The announcement was like cold water splashed against her skin.
Penelope blinked, rigid in shock. What?! "No." The word came instantly without consideration. "Mama, no—we agreed—"
"We agreed under different circumstances," Her mother replied, interrupting before she even began. "Circumstances that have since changed."
"You said you would not involve Francesca in this," Penelope pressed, rising slightly from her seat. "She is not to be thrown into this chaos simply because—because I have not yet—"
"Because we are running out of options," Lady Sophia finished, her composure tightening. "This is not a matter of preference, Penelope. It is a necessity."
"She is not prepared," Penelope insisted. "She does not understand what this world demands—"
"And you do?" her mother countered sharply. "Because from where I stand, your understanding has yielded very little result."
The words struck harder than intended.
Penelope fell silent, her hands curling tightly in her lap. The atmosphere that was once tensed added by a hundred, making the room suffocating.
For a moment, neither spoke, struck between resolve and finality.
"Penelope…"
Then her voice softened, just slightly. "Mama… please. We promised to protect her from this. To give her time."
"And I would still wish to," Lady Sophia said, her tone gentler but unyielding. "But wishes do not settle debts. Nor do they secure futures."
Another pause ensued between them and Penelope swallowed. This couldn't be happening!
"Give me more time," she said at last, her voice lower now, edged with something close to desperation. "Please. Just a little longer."
Lady Sophia's gaze sharpened. "Time is precisely what we do not have."
"Two weeks," Penelope pressed quickly. "Two weeks, and I will secure a suitable match. I give you my word."
Lady Sophia shook her head almost immediately. "Impossible."
"One week, then," she countered firmly, unwavering under her mother's doubt.
"Penelope…"
"One week," She persisted, and her mother stilled, clearly considering her request.
Penelope hesitated for a moment as her impossible ultimatum dawned on her.
One week.
It was hardly enough, barely anything at all, but it was something, she thought to herself. She allowed herself to hope it would be put into consideration, letting the consequences weigh on her later.
After what felt like an eternity, "…Very well," Lady Sophia said finally, lifting her chin. "One week." She held her gaze, searching it for doubt, and Penelope sighed. "If, by the end of that week, you have not succeeded," She said slowly, "you will personally see to your sister's introduction—and ensure she is properly guided."
Penelope's chest tightened, but she nodded. "Fine."
"Then we understand one another," And that was it, the matter settled under the crushing weight of responsibility. Lady Sophia picked her teacup gracefully, taking another long sip that felt longer than necessary.
For a long moment, no one spoke nor moved. The silence that was once comfort turned suffocating under the weight of unspoken thoughts.
Penelope was already lost in thought, unaware of the eyes that fell on her body. "Hmm, found someone of interest?" Lady Sophia said, trying to alleviate the mood of the room.
Her attention returned to the room. It was only a matter of a few seconds before she realized the true meaning of her last sentence.
Staring at the coat, and then at her mother, Penelope opened and closed her mouth, unable to utter a word. "I-It's from… Lord Philip," She blurted, and the weight of the lie weighed heavily on her shoulders. "He was kind enough to offer me his coat as I began to show symptoms,"
Lord Philip? The name sounded odd in her thought. Of all people, it had to be the highest of all?
Lady Sophia suddenly became concerned instead of interested, leaning away from the backrest. "Are you alright? Should I call on the physician?"
"I'm fine, mama." Penelope immediately shrugged off. "I simply need rest. I'd like to return to my chambers,"
Lady Sophia's face fell. She was about to protest, but the look in her daughter's eyes made her swallow her words. "Yes, yes," She said, and looked at her with a pleading gaze. "Call for me if you need anything,"
Penelope said nothing in return. And as she rose to leave, the weight of that single week pressed heavily upon her shoulders—far heavier than any expectation the ton could ever place upon her.
***
The moment the door closed, Penelope leaned on the surface, hands behind the door as she held the knob. For a long while, she let the silence of her room seal her mind, until the very weight she'd been avoiding pressed down on her shoulders.
A long deep shuddering breath followed suit.
The room was spacious, fitted to the exact taste of a lady. Windows at the far end, a small bed at the corner, her vanity at another, and a small study desk opposite the mattress where she gathered her thoughts, duty, and mind together.
With a soft sigh, Penelope walked into her room. She pulled off her shoes, tossing them at a corner, before getting rid of the coat around her shoulders.
The image of the stranger flooded her mind at once, and a sharp gasp escaped her lips. She had been naked with a man beneath the lake!
Penelope's face warmed in embarrassment. The memory surfaced unbidden in her mind, from the look in his eyes to those rough damp hair dripping over his red lips, sliding gracefully down towards his perfectly sculptured abs and biceps.
If perfection were in human form, Penelope would have crowned him. His infuriating calmness, well-spoken, dangerously attractive, beguiled her in ways she wasn't supposed to. But when he opened his mouth to speak, whatever she'd felt burned to ashes. She was left with a deep burning urge to shut him forever.
Why did the most captivating people happen to have the worst character?
The moment she got rid of the coat, the evening air bit into her skin, and she grimaced, slightly shivering.
