Doctor Henry studied her for a long moment, his expression softening into concern. Penelope knew that look in his eyes, the look that everyone in the estate gave her—including the servants.
By now, it was obvious that her health condition was as alarming as a time-ticking bomb. Whenever Doctor Henry appeared in the estate, everyone knew it was for the older Miss course. They all looked at her in the same manner—not just as Miss Penelope Anderson—but as a dying woman.
Penelope tried not to think too much about it, but considering the endless pity she received—including the drugs and examination, deep down, she already knew her fate. It was getting tiring, and nothing would ever change that.
There was no need to pretend that she'd ever get better. The pills might relieve some strain, but even that only strengthened the illusion of recovery.
