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“ T ry that note again,” Penelope said to Odette. The young girl had kept her word, and showed up for the piano lesson.

She gave a small sigh but obediently placed her hands back on the keys.

“I already did it twice.”

“And a third time won’t hurt,” Penelope smiled. “It’s how you learn.”

Odette played the passage again, hesitant at first, but better than before.

“There,” Penelope said, encouraging. “See? That was already smoother.”

Odette narrowed her eyes at the sheet music. “Why does every piece have to be so annoying and delicate?”

“Because someone, somewhere, decided that delicate girls ought to play delicate songs,” Penelope laughed.

“That’s silly,” Odette huffed.

“I quite agree,” Penelope replied. “Which is why we’re skipping to this part—look.” She pointed to a more energetic section halfway down the page. “Much more dramatic. It might suit you.”

“That sounds better,” Odette’s fingers twitched with interest.

Penelope leaned back, folding her hands in her lap. “You know, when I was your age, I hated the pianoforte.”

“You did?” Odette’s head whipped around in surprise.

“With a passion,” Penelope confirmed. “But then I discovered that playing could be freeing, if you were allowed to make a bit of noise now and then.”

“So… are you saying I can play it badly?” Odette gave her a look.

“I’m saying you’re allowed to enjoy it first,” Penelope smiled. “We can worry about perfection later.”

Odette turned back to the keys, and this time, her posture was just a little more relaxed.

“You’re not like other teachers,” she said after a moment.

“I should hope not,” Penelope replied lightly. “Most of them are stuffy old people.”

Odette glanced at her sideways. “You’re not very good at being strict, either.”

“No,” Penelope agreed, “but I’m excellent at being patient.”

The girl didn’t answer, but her fingers started moving again. She didn’t stop until she’d reached the final bar, missing only one note.

Penelope clapped gently.

“Now that,” she said, “was a lot better.”

Odette shrugged, but she couldn’t quite keep the smile off her face.

“It was all right, I suppose.”

Penelope stood, smoothing her skirts. “Tomorrow, we’ll add the left hand.”

“Tomorrow?” Odette groaned dramatically. “You didn’t say anything about a second lesson.”

“That’s how it works, dear heart,” Penelope said with a grin. “You’re far too promising to quit after just one.”

“But…”

“No buts,” Penelope shushed her.

“Fine,” Odette huffed. “But you need to give me a book as a reward.”

“I think that is a fair trade.”

But before she could say anything else, Odette walked over to the window and leaned on the sill, looking out over the sweeping green of the estate.

“I haven’t been outside in days,” she muttered.

Penelope glanced up. “You went riding the other morning, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and I was accompanied by Lewis the entire time,” Odette groaned. “That’s not the same thing. I mean properly outside. Like walking for no reason.”

Penelope felt her heart break for the little girl.

“Well, then since you have been so good with your pianoforte practice,” Penelope started, “Perhaps you deserve a little reward.”

Odette’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, we can go now.”

Odette glanced sideways, then added with a little reluctance, “I might have lessons in the afternoon.”

“Then we’ll be back for them,” Penelope replied easily. “A short walk won’t hurt.”

Odette gave a dramatic sigh, but her smile betrayed her. “All right. But if I get in trouble…”

“You’ll blame me,” Penelope finished for her.

They made their way outside. The furthest part of the estate looked almost forgotten, tucked behind a low stone wall and shaded by tall, whispering trees.

Penelope followed Odette through the narrow path until they reached a clearing.

At its center stood an old well, surrounded by patches of wildflowers and tall grass swaying in the breeze.

Odette stopped and sat on the edge of the stone well, brushing off a bit of moss with her palm.

“I come here sometimes,” she said quietly.

“It’s lovely,” Penelope glanced around.

“It’s the farthest I’m allowed to go without someone following me,” Odette muttered. “So I guess it’s sort of… mine.”

Penelope sat down beside her, careful not to wrinkle her skirts. “It feels special, when you put it like that.”

Odette gave a little shrug.

“It’s not like I hate the estate. It’s just, sometimes I want to be somewhere without someone watching every move I make.”

“I think everyone feels that way, especially at your age,” Penelope nodded slowly.

“Did you?” Odette looked at her, frowning slightly.

“Oh yes,” Penelope smiled gently. “When I was younger, I used to sneak out into our garden and pretend I was traveling the world. Just for an hour or so, I’d imagine I was somewhere else. Not because I didn’t like my home, but because sometimes you just need space to think.”

