AU: Penitent

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

1890s England

Ten days.

It had been ten days since marrying the brother of the woman she loved. Ten days of a life within the Blaise family by house and name completely. Ten days, and ten absolutely perfect nights.

Because every night when the halls were as silent as they'd ever be, she got to take those quiet steps from the room she shared with Michael to the room she slept in with her husband's sister. Every night he was as eager for her to leave as she was; it was the most successful situation she could have ever hoped for, and for the last ten nights, it had worked. She'd learned to take her time and find the means to properly listen to her newfound counterpart. There was a lot to learn with eight hours locked in a room with someone she really, genuinely loved.

But for the first time, leaving felt impossible. She wanted to go anyway, but Michael had the better sense. He talked her out of it; a miss one night was better than being potentially caught, shamed and thrown out.

The next morning, Lucy had every intention of crossing such boundaries in the light of day in order to explain herself. She knew not what her love had gone through to be on her own without a word all night, but she could only hope an understanding would be drawn. Without Michael's presence to guide her that morning, she could only take steps to find her on her own. The drawing room; one of many, but in particular it resided in the east wing of the home. Furthest from strange company, because she was hardly one to be actively social, but what she'd learned was that most days were difficult for the Blaise daughter if she didn't start it as per her usual routine. Tea. In the east wing drawing room. And this time, she'd find company.

"For two, today." She'd instructed the kitchen staff. She was allowed to do that, now, but it still felt odd.

And she dwindled a few moments behind the individual who brought the setting out to her. At least then she could expected some kind of unexpected company as a secondary cup was placed at the empty seat near her. Only when she heard the subtle clang of cup to saucer did she step in.

"I hope you don't mind company this morning."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Time was strange - rarely working in a persons favor. Eight hours was by no means a short span of time, yet in the company of a loved one, it could flow by in what felt like minutes. Ten nights that had all felt like they'd gone by far too quickly, when Penelope could only wish time came to a slowing halt. Where morning came too early, making her wish for the return of nightfall again.

Except suddenly, time did seemingly stop for one night. Eight hours felt like days. Without word, and certainly without presence, Penelope couldn't have felt smaller in the bed she was used to sharing. One that held every memory of the past ten nights that crept under her skin. Without training, no place was safe for the psychometrist.

The hours dragged on, but morning eventually came and somehow Penelope managed to pull herself out from under the covers. Unable to call upon someone to change her sheets, the Brit had no choice but to stay within the confinements of the memories it held. Sleep wasn't an option - and the moment she could acceptably leave her room, she did.

The East wing drawing room. Tea. A routine that she refused to break even on the worst of days - even on the days she expected the worst of. Avoiding the person who seemed to choose her brother - her husband - over herself would not be an easy task, but fortunately with a home big enough, it was possible.

Penelope sat in solitude, hands in her lap as dark eyes stared across the room towards nothingness. Unable to focus on anything, she simply stared, oblivious to any plans behind the large doors that lead into the room. Even as her tea was brought to her, she didn't look until the sound of a second tea cup hit the table. Eyebrows furrowed together in a wave of confusion, and when a familiar accent filled the air Penelope took in a sudden, sharp breath.

She straightened in her seat, refusing to look towards the woman she loved. "Good morning."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

As they stood, Lucy felt highly attuned to the idea that they were in the company of a third party. Drawing each piece of detailed china from a tray to an immaculate table often took precision on purpose; a break and it could mean the loss of what Lucy could only assume was an easy position in the Blaise household.

Hands pressed together before her, she listened to the little response she was given. She noticed how she wasn't looked at, and it forced the tension to radiate into her jaw in the briefest of moments. It was never hard to recall just how wonderful it felt to be beneath those loving eyes. Even in stagnant moments such as these, she could always see what was buried beneath the facade. In a spare moment, she thought to look. To really draw the situation in. But she took steps instead.

Towards the vacant seat, Lucy practically forced herself into her silent counterpart's sight line. She took the space provided, hands then curled together tightly as they rested in her lap.

"I'd like to say the same," She reasoned, dark eyes finally landing on her expression. The slowest breath in, because even now she was so effortlessly beautiful; "But it was... Difficult to sleep last night."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Of course, eye contact couldn't have been avoided forever, and as Lucy moved into Penny's line of sight she had little choice but to look at the Australian. Glancing away would have looked suspicious, and gossip between household workers wasn't all that hard to stir up as it was - she couldn't offer them a reason to think something might have been wrong.

So instead she looked, quick to catch sight of Lucy's dark eyes and the way she exhaled. She felt her own expression soften, despite how she wished it hadn't. How she wished she could just not look at the Australian who decided to join her for morning tea. It was hard to maintain a blank expression, more so than usual with the mixture of emotions that stirred in her stomach and made her chest tighten.

