By the time the lessons concluded, Penelope's patience was exhausted entirely, but not because of Franceca. The girl had spent the afternoon stumbling through dance steps, laughing through corrections, and arguing over the merits of ribbon colours. Somehow, despite everything, she managed to fill the house with a warmth that had been absent for weeks.
It was everyone else who exhausted her: the stares, the whispers, the careful silence whenever she entered a room, and pity. Most of all, the pity. She couldn't stand it. By evening, she found herself retreating upstairs without a word.
The corridors were quiet as she walked past, allowing the silence to clear her heavy mind. The household settled into its usual rhythms with dinner preparations and servants moving discreetly through hallways. There was a distant ticking of the grandfather clock below, echoing loudly in the silent corridor. For the first time all day, she was alone.
