"This is ridiculous!"
Penelope rose to her feet as well. "The society seeks ways to sully one's reputation from fragile whisper to hot gossip," She reassured, attempting to soften the mood in the room. "There's no appearance without rumors,"
"Rumors that affect your prestige to date aren't just an ordinary rumor, Pen," Francesca reasoned. "You would have written to me, informed me about it,"
"I know," she agreed. "However, I didn't find it practical to burden you with unnecessary topics, Francesca. Precisely with rumors, as they have very little effect on me."
Francesca huffed. "Clearly," She retorted, sarcasm rich in her tone. "And here I was thinking you barely had any interest in courtship,"
She still did, but obviously, Penelope couldn't say that out loud.
"Oh Pen," Francesca walked towards her and wrapped her arms around her. Penelope stilled for a moment, melting into the warm embrace sealed in rich honey.
For a moment, both sisters remained unmoving, words shared without speaking, and comfort buried in their arms. The world suddenly went quiet around them, just shared breaths and different thoughts.
Francesca was the first to break the contact, slowly pulling away. She searched those brown eyes with concern, "How are you feeling? Do you need me to—"
"I'm fine, Francesca. Truly, I am," Penelope interrupted softly. "It's all in the past now,"
The young lady searched her eyes for a hint of a lie. But even as she did, she knew that deep down, her sister was far from being just "fine".
So, she hesitated again before speaking. "Mama spoke to me earlier," She admitted softly.
Penelope went still. "What did she say?"
"That… things may change," Francesca replied with a voice carefully measured. "And that I may have to… participate more this season."
The words were gentle, very gentle, but the meaning behind them was not. It never was.
Penelope's jaw tightened.
"I told her I didn't mind," Francesca added quickly. "If it helps—"
"No." The word came sharper than intended.
Francesca startled slightly at the tone, eyes widened in confusion and surprise.
Penelope exhaled, forcing herself to steady. "You will not be used as a solution," She said, quieter now, but far more dangerous in its certainty. "Especially on my accord,"
"Penelope—"
"I mean it."
Silence stretched between them after that, long enough to drag in a breath and maintain a stare.
Francesca's gaze softened, though worry lingered beneath it. "You're trying to fix everything on your own again," She said gently.
Penelope didn't deny it. Because it was true. "Someone has to," she replied.
Francesca shook her head faintly. "You don't always have to be the strong one."
A bitter smile touched Penelope's lips. "In this family? I do."
There was another pause.
Understanding flickered in Francesca's eyes, but it didn't eliminate the worry in them. Then, softer now, "Is he kind?" she asked.
Penelope blinked at the sudden question.
"Lord Ashbourne," Francesca clarified.
Kind.
Her mind flickered back to him. Penelope thought of his composure, his precision, his careful words, and his reasonable demands. Kind was the word for it.
"Yes," she said at last. And then, after a beat, "Which makes him dangerous." She added.
Francesca frowned slightly. "I thought dangerous men were the unkind ones."
"No," Penelope murmured, her gaze drifting toward the window. "Those are the easy ones to see coming," Her fingers curled faintly at her sides.
Then she turned with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It is the reasonable ones who ask for everything… and make you believe you agreed to it."
A heavy and thoughtful silence followed.
Francesca stepped closer, gently slipping her arm through Penelope's. "Then don't let him take everything," she said simply.
Penelope's throat tightened. If only it were that simple.
She rested her head briefly against her sister's, closing her eyes for just a moment. "I love you, Fran. Don't ever forget it," She whispered, her tone coming soft, and a tinge of regret that didn't go quite unnoticed in the young lady's ears.
Francesca didn't understand the sudden tone meant for departure but she stayed anyway. "I love you too, Pen."
And for that brief, fragile moment, Penelope allowed herself to breathe. To gather a breath fully, against all odds. Because tomorrow, the hunt would continue, and this time, she would not only be choosing a man, she would be choosing the cost she was willing to pay.
That night, the rain came. It was soft at first, and then steady.
Penelope stood by the window, watching droplets trace paths down the glass, her thoughts quieter but sharper now. It hadn't been up to a minute when Francesa left, retiring to her own chambers after much convincing.
They had spent the entire day talking about little things and interesting conversations, regarding her tour in France. From the food, to the library, the people, and their accent, Penelope realized that indeed, it deserved all the accolades.
Francesca was only eight when she was taken to live with their aunt after the passing of their father. The situation was as earnest as it looked, which her mama believed was too hard on someone of her age. Penelope was barely sixteen then, but it was enough for her to understand and deal with such gravity more than little Francesca who would cry very often.
And by then, the news about her father's mounting debts became another weight to carry, coupled with the rumors that sullied her name. It was a tragedy that season, one which Francesca barely had any knowledge about.
When she returned at seventeen, it was an effort to keep her away from the dark. Francesca grew into a fine lady, liked by all, and still ignorant of their family's issue. Since she had been eager to travel to France, both she and her mama found it as an opportunity to protect her from the tragedy. And with the little they had, Francesa was sent off, unaware that the reason behind such a sudden departure was to protect her from the truth.
Penelope sighed, rubbing her arms as she stared blankly at the window, lost in thought. Now she had returned, the weight of such a revelation was like a cross on her shoulder. It wouldn't be long before she uncovered the truth, and she was aware. Francesca was a smart woman. And it was precisely what bothered her.