"Goodness gracious!"
An exasperated sigh broke the stillness of an empty forest. A young lady of no less than twenty-nine, immediately dismounted her horse with a practised grace, offering a small pat to the animal. "Good job, Eloise,"
By the name, the white mare gave a soft nicker in response, as though relinquishing the genuine appreciation of its young master after a long delirious day.
The red-haired woman immediately smoothed the folds of her gown. At the first step, she inhaled slowly, letting the crisp air fill her lungs. A good three seconds passed without any further movement, allowing her a fresh breath in the quietude of the woods.
Her red fiery hair caught the sun's golden rays, blazing like molten amber against the dark, sturdy trunk of the forest. Her porcelain skin seemed to glow in the dappled light, and each delicate feature—high cheekbones, a slender nose marred in freckles, and soft lips—was carved with exquisite precision as though the sunlight itself admired her.
She was a beauty to behold, but not in the way society admired.
Penelope Anderson let out a small sigh. Her eyes fixed on the lake before her, where sunlight fractured across gentle waves. Something deep inside her thrummed with longing, and a smile touched her lips.
Her fingers found the silver pin securing her hair at the back of her head. With a gentle tug, she freed it, letting a few rebellious strands slip loose before the rest tumbled in a silky cascade over her shoulders.
Moving on to the next, Penelope reached for the lace at the back of her dress, gently tugging it until it came undone and supported the heavy bodice off her shoulders. Finally, it pooled heavily on the ground, and her undergarment followed immediately after.
Free from its weight, she drew in a slow breath of the afternoon's air. Her fingers moved to the ribbons at her thighs, loosening the garters that held her silk stockings in place. One by one, she rolled the delicate fabric down her legs, getting rid of a few other things as well—heavy jewelry, gloves, dance card—leaving her utterly bare under the awning of the promising weather.
Thankfully, she'd grown accustomed to taking off her dress without the help of her handmaidens. It would've been a hassle if she hadn't.
"So refreshing," She muttered to herself in relief. The melodic chirping of birds was a gentle reminder that the day was halfway gone, but Penelope was more engrossed by the beckoning of the gentle waves than the consequence of staying out late.
With a quiet resolve, she ventured to the cool earth beneath her feet, gesturing toward the lake's glimmering edge.
The moment Penelope stepped into the lake, a quiet gasp escaped her lips. The lake was colder than she expected under the bright sky, sending a chill rising swiftly along her ankles and calves.
She paused when the water reached her knees, and the soft ripples widened outward, taking note of her arrival.
For a moment, she simply stood there, listening to the quiet lapping of water, the whisper of reeds along the shore, and the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat until she gathered a little courage and ventured deeper.
"Mm," The refreshing sound escaped her lips like a dreamy flutter as she basked in its stimulating chill by closing her eyes. One would notice the vague trail of anxiety behind the sudden ease in her expression.
As a Lady of status held in high regard, it was rare for such a public figure to embark on a scandalous journey to the outskirts of town, pursuing solace anywhere but her domain. But Penelope wasn't even to be considered a proper lady for one who had passed her prime and yet remained unmarried.
Securing suitors of the ton was like chasing after a diamond with an exaggerated worth, but coping under the mechanisms of hungry mamas was like a needle puncturing one's skin. And unfortunately, Penelope found herself fastened in both circumstances.
Beauty and art were the catch of the season. A woman must be beautiful to pass such traits to their offspring, and learn a skill such as the pianoforte to impress her husband. It was believed that when a lady is ripe for marriage and has both gifts, she's considered next in line, shipped off to ugly sons and pettiful dogs in the name of "charming men".
A Lady would then remain obedient animals to the fist of a gentleman, and breeders in the eyes of their husbands. While their dear spouses were free to have mistresses considered "normal" in the eyes of society, a Lady hid behind her garment, wearing a smile like shards of glass as she watched her life in the hands of another.
That was her biggest red flag in courtship.
For the past few years, Penelope had done everything uncultured and unlikely for a woman of her status. Men ogled her like a moth to flames during her prime. Her beauty was ever mesmerizing, the finest attraction to suitors far older than her father.
Yet during that time, the young miss discovered a technique that successfully worked for her in the end; avoiding balls, and soirees by pretending to be ill, until she passed her prime.
Of course, that didn't entirely give an advantage throughout the years, until a rumor found a way across town that she had been compromised.
In that society, a young lady's greatest asset was her "virtue" or "reputation". If gossip suggested she was ruined, most respectable men would avoid courting her because marrying her would damage their family's standing.
With that, Penelope was shifted off the mart of beguiling ladies and slumped to the lowest of all attention. From the diamond of the season, to the whispered cautionary tale of every drawing room.
And so it went on for years. As long as she remained unperturbed in the eyes of hungry men, Penelope didn't bother clearing the soil on her name. But that didn't mean the Andersons were unaffected.
Her family's reputation went from valued to detoured instantly. The Andersons were known for their influence in Parliament, in commerce, and in the quiet negotiation that shaped society itself. Their estates were vast with alliances carefully woven, and their presence in any ballroom was enough to draw heads and still conversations. Much like great families whose fortunes seemed untouchable, the Andersons had stood among the pillars of society, respected, envied, and rarely challenged. And yet all it took was for one single incident, a whisper carried from one drawing room to the next, for admiration to turn cautious.
Invitations arrived less frequently. Conversations softened when they entered a room, and though their power remained, the shadow of that rumor followed them everywhere, as persistent as perfume in a crowded ballroom, leaving Penelope the center of every hushed exchange and knowing glance.
Wherever she went, whispers seemed to gather just behind her shoulder, too quiet to confront yet far too loud to ignore. It was only that a few years back, Penelope would have cared less for a rumor than for a fraying thread on her gown. She would rather become a spinster than a helpless target in the hands of malicious gossip or the selfish whims of men.
But this season, there was no escape route. She was to wed a man who, by every rank and wealth, would be suitable to secure the future of her family's last fortune.