The night morning moved as planned, the sun bathing the estate in its glorious glow. Penelope woke to the sound of the early birds' melodious chirping, and the unmistakable footsteps of servants as they walked in.
"Milady," Mary called, and Penelope made a small sleepy sound. "We've come to prepare you for the day, as requested,"
Her eyes shot open, and every trace of sleepiness vanished into thin air. Today, she thought, and instinctively, the weight of what today held surfaced at the back of her mind, as well as last night's conversation.
With that as a concrete motive, Penelope rose from the bed and nodded immediately afterward, a sign they could proceed. At once, practical movement occupied the room.
She narrowed her gaze towards the open curtains when the servants began their duties. The sun slipped into the chamber, its rays glinting in every corner, brightening the room at once.
For a moment, all she did was stare, knowing fully well the arc her life had taken from this moment.
"Miss," Penelope turned to the worried gaze of Mary. One could tell her concern for their mistress, as well as the distress written all over her face.
She offered a small smile that didn't make it past her eyes. "I'm fine, Mary. Last night's tea helped truly," She said.
The young maid nodded, though one would notice the uncertainty in that small gesture. "Your carriage ride is ready, and your bath has been drawn. I made sure to prepare your wardrobe, every finest gown and jewelry of the season as well,"
Penelope nodded, grateful for her assistance. "Thank you, Mary."
If beauty and gift were the catch of the season, then she might as well use both in her favour. Because if she were to be hunted… she may as well become the most irresistible prey in all of society.
Penelope took a deep breath. Today is when her hunt began.
And somewhere, far beyond the walls of the Anderson estate, deep within the quiet stretch of forest, a certain man rode on, entirely unaware that he had just become part of a game Penelope Anderson had every intention of winning.
***
They arrived at the Ashbourne estate.
Penelope got down from the carriage with the help of her footman, stepping gracefully on the gravel entrance. She straightened the small crease of her gown and looked upon the vast estate before her.
It was magnificent.
The Ashbourne Estate rose before her in quiet, imposing grandeur—less ostentatious than her own home, yet far more deliberate in its design. Tall columns framed the entrance, their pale stone warmed by the morning sun, while ivy crept along the edges.
Penelope also had chosen her armor with care.
Her gown was of soft ivory silk, the fabric so fine it seemed to catch the light with every movement, shifting between pearl and cream like something alive. The bodice was cut modestly—high enough to satisfy propriety—yet tailored with such precision that it traced the natural lines of her figure. Tiny seed pearls had been embroidered along the neckline and sleeves, subtle enough to avoid ostentation, yet deliberate enough to command attention upon closer inspection.
Her waist was drawn in neatly, the skirt falling in graceful, uninterrupted layers that whispered faintly as she moved. There weren't excessive frills, no gaudy embellishments, but quiet elegance in her gown.
Her hair, that wild cascade of red, was swept up into a loose, intricate arrangement at the back of her head, secured with delicate pins, while a few intentional strands framed her face, softening the sharpness of her features. It gave her an air of effortlessness that was anything but accidental.
A pair of pale gloves embraced her hands, and around her throat rested a simple gold chain that was enough to draw the eye without distracting from her face.
She looked every inch the lady the ton demanded. And yet, there was something sharper beneath it all. Something deliberate and dangerous.
At the foot of the carriage, Penelope paused.
The towering presence of the Ashbourne estate loomed ahead, its doors already open in quiet anticipation. For a moment, the world seemed to still around her, from the distant rustle of leaves, the faint call of birds, and the soft shift of gravel beneath her slippers.
One week. That was all she could think of.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides and Penelope drew in a slow, steady breath. The air filled her lungs, thankfully grounding her in place. When she exhaled, her shoulders straightened, and her chin lifted, just enough to tell her class.
Those restless eyes, once burdened, hardened into something resolute.
It was a mission.
And with that, she stepped forward. The gravel beneath her slippers crunched softly as she advanced, each step measured, each breath carefully controlled.
This is it.
The doors opened wider as she approached, and a tall, composed man in formal livery stepped forward to receive her.
"Miss Anderson," he greeted with a respectful bow. "Welcome. I am Mr. Hawthorne, the butler. His Lordship will join you shortly."
Of course he will.
Penelope inclined her head, offering a composed smile as she stepped inside. The interior was cool and dim after the brightness of the outdoors, scented faintly with polished wood and something subtler—citrus, perhaps, or bergamot.
Her stomach twisted.
Bergamot.
For the briefest moment, her mind betrayed her, as the image of the encounter yesterday surfaced in the back of her mind.
Could it be…?
A new profound dread washed over her at the treacherous thought. There was absolutely no way, she thought, and her fingers tightened imperceptibly around her reticule.
Focus.
He gestured for her to follow, leading her through a series of quiet, impeccably maintained corridors before arriving at a drawing room.
He opened the door and stepped aside. "If you require anything else, do let me know,"
"Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne."
With another bow, he withdrew, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Penelope alone in the elegant room.