A deep awkward silence fell at once in the room.
Lady Whitmore's eyes narrowed, obviously still bitter toward the Anderson girl's insult. "Perhaps the Queen intends some charitable gesture," she said sweetly. "She has always had a taste for… peculiar causes."
Mary's eyes widened in outrage, and Penelope's smile only deepened. "How generous of you to think so highly of the Queen's benevolence."
Lady Whitmore shifted uncomfortably, and Celia folded her arms. "Or perhaps the invitation was sent merely to increase attendance. A masquerade requires numbers, after all."
Penelope looked at her for a long moment. If witches did exist, the Miss was the little devil in human form. "Then I suppose we are all equally necessary," She crooned.
The barb landed cleanly as Celia's cheeks flushed.
Lady Whitmore stepped forward, lowering her voice. "One should be careful not to mistake an invitation for elevation, Miss Anderson."
Ah. There it was, she thought. A threat was finally made obvious.
Penelope held her gaze steadily despite the threatening gaze. "Call it whatever you wish, Lady Whitmore. I am simply attending the ball that was invited on my name,"
For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the faint rustle of tissue paper as the shopkeeper quietly continued wrapping the silver mask, pretending not to hear whatever that was transpired in the room.
Finally, Lady Whitmore smiled. It appeared as a cold, polished smile, bearing unspoken intentions. "Even if the Queen were to invite you, I merely wonder how you intend to present yourself at a royal ball," Her gaze drifted meaningfully toward the inexpensive lace and ribbon on the counter. "Surely not in last season's silk,"
Celia gave a small laugh, following after her mother, but there was still an obvious bitterness in her eyes from the previous insult. "Unless, of course, the Queen has decided faded gowns are the newest fashion, mother,"
Mary inhaled sharply.
Penelope felt the heat of aggravation rise once more, but she would not give them the satisfaction. Instead, she turned toward the counter where the silver mask lay wrapped, elegant and mysterious.
Perfect.
Without once looking back at the women, she addressed the shopkeeper. "What is the price?"
The shopkeeper, visibly relieved by the shift in attention, named the amount. Mary moved instinctively, but Penelope lifted a hand.
From within her reticule, she withdrew the coins herself, the sound of them settling upon the polished wood being soft but decisive. Every coin mattered, but in that moment, the act felt like a declaration that she would go no matter the whispers or attempted humiliation.
She clearly had someone to hunt.
The shopkeeper bowed. "Thank you, Miss Anderson."
Mary collected the carefully wrapped mask as they turned at last. Lady Whitmore and Celia were still standing there, their expressions caught somewhere between disbelief and fury.
Penelope offered them the sweetest smile she possessed and said. "I shall see you both this evening."
Then, with Mary at her side and her head held high, they swept from the boutique. Behind her, the bell chimed once more as she left them fuming in the silence she had so elegantly carved.
***
It was already three minutes past seven in the evening. Penelope stared at her reflection in the mirror; a definition of elegance, beauty, and power. The latter was subtle, but it was enough to be told she was of a higher class.
Her gown—silver as moonlight—clung and flowed in perfect harmony, each thread catching the glow of candlelight like scattered stars. Her hair had been arranged with deliberate care, soft curls pinned and adorned with delicate silver ornaments that shimmered with every subtle tilt of her head. A fine pendant rested just at the base of her throat, rising and falling faintly with each measured breath.
And the mask… It transformed her.
The silver filigree framed her face with intricate beauty, concealing just enough to make her mysterious and untouchable. For once, she was not a woman whispered about in corners. She was someone new.
Penelope sighed. She had a petite frame, yet her smallness served as a greater advantage when she concealed herself away from every eye and grip of insufferable gentlemen. However tonight, she was far from hiding. In fact, the outfit and silver mask—glinting like real gems—made her stand out.
"Miss, the carriage is ready."
Penelope took a deep breath. Staring at her reflection one last time, she tipped her head in response. "I'll be there shortly,"
The servant quietly withdrew from the room. The moment the door locked with a soft click, she released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Well yes, she was tense. Tonight wasn't just any ordinary night. Tonight was the night she might secure various alternatives, and, God willing, she'll be able to find someone better.
"You look stunning,"
Penelope turned, meeting those warm brown eyes belonging to her mother. She stood near the door, her golden dress catching the bright illumination of the torches in the room. As usual, her hair was arranged neatly, braided at the sides and held securely by pins. Lady Sophia never lacked beauty or class. She was elegant, confident, and in every way beautiful. No wonder her father courted her. Even old age couldn't take away the magnificence she possessed.
"Mama," she greeted, giving a small curtsy. Her mother had always taught her how important greetings were. And in a society such as this, it was as important as class and fame.
Lady Sophia approached her, the gentle click of her heels echoing in the room. "This is the first ball hosted by the Royals this season. It would be best…"
"… to put in more effort and try not to run away this time," she completed, her tone close to indifference that quietened the lady. "I'm aware,"
Lady Sophia stilled for a moment. Then, she dragged in a breath, and turned away, walking to the other side of her chamber. "You know, before your father courted me, I was just like you," She started, her tone reserved in a way that made Penelope curious. "Stubborn, fearless, and detested social activities. My mama always punished me. She tried to change me— and once, she killed my feline just to make a point clear,"
Penelope inhaled, pupils dilated in surprise. Her mother hardly talked about her mama. According to what she knew, her grandmama, Lady Priscilla Anthonio, was one of society's richest widows— a reputation respected, doted on, and worshipped by all. Once, she had seen the woman when she came to visit, and that time was during Franseca's birth. She never came during Papa's burial. According to her mama, the old woman never fancied funeral activities but she did send her condolences. However, Penelope realized that her grandma never actually liked her father, a reason left unknown to her.