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Alexandria talked to the duke, all sheepish and nervous. The duke asked her something, and trembling, Penelope strained to hear what she said.

“…she will not be coming back,” she heard Alex’s words.

The duke stilled, as immobile as a statue. Then a figure rushed out of the front door of her house. Her father, only half dressed. This was an unspeakably early—or late—hour for him. He was missing his coat and didn’t even have his wig on.

“Duke…what is going on?” Papa demanded.

“Your daughter is gone,” said the duke. “It seems her answer is no.”

Alex clutched her chest. Penelope held her breath. She shouldn’t witness this at all. She should just get back into the carriage and command the coachman to drive.

Instead, as though mesmerized, she watched her father drop his head and lower his shoulders and stretch his hands out to the duke. Like a baby, he sobbed, clutching at the duke’s hands.

No. Not her father who could, in her mind, slay a dragon for her if he must. Her heart split in half.

She’d never seen her father beg like that.

It was either her father’s ruination or her lifelong unhappiness.

She was so close. She had packed her things. She had hired a carriage. She could make it to the mail coach, and run away, and do what she loved…

But her papa…her poor, old papa. He had no one else. He needed her. Perhaps she wouldn’t be an artist and would imprison herself in a marriage full of resentment, but at least her conscience would be clear, and she would help her father avoid his destruction. She was his only child. She couldn’t bear to abandon her father.

Not even at the price of her own happiness.

With her very core chilling, she walked towards the duke, Alex, and her father, her small heels clicking against the sidewalk.

All three looked up at her in astonishment. Her chest tore apart with grief for the life she’d never have.

But she shoved her tears and her sorrow deep down her throat so that no one could see them. She needed to be brave and to be strong for her papa.

“You wanted my decision, Duke,” she said, looking straight into his hard, dark eyes. “You win. I will marry you.”

Without another glance, she walked towards the carriage to retrieve her luggage, fear and sadness thundering inside of her.

Her life was over.

6

Two days later, they rode into the courtyard of Chalworth Place, traditionally the London seat of the Duke of Grandhampton. Penelope got out of the carriage after Papa and Alex.

She stepped onto the cobblestones, shivering from the inside. The day was warm for spring, but she hadn’t been able to stop shaking all morning. Chalworth Place surrounded her from all four sides, looming over her like the Tower of London. Situated in the middle of Mayfair, the three-story mansion looked ancient, built with old brown bricks and gothic archways of blackening, crumbling stonework.

Dark, paned windows gaped at her. Between them, grotesques of dragon and lion heads and baby angels were carved on the stone corbels. She could see a sunlit London street through the arched gateway under which their carriage had driven. A pale pink apple tree bloomed among the bright green bushes, young leaves sparkling in sunlight. It seemed overnight London had transformed from naked and bare to fresh and green and lush, filling the air with the scent of new leaves and tender blossoms.

Birdsong filled the streets. People smiled brighter, a new spring in their step, looking forward to dressing in lighter clothes and shoes, to going for more walks, and to the start of the Season.

New hope. That was what London smelled like now.

But there was no hope for Penelope. On the contrary, she had left all that hopeful beauty behind the black archway. Before her was the mansion in which her life would forever be over.

Her father stared vacantly at the grand doors and walked towards them without waiting for her. She thought he might give her an arm to support her, say a word of encouragement, or simply thank her for doing this for him. But all he offered her was a view of his hunched shoulders under his powdered wig.

Darling Alex gave her a sympathetic smile as she took Penelope’s hand and put it through her bent elbow. Together, they walked after Papa.

The butler opened the door, and they passed through. Inside, thick, fluted stone pillars carved with fleur-de-lis flanked the entrance hall and shot upward into a high, vaulted ceiling. When sunlight fell through them, two windows, one on either side of the door, which had appeared black to her from the outside, became ablaze with blue, yellow, red, and purple patterns of stained glass. One depicted a hunt and the other a medieval battle. Penelope’s breath caught as she watched the play of colors reflected on the white stone of the entrance hall.

Stepping on a red carpet, they walked into a large hall with a grand staircase that led to the first and second floors. On the wall behind the stairs, a large coat of arms hung between two rows of stained glass windows.