Her chamber door shut behind her with a quiet click, and this time, she did not lean against it.
Penelope moved back and forth, obviously restless. Her hands pulled at her gloves until they slipped free, discarded somewhere unseen. The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing inward with every thought that circled her mind.
The conversation with Lord Philip settled on her shoulders like a rock against her bones. A discreet examination, she recalled, and her breath hitched faintly.
It wasn't the request alone that terrified her, but what it represented. Control. Ownership. Reduction. A future decided not by who she was… but by what she could produce.
The thought coiled tightly in Penelope's chest, pressing and pressing until she could scarcely draw breath. She turned sharply, pacing the length of her chamber as though movement alone could outrun the weight of it.
One week.
Six days now, she thought, and already the price had begun to reveal itself in ways she had not fully prepared for.
Her fingers trembled faintly as she pressed them against her lips, steadying herself. "This is a necessity," she whispered aloud, as though saying it enough times would make it easier to believe. "You can do this."
But the room did not answer, and that felt like an obvious lie she knew her sanity wouldn't bear enough to make it through.
Instead, a soft knock broke the silence and Penelope stilled. Didn't she make it clear she wanted to be left alone?
"Pen?" came the voice, gentle and hesitant from the other side. "Are you awake?"
Francesca.
Of course. Penelope closed her eyes briefly, exhaling once before composing herself. "Come in."
The door creaked open slowly, and Francesca slipped inside.
Where Penelope carried sharpness, Francesca was softness incarnate. Her dark brown hair fell loosely over her shoulders, her gown simpler, untouched by the calculated precision Penelope now wore like armor. She looked like a replica of their father.
There was a quiet innocence about her still, one that had not yet been worn down by society's demands, and that, more than anything, made Penelope's chest tighten.
Francesca shut the door behind her, watching her sister carefully. "Mary said you wished to be alone," She said softly. "So I thought… perhaps you didn't mean alone from me."
Penelope tried to smile. It didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course not," she replied, her voice gentler now. "Come here."
Francesca approached, her gaze scanning Penelope's face with quiet concern. "You look unwell," she murmured. "Did the visit go poorly?"
Penelope let out a quiet breath that almost resembled a laugh. "No," She said after a moment. "That is the problem. It went… exactly as expected."
Francesca frowned slightly. "I don't understand."
You will, Penelope thought, and the realization alone made her stomach twist.
She reached out, taking Francesca's hands in hers, holding them perhaps a little too tightly. "You must trust me," She said suddenly.
Francesca blinked, startled. "Penelope—"
"No matter what happens, no matter what Mama says, or what anyone suggests—you must not agree to anything. Do you understand me?" She continued, her voice low but firm enough to understand its gravity.
Confusion deepened in Francesca's expression as she frowned. "Agree to what?"
Penelope hesitated.
For a moment—just a moment—she considered telling her everything. From the debts, to the condition, and the bargain being carved piece by piece around their lives.
It was a decision she and her mama took; to keep Francesca away from the mishap of their family's predicament. The world was an unhealthy place, and the chastity in those blue eyes was something that didn't deserve to be stained.
Penelope was so close, the truth at the tip of her tongue, but then she looked at her sister, and all she could see was the softness still untouched, and at the innocence that had not yet been forced into decisions like hers.
And she couldn't.
So instead, she softened her grip, brushing her thumb gently across Francesca's knuckles. "Just promise me."
Francesca searched her face for a long moment, as though trying to piece together what had been left unsaid. But no matter how much she tried, her sister had always been so good at masking her emotions.
"When are you ever going to keep me away from the dark?" She questioned instead. "You and Mama hide things away from me like I am a total stranger,"
Penelope shook her head instantly, eyes flashing in disbelief for the briefest second. She tightened her grip, a silent sign for comfort. "You're far from being a stranger, Fran. Don't you ever welcome such a thought,"
"Then tell me what's going on," She pressed on. "Tell me why I feel there's so much happening that I have little to no idea what it is."
Penelope went speechless. For a moment, all she did was stare at those eyes that demanded honesty and explanation, something she couldn't grant.
Her heart sank.
She wanted to. She yearned to. She wished to. But sometimes, some things were better left unsaid.
"Fine," she said at last, and the young woman's eyes brightened at once. "But first, you'll have to promise me,"
Francesca didn't know what she was to promise about, but regardless, she nodded. If that was what it took to make her sister talk. Then, quietly, "I promise."
Relief came, sharp and immediate, but it did not last. Because promises, Penelope knew, were fragile things, especially in a world like theirs.
She took in a deep breath. "There have been… rumors circulating the ton, concerning my unsuccessful debut for the past seasons," She started, eyes fixed on those concentrated ones. "And this rumor has affected my chances of securing a husband, as you know,"
Francesca furrowed her brows at the knowledge. "What rumors?"
As much as she frowned on this particular conversation, Penelope knew she needed to gain her trust with the truth. It was all she could think of. It was something she deserved to know as well. "My virtue being sullied," by the pants of the lower class, she completed the rest in her mind.
Shock ran across her face. "What?!" She shrieked. "How—when did this happen?"
"For a while now," Penelope responded, feigning neutrality at her outburst. "You need not worry yourself. It has happened, and I'm totally fine,"
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
"Franscesa…" Penelope tried to talk her through.
She huffed, rising to her feet, clearly enraged. "Does mama know? Is she aware?"
Penelope nodded, her movement slow but deliberate. "Yes, Fran. Mother is aware," How could she not be when that one rumor dragged down what little dignity was left of the Andersons.