Penelope steadied herself. No, she thought. She would endure this. She must.
Mrs. Whitcombe seemed to notice the tension in her rigid posture, as her voice gentled further. "I understand this is uncomfortable."
The latter nearly made Penelope laugh. She would have, had it not been an extremely difficult position she was in. Instead, she asked quietly, "How many ladies have sat where I am now?"
The older woman hesitated before saying, "More than there should have been," she admitted softly.
Something painful twisted in Penelope's chest at that. Because suddenly this practice no longer felt singular, or rare. It was only hidden and silenced away from the world, although still practiced thoroughly.
A knock sounded shortly after. "Proceed," Mrs. Whitcombe called.
Doctor Hale entered alone. It appeared that Lord Philip did not, and Penelope hated herself for noticing.
