Penelope went still. The words settled slowly, like cold water seeping into her bones. It had taken her completely off guard, and for a fleeting moment, her expression faltered.
Confirm himself?
"I would, of course, arrange for a physician," he added, as though that softened the demand. "It'll be a discreet examination."
She felt disgusted, but she forced a neutral expression at once. Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of her gown. So this is it, she thought. The cost. A cold, clinical, invasive proof.
A strange mixture of relief and dread settled within her. Relief that he had not meant something more immediate… more dishonorable. And dread at the reality of what he had meant.
Penelope had heard of a method used to verify the fertility of women. An examination, it's known, for puncturing and extracting… the lower part.
Rumor has it that it was a painful experience, something similar to childbirth. Penelope never imagined herself in such a state, and now she did, a cold shiver ran down her spine.
"I—" She began, unsure of what to say.
For the first time since entering that room, Penelope felt something close to uncertainty claw at her resolve.
Was this how desperate she was? How unreasonable she'd let herself become? Was this how she'll stoop so low to belittle herself?
"I understand you'll require time to consider this carefully before accepting my only condition. It is not a request I make lightly," he made sure to emphasise the "only", and Penelope inhaled a breath. "I am a gentleman. I respect privacy as much as choice,"
Choice.
The word echoed in her mind but it did not feel like one. Penelope knew she should feel grateful, but all she felt was a bird caged in its nest, with a collar knotted around her throat. She was placed under the scrutiny of reality, and the warmth of illusion—save for if she disagrees.
Because behind that choice stood a deadline— her sister, a family teetering on collapse, and a future narrowing with every passing day. Would she give that up for selfish reasons?
Penelope drew in a slow breath, steadying herself. When she lifted her gaze again, there was something different in it. It wasn't hesitation and not quite acceptance as well. But clarity.
"You ask for certainty," She said quietly.
"I do."
"And if I refuse?"
His expression did not change, but something about his tone carried a formal disappointment. "Then we part on agreeable terms—and I wish you success elsewhere."
The words landed like a hard blow. There was no cruelty nor coercion, but a cold and immovable truth that seemed even sharper than viciousness.
Penelope's chest tightened.
A week. One week to secure everything, and already, the cost had begun to reveal itself.
She lowered her gaze briefly, her thoughts racing—not wildly this time, but sharp and methodical. Wealth, security, and protection, in exchange for a measured, tested, and proven dignity.
Oh heavens.
Her fingers loosened slowly, a grounding breath following suit. Suddenly she lost her appetite, and the food she had eaten this morning made her stomach heave.
Finally, Penelope looked up. "I will consider it," She said at last, her voice calm once more, though quieter than before.
Lord Ashbourne inclined his head slightly. "That is all I ask."
Silence followed again, though it felt different now in a way that settled as though something had shifted into place.
Penelope rose gracefully from her seat. "I believe I have taken enough of your time, my lord."
He stood as well. "On the contrary, Miss Anderson. I find our discussion… most productive."
Of course he did.
Penelope offered a polite smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes. "Likewise,"
***
The moment their carriage pulled away from Ashbourne's estate, Penelope released a long shuddering sigh.
It left her all at once—every ounce of composure she had so carefully stitched together unraveling in the privacy of the carriage. Her shoulders slumped, her gloved hands falling limply into her lap as the rhythmic clatter of wheels against gravel filled the silence.
Mary, seated opposite her, hesitated before finally speaking. "Miss…?" she ventured cautiously.
Penelope did not answer immediately. She turned her head instead, gaze drifting toward the window where the grand estate slowly disappeared behind iron gates and winding trees. It looked smaller from a distance, less imposing.
Less suffocating.
"I did it," She said at last, though her voice lacked triumph. "I placed everything on the table, and offered my terms as well,"
Well clearly, not all, but the most important ones.
Mary's brows drew together. "And…?"
Penelope let out a quiet, humorless breath, fingers fiddling with themselves. It was a habit she'd grown accustomed to when tensed, which the young maid could tell from her mistress. "And he placed something of his own."
The maid shifted uneasily, knowing without needing to be told. "Was he unkind?"
"No," Penelope replied instantly, and that, somehow, made it worse. Her fingers tightened faintly. "He was perfectly reasonable." As expected of someone who was being dragged into her own chaos, she thought.
Mary said nothing, though her concern deepened.
Reasonable. The word echoed bitterly in Penelope's mind. Perhaps that's what she needed to be, too.
It was a fair bargain. A logical condition. A measured man asking for certainty in a world that had denied him control over something as fundamental as legacy.
There was nothing monstrous about it, and yet, her stomach twisted.
"Miss… you look pale," Mary said softly. "Shall I fetch water?"
"No." Penelope shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. "I only need… a moment."
Mary nodded at once.
But moments, she was beginning to realize, were a luxury she could no longer afford. One week, now reduced further, and all Penelope had left was merely six days.
By the time they arrived back at the Anderson estate, the sky had begun to shift—clouds gathering slowly, swallowing the earlier warmth of the day.
Penelope stepped down from the carriage without waiting for assistance this time, her movements more abrupt than usual. The gravel crunched sharply beneath her slippers as she made her way inside.
"Miss Anderson—" a servant began.
"I am not to be disturbed," she said, her tone barely unkindly, but firmly enough to silence any further attempts.
She needed to think.
The servant understood such a demand and stepped back instinctively. The others did so as well, quickly understanding the mood of the day, heads bowed as they watched their older miss walk by.
Mary trailed behind her like a shadow, keeping at least three steps behind, her footsteps careful as a whisper. Yet still, no matter how much she tried to keep pace with her mistress, she was two times faster.
It was only when they arrived at her chamber that she finally halted. "I shall require a moment of respite," Penelope requested, and the young maid's eyes lifted just slightly. "Inform the others that I wouldn't be needing any assistance today. And if my mother raises a question, do inform her I've retired quite early,"
Mary nodded at once, concerned. "Yes, miss. Would you like me to prepare your bath at once?"
"That wouldn't be necessary," She dismissed, and the young maid retreated with a courtesy.