Francesca was already seated inside the carriage. She had chosen the seat farthest from the door, her face turned towards the window. Her gloved hands rested neatly in her lap, and her riding hat cast a faint shadow across her eyes.
She did not look up when Penelope approached.
The footman offered his hand to assist Penelope into the carriage. She accepted it, gathered her skirts, and settled onto the opposite seat.
For a moment, she considered speaking.
She could have asked whether she was comfortable, or whether she was still determined to attend the expedition despite everything that had happened. But when she remembered the conversation in the breakfast room, she said nothing.
The door closed, and the carriage began to move.
The familiar rhythm of the wheels filled the silence between them. Outside, the streets gradually gave way to quieter roads, the houses becoming more widely spaced as the carriage travelled towards the countryside.
