By the third day, dancing lessons began. The music room echoed with piano melodies as Penelope guided her sister through the complicated patterns expected at London assemblies. It was chaotic at first, then unbearable next.
"No, no," Penelope called.
Francesca groaned dramatically. "I stepped correctly."
"You stepped on my foot."
"Only once."
Penelope countered, saying, "Three times."
"That cannot be proven," She argued, following her lead in a circle.
"It can. I counted."
"You counted?"
"I had little choice when my toes were being assaulted," Penelope deadpanned.
Francesca's offended gasp filled the music room. "You exaggerate terribly."
"And you dance terribly."
"Penelope!"
For the first time in days, perhaps weeks, a genuine smile threatened the corner of Penelope's mouth.
Francesca immediately pointed. "There. I saw that."
Feigning ignorance, "Saw what?" She questioned.
"You nearly smiled."
"I did no such thing," She denied.
"You did."
