Penelope shook her head. "I cannot," she whispered weakly.
"You can."
"No." Her voice cracked sharply now. "Mama, please—"
"Do you think we possess another choice?"
That silenced her at once.
Lady Sophia's composure finally fractured then, exhaustion slipping visibly into her expression. "We are surviving mouth to mouth now," she admitted quietly. "Your father's debts did not disappear with his death, nor did his wrongdoings. The estate cannot sustain us forever," Gradually, her pent-up emotion began to loosen as she continued, "And if you think you're safe here, sitting comfortably in your bed while staring at the window at the people who would soon take over our home, and the clothes you're wearing, then you are mistaken," She added. "You might wake up one day and realize that the roof upon your head is gone, tossed upon the street to seek daily bread that's not guaranteed. From grace to grass, a total laughing stock in the whole of London,"
