Due to the previous stain in her reputation, securing a husband of suitable rank was as tedious as attempting to get rid of a crimson mark from the finest white satin. And worse, the pressure of the season was like a collar on her neck.
Suitable men of various ranks and qualifications were listed on the marriage mart for hungry mamas, who would push the youngest of their daughters into the hands of wealth, power, and fame. Cases such as that weren't considered "new" in the eyes of society, as they were vying for the attention of prospects.
This season was no less different from any others, but for the unfortunate fact that well-connected suitors were over the age of fifty.
The younger ones on the other hand, were besieged under the dilemmas of unrelenting debutantes, putting Penelope on the edge of an unsuccessful debut.
Years ago, such neglect would've been a blessing to her. Freedom, even. But this year was different. The fate of her family's upliftment drew curtains at the closing of the season, casting her into the promontories of old, proud men in society.
And today happened to be one of those days. Grunting, Penelope scrubbed her arms quickly, the earlier ease disappeared into thin air. "Such… irritating… pervert!" She yelled her frustration into the air, splashing water on her skin as if it might wash away the memory itself.
Her mind, much to her displeasure, drifted back to the encounter at Lady Hartwell's ball earlier that afternoon.
Lord Percival Bexley, a man well past sixty who smelled faintly of brandy and lavender oil, had cornered her near the refreshments table. Penelope recalled the manner in which he convened with the exaggerated charm of a man who believed his fortune alone made him irresistible.
Or perhaps, that was what made him eligible for her. Among her lists of possible prospects, Lord Percival Bexley's son, Gregory Bexley, was her target of matchmaking.
Penelope had carefully outlined a list of bearable pinpricks she could survive with throughout her existence, and Lord Gregory happened to fit in only slightly. However, life being a pain in one's arse, he conveyed his father's words instead, whose gaze had lingered far too long, and compliments growing bolder with each passing moment.
At first, Penelope had endured it with the practiced politeness expected of a lady of the ton. But when his gloved hand had settled rather too comfortably at the small of her back, guiding her toward the dance floor without so much as asking… well… that had been the moment her patience had abandoned her entirely.
"Well," Penelope said through a tight smile, attempting to pry herself from his grasp with as much dignity as possible. "I fear you mistake me for someone considerably more desperate than I am, my lord,"
Lord Bexley, however, merely chuckled. It was a slow, unpleasant sound that seemed to rumble deep in his chest and slightly reddened his face.
"Nonsense, Miss Anderson," He replied, tightening his hold just enough to make his intention unmistakable. Penelope grimaced scarcely, modeling a forced smile immediately as soon as eyes prayed towards her direction. "A lady in your position ought to welcome a gentleman's interest,"
Her position.
The words had stung far more than his touch that Penelope felt the urge to step her heels on his polished shoe. She restrained herself from the embarrassment of apologizing, and not being able to replace it with another. Instead, she swallowed the dilemma of such misfortune.
Around them, the ballroom glittered with music and laughter. Ladies twirled gracefully beneath chandeliers, fans fluttering like wings while mothers watched the dance floor with calculating eyes. Yet Penelope felt curiously alone within the spectacle, as though every pair of eyes already knew the bargain being silently offered.
One of a disgraced girl and an aging lord. A convenient arrangement. The thought of it heaved her stomach.
"Your concern is most generous," Penelope said coolly, finally managing to remove his hand under the pretense of adjusting her gloves. "But I assure you, my welfare requires no such urgent rescue,"
His smile faltered then. Only slightly did the corners of his mouth stiffen as if unused to resistance.
Penelope almost chortled at the fleeting expression, but felt a wave of disgust instead when he leaned closer than propriety allowed. "You may find, Miss Anderson, that opportunities such as mine do not present themselves twice," He murmured regrettably, as though offering a piece of salvation to an unredeemer. "I could not help but observe you across the room, and it'll be a most lamentable affair if you were to return home this evening with your dance cards untouched, not a single gentleman inspired to call on you, so you may continue your… scandalous pilgrimage to the pants of lower class,"
The mockery of his words was sharper than a needle pricking her skin. Hot fury blazed within her chest, creating a cacophony of outbursts restrained firmly at the tip of her tongue.
Penelope had held his gaze instead, her chin lifting with quiet defiance. "Then it appears I must learn to survive the disappointment," It was an effort to keep from punching his jaw so close to her face.
The music swelled just then, saving her from further conversation as another gentleman stepped forward to claim the dance. Penelope escaped with a polite curtsy, though she could still feel Lord Bexley's displeased stare burning into her back as she retreated.
Now, standing waist-deep in the quiet lake, Penelope groaned softly and dragged both hands down her face.
"Survive the disappointment," She muttered bitterly, recalling her earlier retort. "What a thoroughly ridiculous thing to say."
The water rippled around her as she sank slightly lower, the coolness doing little to quiet the frustration simmering beneath her skin.
If this was to be her fate for the remainder of the Season, dodging wandering hands and enduring the attentions of men old enough to be her grandfather, then heaven itself would need to grant her an extraordinary measure of patience. Or, she thought darkly, a very convenient miracle.
This is going to be a long season, she thought, sighing after.
Just when Penelope gave in to the auspicious reprieve of the lake, a sound broke the stillness.
It was faint yet unmistakable, carrying the sharp crunch of twigs beneath careless feet, thoroughly betraying someone's presence among the trees. At that moment, the serenity of the afternoon was shattered at once.
Pale, Penelope whipped her head behind and straightened at once, as her heart gave into a startled leap within her chest. "Who's there?" She demanded. Her voice came out steadier than she felt, though it carried the weight of an unmistakable urgency.
For a moment, the shadows offered no reply but the restless whisper of leaves stirred by the breeze, yet Penelope could not shake the unmistakable sense that she was no longer alone.