Odette turned her face forward again. “That’s kind of how this place feels.”

“I’m glad you showed it to me,” Penelope said, after a pause.

“I don’t usually bring anyone here,” Odette tilted her head.

Penelope felt something warm bloom in her chest at the confession. She reached out and gently brushed a leaf off the girl's shoulder.

“Well,” she said lightly, “that makes me feel very special.”

“You’re not like the other grown-ups,” Odette gave a little laugh. “I feel that you actually understand me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Penelope grinned. “But I do hope you’ll tell me things. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“I guess so,” Odette said with a soft smirk. “Even though you make me play the piano.”

Penelope laughed. “That’s true. But I also bring you to walks as a reward. So I think that makes us even.”

“Fine. We’re friends now.”

They sat down on the grass. Penelope leaned back on her hands, tilting her face up to the sunlight as Odette threw a twig for Apollo to chase. He made a lazy attempt, then gave up halfway and flopped back down.

“He’s the laziest dog I’ve ever met,” Odette said.

“He’s clever,” Penelope replied. “He knows we’re not going anywhere. Why waste the energy?”

Odette laughed softly. For a moment, Penelope just watched her, her posture more relaxed than usual. This was the Odette she liked best.

“Comfortable?”

Odette gave a noncommittal shrug, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I guess.”

“You know, since we are friends now, maybe you should tell me a little more about yourself,” Penelope started. She did not want to rush her.

“You already know more about me than most,” Odette replied, smiling.

“Yes, but I know there is still a lot more I need to learn,” Penelope noted.

Odette plucked a blade of grass and began twisting it tightly around her finger. She hesitated, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she said, “My mother died when I was born.”

Penelope blinked. “I’m sorry, Odette. That must have been very hard.”

Odette didn’t look up. “I never knew her. Not really. She died in childbirth. I don’t even know what she looked like. There are no paintings of her at home.”

Penelope’s heart ached at the quiet finality in her tone.

“I used to come here when I was younger,” Odette continued, nodding toward the old stone well a few paces away. “I’d throw pebbles into the water and make foolish wishes. I used to believe that if I wished hard enough, the well would bring her back.”

Penelope reached out, gently brushing her fingers over Odette’s hand where it rested on her knee.

“I don’t think that’s foolish at all,” she said softly.

Odette didn’t pull away, but she didn’t respond either.

“My father never talks about her unless I ask,” she said after a while. “And even then, he barely says a word. I’ve always taken that to mean he didn’t really care. They were only married a few months. She got pregnant quickly, and then… she was gone.”

“He was very young, wasn’t he?” Penelope nodded slowly.

“Barely twenty,” Odette murmured. “And now I’m all he has. And I know he cares about me. I really do. But sometimes it feels like he’s holding on too tightly.”

Penelope did not know how to respond.

“Do you think that makes me ungrateful?” Odette asked.

“Not at all,” Penelope said firmly. “It makes you human. You went through something very difficult. Grief is a complicated emotion. I understand it better than you think.”

“Do you really?” Odette asked, surprised.

“My mother died when I was very young,” Penelope admitted. “I was only seven.”

Odette gasped at that. Even Apollo stopped his wandering and came to sit beside Penelope, sensing the tension.

“But over the years, I have come to accept it as a part of life,” Penelope smiled.

“Did you feel lonely, too?”

Penelope’s lips parted, then closed again. She thought for a moment before answering.

“I had my sister,” she said. “Isadora. She practically raised me. She was only twelve when our mother passed, but she stepped into that role without hesitation. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”

Odette hugged her knees tighter. “It must be nice. Having someone like that.”

“It was.” Penelope said. “Even now, she’s my anchor.”

“I always wished I had a sibling. Someone who could understand me without me having to explain everything.”

Then Odette looked up, her brows furrowing. “Will you… do you think you’ll give me siblings someday?”

Penelope blinked, caught off guard. “I—” She hesitated, thinking back to her conversation with the duke. She did not want to disappoint Odette. So instead, she said, “That’s not a question I have the answer to, Odette.”

“Oh,” Odette said, her gaze falling back to her lap. “So that means no.”

“No,” Penelope said softly, “it doesn’t mean no. It means I don’t know what the future holds.”

A part of it was a lie. She did know what the future held, as the duke had made his intentions very clear. She just did not have the heart to break the news to Odette, and perhaps a part of her hoped that things would change in the future.

Odette’s throat bobbed as she swallowed.