Weeks passed in a blur, each day dragging slower than the last, until finally, the day Penelope had been waiting for arrived—her seventeenth birthday. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the manor as she stood before the mirror in her room, her heart fluttering with anticipation.
Her reflection looked back at her: the delicate curves of her face framed by loose waves of chestnut hair, and her dress, an intricate creation of ivory silk and lace, flowing gracefully around her. The bodice was embroidered with silver thread, the patterns delicate and swirling like vines climbing up her torso. The sleeves, sheer and soft, ended in small satin cuffs that hugged her wrists. Her gown shimmered in the light, catching the eye at every angle.
Penelope's maid, a plump woman with a warm smile, stood behind her, gazing at her with pride. "My lady, you look absolutely breathtaking," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "The gown fits you perfectly."
Penelope gave a modest smile, though her stomach twisted with excitement. She had longed for this day—for Colin to return. He had promised to be here, and she could already feel his presence in the air, as if it was pulling her toward him. "Thank you," she replied softly. "You may leave now."
As the maid stepped out, Penelope stood still for a moment longer, taking a deep breath. Tonight, she would tell Colin how she felt. No more waiting, no more wondering if he felt the same. It was time.
She turned and made her way down the hall toward the dining room, where the sounds of laughter and conversation already drifted through the house. The family was gathering for the celebration—her father, her mother, siblings, and a few close friends, including Colin and his parents, Lord Marcus and Lady Violet. It was an intimate gathering, one filled with warmth and familiarity.
As she entered the dining room, the chatter fell silent, and all eyes turned toward her. Penelope's heart fluttered in her chest, but she smiled warmly, meeting their gazes. Her father, Lord Alfred, raised his goblet, his eyes gleaming with pride. "Ah, Penelope! My beautiful daughter, come join us."
The table was lined with delicacies—roast meats, fragrant vegetables, and sweet desserts that glistened under the light. Her family, along with Colin's parents, sat together, their laughter mixing with the clinking of cutlery. Penelope's gaze immediately sought out Colin.
There he was—standing at the far end of the table, his eyes already on her. A smile played at his lips, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world faded away. He was dressed in dark blue velvet, the color setting off the rich gold of his family's crest embroidered on his chest. His tall frame stood with easy confidence, his posture perfect, his hair neatly combed back. He looked every bit the young nobleman he was, but to Penelope, he was simply Colin—the boy who had shared her laughter, her dreams, and her secrets.
He stood and walked toward her as she approached. The room seemed to hold its breath, but Penelope didn't care. Her heart was already racing.
"Penelope," Colin said, his voice low but warm. "You look… remarkable."
Her cheeks flushed under the weight of his gaze. "Thank you," she murmured. Unable to resist, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. She could feel the solid strength of his chest against her, his warmth enveloping her, and it made her dizzy with happiness.
"I missed you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"I missed you too," Colin replied, his hand resting gently on her back. He smiled, pulling away to hold her hand. "Come, let's sit. Everyone is waiting."
As they walked to their seats, Penelope's heart was still racing, her excitement bubbling just beneath the surface. The atmosphere around them was warm and filled with the hum of conversation, but for a moment, it felt as if the entire world was just Colin and her.
They settled into their places at the table. Penelope glanced around, taking in the familiar faces. Her father was at the head of the table, his demeanor dignified as always. Her mother sat beside him, her expression serene. Her younger siblings, twins, were laughing and playfully bickering, a lively contrast to the more reserved adults.
The conversation flowed around her, snippets of gossip and news from distant lands filling the air. Penelope's mind, however, kept drifting back to Colin. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her as he sat next to her, his eyes warm with unspoken understanding.
Aunt Lady Tilley, ever the skeptic, cut into the conversation with a sharp remark. "I heard you now have a wolf," Penelope's Aunt Lady Tilley remarked sharply, her tone full of judgment. "How can a girl of your age kill a man?"
Penelope bristled at the remark but quickly masked it with a calm smile. "My lady, Anthony and I have trained together for years. I did it to protect him," she said with grace.
Lord Alfred, seated at the head of the table, proudly added, "And none of the other women have done what she has. Penelope is strong, and I am proud of her."
