Penelope tried again to reach the laces, stretching her arms awkwardly behind her back but the result was no better than before.
After several minutes she gave up entirely and huffed in frustration. Has her life truly become so miserable? She thought, wanting to bury herself in the ground.
"Seems like we're stuck, Eloise," She muttered regretfully to the white mare who snickered in return, tapping her hooves softly on the ground.
Penelope sighed.
Due to the situation, she would've suggested to wait until nightfall, but she knew better. It was only a matter of time before someone spotted her here. And the last string of honor she'd left would be tossed into the wind.
"If only you've got hands…" She thought out loud, and the animal lowered its head in response. Penelope attempted to reach the laces, proceeding to stretch her arms behind her back, only to hear an unsettling noise from a far distance.
Her hand which was just an inch away from tugging, paused mid-air. She froze, staring into the empty tree, her eyes wide with alertness.
W-What was that? She thought, as concern then alarm suddenly took over. Had someone found out already? But then came another thought that dwindled the entire possibility of someone arriving.
Did he return?! The thought seemed to aggravate her more than the sight of him. How dare he! What manner of man would think to return after such a contemptible encounter?!
Penelope had begun to rehearse numerous uncultured outbursts, restrained at the tip of her tongue, when a bird drove out of the forest with a painful cry that had her losing balance, landing awkwardly on the floor.
"Urgh!" Penelope groaned as the pain from the fall shot through her bones. That was when she noticed something dark draped over the trunk of a nearby tree.
She blinked. Was that…? She refused to believe it. It took her a moment to get herself together on her feet. For awhile, all Penelope did was stare, until she gathered the courage to walk closer.
Over the trunk was a black, elegant, and entirely unfamiliar coat hanging loosely, slightly tossed by the wind. Penelope stared at it, wondering who would've left such an exquisite garment recklessly, until the realization came slowly.
Could it be his? She thought out loud. Of course, it was his. He was the only one she'd literally seen here today.
For a moment Penelope simply stared at it, pride warring fiercely with practicality. Her eyes narrowed to the direction he departed from, unconsciously inspecting the area.
It wasn't until the unmistakable snap of a branch that practicality won. With a reluctant sigh, Penelope reached for the coat. The material was soft beneath her fingers—rich wool of exceptional quality, the sort only the wealthiest gentlemen possessed.
"I never claimed to be a gentleman,"
The words struck her at the back of her mind that her breath hitched. The memory flooded right at once, and fury blazed her chest.
He could be an imposter, she thought, the concept aligning with his manner: the lack of decency, the way he spoke, and the discourtesy of a proper gentleman, even though he claimed not to have been one.
She hesitated for a moment, and entirely without thinking, lifted it slightly. The faint scent that clung to the fabric surprised her. It was unmistakably masculine with clean linen, warm skin—and something deeper beneath it.
Wood smoke, cedar, and the subtle trace of bergamot, she identified. Penelope quickly lowered the coat again, startled by herself.
What are you doing?
Flushing terribly, she draped the garment across her shoulders, feigning neutrality. It was far too large for her, the sleeves falling well past her wrists, yet still, it covered her sufficiently, which was all that mattered.
With one last glance toward the quiet lake (and the memory of the most infuriating stranger she had ever encountered), Penelope turned toward Eloise. She untied the reins, mounted swiftly, and gathered the coat tighter around her shoulders.
With a deep breath, she urged her horse forward, and the forest closed behind her as she rode away. But despite her best efforts, Penelope Anderson could not quite forget the sound of that man's voice echoing across the lake.
***
It was almost five in the evening when Penelope returned to the Andersons' estate. As befitted a family of nobility, it was grand and vast to the fitting of hundreds of people, built exquisitely to the taste of aristocracy. The gardens were no less enchanting, unfolding with roses, hedges trimmed into elegant mazes and fountains that sang in soft, endless mumurs.
Tall windows stretched from floor to ceiling, their glass catching the sky in twilight lavender hues while the silk curtains moved in accord with the breeze. A few servants moved effortlessly, trying to make themselves invisible.
Thankfully, Penelope was able to avoid their eyes, and slipped inside, making her way to the sweeping stairs of white marble that led upwards, to the grand entrance. Her steps were light and careful. She'd only turned to a corner at the right side of the hallway that led to her room, tiptoeing carefully when a soft and unmistakable voice halted her footsteps.
"Penelope." It was her mother, Sophia Anderson.
Oh great.
Silently groaning, Penelope closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to gather her composure, before proceeding towards the drawing room.
Every trace of the previous encounter disappeared into thin air, faced by the approaching consequence of her dear mama.
Seated on a plush chair was a red-haired lady in her late thirties, decked out in full glory. She was dressed in a silver gown, adorned with sparkling gems and a perfectly detailed embroidery outlined carefully on every side. Her posture was flawless—She had a high cheekbone, fairly-squared shoulder, and eyes so stern yet filled with love when it rested on her daughter.
Returning her tea cup gracefully to the saucer at the near table, "I was told you retired quite early at Lady Hartwell's ball today," Here we come, she thought. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
Penelope walked fully into the room and sat opposite her mother. "It was… wonderful, mama,"
Lady Sophia studied at her daughter a moment longer. She'd grown even more accustomed to her daughter's courtesy in disguise as honesty. She took a small breath before saying, "You are aware of the effect your reputation has upon the ton, and how precariously it places you—" She began carefully.
"You need not concern yourself about my marital status already," Penelope cut in with a composed tone, yet there was an obvious firmness within. "I'm trying. Truly." Trying not to recoil from the insufferable men, she thought bitterly.
Men who are either rude, disrespectful, prideful, or similarly disgusting. Those are the ones she couldn't stand. Like Lord Bexley earlier today.
She sighed. "I did not speak of incapacity, dear," Lady Sophia responded softly, unshaken by her daughter's disinterest. "Only that you might consider setting aside your… reservations. Surely not every gentleman is as dreadful as you imagine,"
Penelope said nothing in return.
Her mother's fingers folded neatly in her lap before she continued, more gravely this time, the kind of tone that told something had gone wrong. "The magistrate called earlier today," She revealed, and her heart skipped. "He brought bad news,"