It wasn’t the first time, either. For the past two days, ever since arriving at Isadora’s estate, she’d had the oddest sense of being watched. Every time she stood by the window, every time she crossed the garden. She’d glance over her shoulder and find nothing there.
It was frustrating, to say the least. Perhaps it was simply nerves. Or maybe she was finally going insane.
“Isadora,” she said hesitantly, “have you… noticed anything unusual lately? Around the house?”
“Not that I can think of,” Isadora frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Penelope admitted. “I just keep having this strange feeling, as though someone’s nearby.”
Isadora’s concern deepened.
“Perhaps you are missing the duke far too much,” Isadora surmised. “That is why you think someone is lingering around you.”
“No,” Penelope said quickly. “No, I don’t think that.”
Evan had stopped ahead to wait for them by a stone bench. “All well?” he called.
“Just a bit of fatigue,” Isadora replied breezily, though her eyes stayed fixed on Penelope’s troubled expression.
Penelope gave her sister’s hand a small squeeze.
“Don’t fret over me. Truly. I’m probably imagining it.”
“Well, we can fix it,” Isadora urged. “Let us go into the shop. It will get your mind off things.”
Isadora gestured to the dress maker’s shop in front of her, willing Penelope to come inside with her. Penelope shook her head faintly.
“Go on without me. I think… I’d rather wait out here.”
“Are you certain?” Isadora’s brows knitted together in concern. “At this point, I am a bit scared to leave you on your own.”
“I just need some air,” Penelope murmured. “Please, I will be more miserable inside.”
Isadora hesitated, her gaze lingering on Penelope’s pale face, before sighing and disappearing into the shop. Evan followed her in. Penelope was left standing alone on the pavement.
The street had gotten quite busy now, with carriages rumbling past, the cries of vendors hawking their clients, people moving about.
Penelope inhaled slowly, facing the sun. But then there was that peculiar feeling again.
Someone’s watching me.
At Isadora’s estate, she had dismissed it as a figment of her imagination, but in the crowded streets, it was difficult for her to do the same as easily.
She glanced behind her, scanning the passersby. An elderly gentleman adjusting his spectacles. A boy selling newspapers, waving one in the air. Nothing unusual.
“Stop it,” she whispered under her breath. “There’s no one.”
A sudden gust swept down the street, rattling the signs above the shops and sending dust swirling around her skirts. She took a step closer to the curb and heard a shout.
“Look out!”
Penelope turned just in time to see a carriage barreling toward her, the driver pulling desperately at the reins as the vehicle swerved dangerously onto the walk. The world seemed to slow down.
Was she going to get hit? It was so sudden that her instincts failed and she felt frozen into place. But just before the carriage could crash into her, something pulled her back.
Or, rather a very strong arm. Wrapping around her waist in a sudden grip.
She was pulled backward with force, stumbling against a solid chest, the rush of wind and speed blurring past her as the carriage roared by, missing her by mere inches.