Aunt Tilley opened her mouth to retort, but Lord Alfred raised his hand. "No more comments," he said firmly. "Let us enjoy this celebration in peace."
With that, the mood lightened, and the chatter resumed. Lord Alfred stood, raising his goblet high. "I would like to make a toast to Penelope."
Everyone rose to their feet, their glasses lifted. "To Penelope!" Lord Alfred exclaimed.
"To Penelope!" the gathered guests echoed, their voices full of warmth.
As the toast was made, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—stories of family vacations, humorous mishaps, and gossip about distant relatives. Penelope's mind, however, was occupied by Colin. She could feel the tension building in her chest. The moment was coming, and she knew she had to speak her truth.
The music started playing softly in the background, and the guests slowly began to rise from their seats. People moved to the dance floor, couples pairing off, their laughter mingling with the lilting melodies.
Penelope turned to Colin, her heart hammering in her chest. "Would you—" She hesitated, her voice barely a whisper. "Would you dance with me?"
Colin's smile widened, his hand already reaching out to hers. "Of course."
He led her to the center of the floor, and as they took their positions, Penelope's breath caught in her throat. The air between them seemed to crackle with energy as the music swirled around them. The moment they began to move, it was as if they had become part of the melody itself. Colin's hand rested lightly on her waist, guiding her in time with the soft, fluid rhythm. She placed her hand gently on his shoulder, feeling the strength in his frame, the way his body moved with effortless grace.
They twirled together, their feet moving in perfect harmony, the rhythm carrying them. Penelope couldn't help but notice how their movements matched with such precision—like two pieces of a puzzle that fit together effortlessly. He held her with such care, and in that moment, she felt a warmth flood through her, a sense of belonging. It was as though the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of them.
"You dance beautifully," Colin said, his voice soft in her ear as they spun across the floor.
Penelope smiled, her cheeks flushed. "You're not so bad yourself," she teased, but her words felt hollow compared to the pounding of her heart.
Their dance was a blend of light, graceful steps and intense, passionate movements, the music growing more intense, matching the surge of emotion that swelled within her.
*This is the moment*, she thought. She had to tell him how she felt.
"I have something to tell you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Just as she was about to speak, the doors to the hall suddenly burst open with a loud bang, the noise shocking everyone into silence.
"Lord Alfred," a guard called, his voice urgent. "A message from the king."
The room fell silent, the tension rising as everyone turned toward the guard. Lord Alfred, slightly tipsy, stood with a forced smile. "Go ahead, read it," he said, though his voice was thick with the haze of wine. "We're all family here."
The guard unfolded the letter and read aloud. "The king requests one of your daughters to come and stay at the palace."
The room was instantly filled with murmurs of confusion. Lord Alfred raised an eyebrow. "For what purpose?"
The guard hesitated. "The letter did not specify."
Lord Alfred's face darkened. "You may leave," he said curtly, and the guard quickly bowed before retreating.
The silence that followed was thick with curiosity. Everyone in the room, even Cressida and her mother, leaned forward, eager to hear Lord Alfred's decision.
"As you all know," Lord Alfred said, his voice carrying authority once more, "it is an honor to be invited by the king."
Penelope's heart began to pound. She had a sinking feeling about what was coming.
"And since today is Penelope's celebration," Lord Alfred continued, his eyes scanning the room, "it is only right that I choose her."
The room erupted into applause, but Penelope's stomach twisted in knots. Cressida and her mother exchanged a look of disapproval, but no one else seemed to question Lord Alfred's decision.
Penelope's heart sank. "But Dad, I don't want to go to the palace," she protested, her voice trembling.
Lord Alfred's gaze hardened. "My decision is final. You'll thank me later."
Penelope felt a wave of despair wash over her. Without a word, she turned and fled the room, her heart aching with confusion and fear.
Colin moved to follow her, but just as he reached the door, Cressida's voice stopped him.
"She needs time to be alone," Cressida said, her tone almost too sweet. It felt like a command rather than concern.
Colin hesitated, his gaze flicking between Penelope's retreating form and Cressida. A shadow of doubt crossed his face, but he said nothing as he turned back toward the gathering.
Penelope ran up the stairs, her feet heavy with the weight of her father's decision. She threw open her door and slammed it behind her, locking it with trembling hands.