The sun was bright against the morning sky, spilling gold across the Anderson estate as servants hurried through hallways with unusual urgency.
Finally, the day had arrived. For weeks, every conversation, every lesson, every sacrifice had pointed toward this single evening belonging to the Norwood's Ball.
Francesca's first debut.
Penelope stood by her bedchamber window, watching the gardens below as maids moved between the house and carriage yard carrying parcels, hatboxes, and flowers.
Everything appeared almost normal, and somehow that unsettled her. Outside, the estate was already awake that she could hear the distant rumble of carriage wheels upon the road, servants moving through corridors, doors opening and closing somewhere below, and the faint sounds of activity carried upward through the house.
The Anderson residence had felt unusually alive since dawn. Almost festive. Almost hopeful.
