A soft knock sounded suddenly at the door, but Penelope did not answer immediately. She was too busy in her own numb world to acknowledge anything other than the busy world—one blind to her misery— before her.
Still, the door opened, much to her dismay, and someone entered slowly. The familiar scent of jasmine lingered in the air, which made Penelope stiffen at once.
Lady Sophia stood at the door, dressed impeccably as the Lady of the house with a dark blue gown that complemented her elbow-length gloves, and an aura that defined the power she carried without speaking.
For several long moments, neither woman spoke. The distance between them felt far greater than the width of the room itself.
And as she allowed herself the painful opportunity to see truly, Penelope realized her mother looked older now. The past month had carved exhaustion visibly into her features, and yet despite that weariness, Lady Sophia still carried herself with rigid elegance.
