“I used to believe I could marry for love. But now it feels as though I’m simply being passed from one man’s will to another.”
“You are being too hard on yourself, Penelope. ” Isadora took her sister’s hand into her own.
“I am not sure I see things the way you do,” Penelope gave her a sideways glance.
“You are not being simply passed on,” Isadora said gently, “this time, you walked into it with your eyes wide open. You ran from a marriage that you did not wish to be in. It was a choice. And you still have choices even in a marriage of convenience.”
“You say that with much confidence.”
“It turned out to be true in my experience,” Isadora smiled. “Now, please. I cannot stand to see you so upset. Smile for me, at the very least.”
Penelope managed a feeble smile. “Happy?”
“Happy that you are trying,” Isadora planted a soft kiss on her sister’s forehead.
“I know that face,” she said. “It’s the same one you wore whenever father chided you.”
“That face was one of rebellion. This—” she motioned to herself, “ is one of resignation.”
“You exaggerate dreadfully.”
“I do not,” Penelope said, arms crossing over her chest. “In a matter of hours, I shall belong to a man I hardly know. One week ago, I had never even spoken to him.”
“Then tell me of this duke instead.”
Penelope hesitated. Her fingers curled around the embroidered edge of the handkerchief in her lap.
“He is... commanding,” she said at last. “And maddening.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. A maid stepped in, curtseying quickly. “My lady, the carriage from His Grace has arrived.”
Penelope sat up, her heart suddenly pounding in her ears.
Isadora held out her hand. “Come, then. Let us see what kind of trouble you’re getting into.”
“I do hope this marriage doesn’t require as much running as the last one.”
“You are marrying a duke who owns a gentleman’s club,” Isadora smirked. “ If anything, I’d wager it requires even more.”
“You’re not helping,” Penelope gave her a flat look.
“I am only trying to lighten the mood.”
They were interrupted once again by George, who looked at his daughter with disdain. Penelope exchanged a worried glance with Isadora, who seemed a bit alert as well.
Both sisters knew that there was nothing worse than their father when he was in a sour mood.
“Well?” he stepped forward, scowling. “What are you standing there looking at me like that for? Was this not what you wanted?”
Penelope did not even know where to start arguing back. No, this was not what she had wanted for herself. But it was her father’s selfish decisions that had brought her to this point.
“It would be better if we do not cause a scene, Father,” Penelope tried to dodge the topic. “We do not wish to be late to the ceremony, so we should head to the carriage now.”
George mumbled something under his breath and stomped his feet all the way to the carriage, where the three of them climbed inside. The vehicle started to move, but the atmosphereremained tense—thick with the kind of silence that buzzed louder than words.
Penelope kept her gaze out the window, watching the city blur past. Isadora sat beside her, hands folded neatly in her lap, but even she didn’t attempt to ease the mood. Their father sat across from them, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his lips pulled into a sour line.
He didn’t speak for several minutes. Then, with a bitter scoff, he muttered, “You know, I never imagined I’d be attending my daughter’s wedding twice in the same week.”
