Tybalt sighed and stuffed the book he was holding into a gap on the nearest shelf - only temporarily, but that alone was still probably enough to make Elsie cringe - because he didn't want to accidentally lose hold of it and draw attention to where they were. As soon as he'd put it down, though, his empty-handedness felt clumsy and awkward, and much as he wanted to reach out for her hand again, he couldn't.
Sorry, she said? His face pulled into something like surprise at her apology, honestly perplexed about why she thought she had anything to say sorry about. "Why are you sorry?" It was on form for Elsie, of course, but that didn't mean he was going to blindly accept it. "None of it was your fault," he reasoned out gently. Not at all. "It was mine. And I'm sorry." He had been the one to sneak off after her - if she'd just spent the party alone in the library, nothing would have happened. If he wasn't always the one coaxing her into situations where they could get caught... If he hadn't spent the last few years thoughtlessly risking her reputation at every turn, they wouldn't be here now. This had been a warning, though. A wake up call. He got it, now. And it was most definitely his fault.
"How have things been, at home?" He murmured next, eyeing her carefully. She'd smiled a little, but there were telling lines on her forehead; he knew what anxiousness and worry looked like on her, and - if he were honest - hadn't expected any different. Still, Lucinda Cavanaugh had told him that she wouldn't tell Elsie's mother, and he was praying that she'd kept that promise. Had the two of them talked since? Had Mrs. Cavanaugh related anything he'd said, after Elsie had left the room? Had she had to deal with more lecturing or more wrath?
He hoped not.
Besides, they'd learned their lesson, Tyb thought.
Sorry, she said? His face pulled into something like surprise at her apology, honestly perplexed about why she thought she had anything to say sorry about. "Why are you sorry?" It was on form for Elsie, of course, but that didn't mean he was going to blindly accept it. "None of it was your fault," he reasoned out gently. Not at all. "It was mine. And I'm sorry." He had been the one to sneak off after her - if she'd just spent the party alone in the library, nothing would have happened. If he wasn't always the one coaxing her into situations where they could get caught... If he hadn't spent the last few years thoughtlessly risking her reputation at every turn, they wouldn't be here now. This had been a warning, though. A wake up call. He got it, now. And it was most definitely his fault.
"How have things been, at home?" He murmured next, eyeing her carefully. She'd smiled a little, but there were telling lines on her forehead; he knew what anxiousness and worry looked like on her, and - if he were honest - hadn't expected any different. Still, Lucinda Cavanaugh had told him that she wouldn't tell Elsie's mother, and he was praying that she'd kept that promise. Had the two of them talked since? Had Mrs. Cavanaugh related anything he'd said, after Elsie had left the room? Had she had to deal with more lecturing or more wrath?
He hoped not.
Besides, they'd learned their lesson, Tyb thought.