"Achoo!" She sneezed, rubbing her nose gently. It seems like I must've caught a cold, she thought, placing the coat securely around a corner.
Now Penelope thought of it, she wondered if she would ever see him again to return his coat. He definitely must've forgotten it behind.
Perhaps she could return them tomorrow before dawn, she thought, dreading a second encounter. It was the best. She'd simply return it and leave right after.
But Penelope was rather struck with the image of his upper body dripping wet, and her breath hitched. No, she thought. It'll be better to let it be. Considering a man of such wealth, she doubted a single coat would mean anything to him.
Penelope was drawn to the masculine scent, and subconsciously brought it to her nose. A strong intoxicating scent of wood smoke and clean linen hit her senses, and her eyes closed instinctively.
The scent was unmistakably masculine—rich, warm, and quietly intoxicating.
A knock sounded, sharper though cautious than intended, breaking the silence of the room. "Miss?" came a familiar voice from the other side of the door. "May I enter?"
Penelope startled, nearly dropping the coat as though it had burned her fingers, pulling herself from her thoughts. "Yes—come in," she called, perhaps a touch too quickly.
The door creaked open and her handmaiden, Mary, slipped inside with a quiet efficiency. Her gaze swept the room once, taking in the discarded shoes, the half-undressed state, and then, inevitably, the coat.
She paused, and Penelope froze. Of course she did. Her fingers curled tightly against the material, eyes suspended like a thief caught, and her face slightly red.
"Um—I can come back later if you wish me to," She suggested, sensing the obvious need for privacy.
Penelope immediately shook her head. "No, Mary. I do need you,"
The young lady nodded at once, stepping into the room fully, carefully shutting the door behind her. "Is everything alright, miss?"
"I was informed the magistrate came earlier today," Penelope turned away at once, as though the coat no longer existed, successfully shifting the mood of the atmosphere with a denser topic.
"Yes, miss. He did. A-And some others as well," She added, unsure whether or not to proceed.
The debt collectors, she thought. "Mm—Achoo!" Penelope sneezed, rubbing her nose gently. It burned from the cold and stung almost all the same.
Worried, Mary rushed towards her. "Miss, are you sick? Should I fetch the physician right away?" She probed questions in the desperate urgency of someone long accustomed to slight symptoms such as this.
"No, you worry too much. I'm fine. I simply caught a—Achoo!—slight fever," She sniffed.
Mary grew even more concerned. "Miss…"
"I'm fine, Mary. It's just cold,"
Finally, the young maid sighed in defeat. But that didn't eliminate the worry in her expression, nor her tone. "Then I shall draw your bath immediately, and fetch more logs to the hearth. It might be rainy tonight,"
Penelope nodded and smiled. "That would be wonderful," The young maid bowed, turning to leave. "Mary?"
At the call, she halted in her tracks at once. "Yes, miss?"
"Inform Mr. Barnes to prepare the carriage for tomorrow morning," She said, her tone regaining its usual composure.
Mary blinked once, mildly surprised by the immediacy. "Yes, miss. Shall I ask where you will be heading?"
Penelope hesitated for the briefest moment, just long enough for the memory to settle properly in her mind.
Lord Philip, she thought, and grimaced slightly. Among her other lists of potential prospects, he was among the top three. Dull, predictable, and painfully proper. A man whose greatest virtue was his suitability, and whose greatest flaw was precisely the same.
She did not like him, but liking him was no longer a requirement.
Wealthy? Check. Good looking? Check. Manner? Check. Single? Unchecked.
He had been married to Lady Fiona Cartewell without a child for three years. Rumors had it that his wife suffered infertility, making it difficult to bear children. With such a case as that prompted his search for a mistress to secure the future of his name.
They had conversed twice. One, at the start of the season, a ball hosted by Lady Bryanna. Secondly, during Lady Hartwell's ball earlier today. He was the gentleman who saved her the embarrassment of Lord Bexley.
They waltzed till the music ended, exchanging a few words while it lasted. Simple questions that guided their conversation were beneficial. He was in search of a mistress, and she, a husband.
A mutually beneficial pair.
Although he wasn't the ideal one for her, Penelope couldn't help but be intrigued by him. He was kind and gentle, although a part of her couldn't shake off the mystery he hid behind a smile.
She never imagined his interest until he had invited her over for tea tomorrow afternoon, at his family estate. That meant interest, did it not? Interest meant opportunity. And opportunity, at this point, was all she needed.
"We will be visiting the Ashbourne estate," she said at last, steady and deliberate. "Lord Philip expects me."
Elise's brows lifted, only slightly. "I see."
Penelope did not miss it.
As much as she hated the very thought of it, this was no longer a matter of preference. Or comfort. Or even pride.
This was a necessity.
She had just one week. One week to make a man bend his knees or stand— whatever deems fit— and propose to her. One week to get herself together and become a lady the ton expects. One week—and probably eternity—to transform into someone she wasn't.
Her jaw tightened faintly. "I trust everything will be arranged without delay," she added.
"Of course, miss."
Mary gave a small curtsy before moving to carry out the instruction, leaving Penelope under the crushing weight of what tomorrow would bring.