It happened so quickly that for years afterward Penelope would replay the moments before it, searching for something she had missed.
Maybe some warning or a sign, but there had been none.
Her father had gone to his study after dinner. Penelope had returned from riding Eloise, the mare her father had gifted her on her eighteenth birthday.
Whenever the house became too much with responsibilities pressed too heavily upon her and every room occasionally reminding her of what was expected of her, she would take Eloise and ride until her thoughts became quiet again.
Tonight, she needed it more than usual.
She had endured an unpleasant encounter with Lord Frederick earlier that evening, who had coldly reminded her of the marriage arrangement he had once intended to honour before abruptly withdrawing from it.
