” She looked up at him. “Tell me this: will you make the necessary apologies when you find yourself in London again?”

“Of course, I will,” he informed her without hesitation. “Most sincerely. I’ve written several letters in my absence, all of which have been sent, begging forgiveness, if it can be given at all. Georgie’s had one, as has Mrs. Vale and Mrs. Morton. I believe I have wronged them most among your circle of friends, though all of you deserve my apologies.”

“Even me?” she asked, though he detected no hint of insinuation there.

He stopped in the corridor, and so did she. “Yes, Elinor, even you,” he said softly. He took one step towards her. “I have no explanation or excuse for my behavior, for my words, or for any harm or hurt I may have caused. I can only offer an apology as deep as a man’s regret can be, which, I have found, is beyond comprehension. I pray that someday I might earn your forgiveness, but if I can only have my apology accepted as such, I will be content. I am truly sorry. I hope you can believe that.”