The ride back to the estate was quiet.
It wasn't the comfortable sort of quiet that occasionally settled between sisters who had spent enough years together to not need constant conversation, but the strained kind that seemed to fill every corner of the carriage.
Penelope sat with her hands folded neatly over her reticule, her gaze fixed upon the passing streets beyond the carriage window.
She could still feel the sting in her palm.
She slapped him. Actually slapped him.
The realization returned every few minutes, usually followed by the image of Gregory's stunned expression.
For a brief moment, she allowed herself to wonder whether she had been too impulsive, but then she remembered what he had said.
He deserved it.
Across from her, Francesca remained unusually quiet. Penelope could feel her sister's gaze now and then, though whenever she turned to look, Francesca would suddenly become interested in something outside the window.
