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Penelope closed her hand luggage, which lay on her bed and contained her watercolor paper, paints, brushes, and her drawing paper and pencils, as well as everything she had managed to paint so far. Another held a few items of clothing and her essentials.

She looked around her room. Her mother had not been alive to accompany her for her coming out season. She’d only lived on Vine Street, on the outskirts of Mayfair, during the past three years since she’d been out.

There were few memories of Mama in this house. All Penelope had known here was loneliness and rejection. So why did she feel such heavy sadness to be leaving? To be leaving everything she knew behind, even cutting her ties with Papa and leaving him to face whatever the duke was threatening him with?

Why was she sad to start the new life she’d always dreamed of?

To escape the duke’s clutches and the marriage she had never wanted?

A soft knock at the door made her jump to her feet. Alex slipped into her room quietly, already dressed in her spencer and a bonnet. Her dark eyes were wide, her hair not done properly because the maid wasn’t yet up. But she was still pretty in her natural beauty.

“Are you ready?” she said, breathing heavily. “I got the carriage. It’s waiting for you at the corner.”

Penelope inhaled sharply and looked around. “I think so. I have only these two pieces of luggage.”

Alex nodded. “We’ll manage them between us.”

Suddenly, she rushed to Penelope and held her by both hands. “Oh, Penelope, are you sure this is the right way? Running away like this?”

Alex blurred through Penelope’s tears, but she nodded fiercely, her chest clenching. “I am. I’m not going to be bullied into marrying him. Into a life of unhappiness when I could be a real artist, when, with time, connections, and hard work, I could support myself and Papa if only he would let me.”

Alex’s eyes glistened with tears, too. She grasped Penelope in a quick hug. “Oh, cousin! Hug my mama for me, please. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’m sorry I’m leaving you to deal with Papa’s rage,” whispered Penelope, wiping her tears with one hand. “Please tell Papa I’m sorry. But I can’t be forced to marry like that. Not to that awful man.”

They broke away, and each grabbed a piece of luggage and hurried downstairs. They passed quietly through the front door. Tyson was still busy with the morning chores, so he was nowhere to be seen. Penelope and Alex descended the front stairs and rushed through the tiny front yard. The terrace houses of Vine Street stretched to either side of her and Papa’s house, their porticos pristine.

Vine Street was quiet, with no horses or passersby. A footman swept the stairs three houses down the street. The air was wet and warm and sweet with the scent of fresh, sticky leaves on the verge of opening. Across the street, another row of three-story terrace houses stretched with Kiln Lane cutting through the middle. The top floor of the houses was always shorter, with smaller windows, indicating those were the servants’ quarters.

Penelope’s and Alex’s heels knocked quickly against the sidewalk as they hurried towards the carriage. It stood just at the corner of the street, half hidden behind a bush. The coachman attached her small hand luggage at the rear.

“Where to?” he asked.

“The Swan with Two Necks,” Penelope said.

The coachman nodded. It was the departing place of the morning mail coach, which had a few places for passengers. “If we hurry, we should make it.”

Penelope hugged Alex for the last time and got into the carriage. She should be at her uncle and aunt’s home by tomorrow. From there, she’d think about what to do. She just had to get away from Papa and from Grandhampton.

But before she could knock on the front wall, indicating the coachman should drive off, there was a sound of hooves and wheels against the dirt-packed road. She looked out of the window. A rich carriage, all shiny black wood with a gilded crest of Grandhampton—two lions with their paws outstretched and vines all around them—pulled up in front of her house. In a moment, the door opened, and the Duke of Grandhampton jumped down, straightening his black overcoat as he walked. Wind ruffled the locks of his black hair.

His shoulders were slumped, his neck down. Then he straightened, his shoulders and back so stiff they could be a wall, and marched towards her house like he owned it.

Like he owned her.

No doubt, he had come to ask for her decision. But so early? Even the most polite of the society didn’t break their fast until around 10 a.m.

Alex, who was still waiting to see her off by the carriage, turned to run towards him. Penelope got out of the carriage and hid behind the corner of the bush, watching as Alex greeted him and they exchanged some words.

Penelope’s heart beat fast.

This was her escape. All she needed to do was get back into the carriage, knock on that wall, and let the coachman know she was ready to go. But what would the duke do to her father? She had declared her independence so freely, so bravely before.

But she still didn’t know what exactly the repercussions would be for her father.

His reputation and his life, the duke had said.

She had a hard time believing it, but could she really have her father’s honor and his life on her conscience?