But as Lucy replied, there was a hint of confusion in the Brit's eyes for a spare moment. However, her eyes were quick to harden as Lucy continued, lips unable to help themselves as they pressed into a thin, hard line. "I'm sure it was." She replied almost bitterly as she took the information in the worst of ways Hearing the doors close behind her, they were left alone as she finally did drag her gaze away down to her tea cup, fingers gently curling around the handle.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Lucy kept herself completely poised in her seat as the heated tea was poured for her, now. Dark eyes refused to waver from the Blaise daughter, and her smile refused to filter away while in foreign company.

She wondered how long she could maintain her silence. Cooler hands longed for the warmth of the familiar set across the table, and so her arms grew unmistakably stiff until she heard the door close. Immediately, Lucy exhaled a slow breath passed her lips. How free everything suddenly felt.

Until she spoke. And Lucy held her breath.

Concern flooded her eyes in a way she rarely wore. It was odd the way her heartbeat raced so quickly so suddenly; though she was used to her counterpart jolting the rhythm of her pulse, this was terrifying. It was painfully familiar, but at first she couldn't place the recollection.

"I'm sorry." Until those words left her lips, and she recalled how she'd felt to offer them in quick unison over a week ago. Immediately, Lucy dropped her eyes to the contents of her cup, too.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

With her gaze fixated on the contents of her cup, Penelope felt her chest tighten. Getting through the night was hard enough knowing that the woman she love chose instead to stay with her brother, yet coming into the drawing room the next morning as if nothing was wrong was adding salt to an open wound.

Penelope's back straightened instinctively as Lucy apologized. It didn't take her ability to recall the way such words sounded the last time she heard Lucy utter them on the night she had gotten married. Slowly, she brought the tea cup to her lips, buying precious moments to ponder the next step to take.

When she drew it away, she placed it gently on the saucer and looked back to find that she wasn't looking, either. "There isn't need to be." Penelope tried, feeling exhausted before the conversation even had the chance to take off. "I wish for your happiness." It was - if anything - a true statement, even if it cost her own. Above all, she should have expected the change of interest, although nothing could have made her think that it would have occurred so soon.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

There were small sounds of movement from across the table, but it wasn't enough to drag Lucy's attention back up. Eyes were attuned to the swirling notions of the cup before her. Finally, as seconds passed like hours, she reached out towards it. Her index finger looped the handle, thumb pressed to the cool white as she dragged it up slowly. Enough pressure filtered through her fingers to ensure she wouldn't drop it; moreso, that the shake of her hands wouldn't be remotely noticeable.

Her jaw tightened at the response given to her, like there was anything about the contents of the prior night that could make her happy. Longing throughout endless hours was nothing but clear-cut torture. It was almost offensive to even say it. But she brought the cup to her lips, buying herself those extra necessary moments she needed to calm down. To have a clearer head. They always said she wasn't built for the British art of passive aggressive warfare. She lowered her tea.

Finally, through the sheer will she carried alone, Lucy worked her way to speak. Her tongue ran the length of her lips slowly, eyebrows furrowed in her own confusion. What words she chose were to be perfect. They were to be precise. After all, this was a precise moment.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Regardless of if she could catch Lucy's gaze or not, Penelope watched. Heartbroken - angry, even, but she couldn't find the strength to look away from the Australian who sat adjacent to her. Lips pressed together as her thumb brushed along the edge of her teacup, even as it sat in front of her. An ill-trained psychometrist lost the strength of her stare for a moment, feeling the rush of a memory take over her senses. To feel one that wasn't her own or hers was almost refreshing as she recalled the way her tea was set down with precision.

So she was a moment too late to catch what Lucy had said, taking a spare second to let her words hit her mentality as she took another breath. She looked confused, and that was enough to put an inkling of confusion in her own expression.

"It is your decision to make." Penelope explained, feeling the wavering notion of her own breathing as she brought her hands onto her lap. "I'm sure my brother is a fine gentleman."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

The explanation rattled off on the other side of the table did so little to retain or reaffirm any kind of comfort for the ink manipulator. As she stared, she felt the most evident flicker of aggression cloud the confusion her eyes were carrying. Brief as it was, it still was. She closed them briefly, instead.

"Practically perfect, yes." Lucy countered, as careful with her words as she ought to be. The repetition was impossible to ignore. Those words were her very own words from the very beginning. How she accounted for the significant sliver of a difference that disallowed him to reach that perfection.

She paused for the duration of another drink. Small from the cup she cradled with two fingers. And as she placed it down again, she refrained from distance as her eyes searched for recollection; calm. Concise. But it was nothing short of desperate, hidden by the necessary veil as it was. "My heart lies with the change." She added in, careful to take a spare moment to breathe. But not to stop. It was too poignant to stop on the word that fueled the initial interaction.

"The commotion last night; did you hear it?"

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

It was practically absurd; how they sat together at the table. From an outside perspective, it might have looked that they were simply conversing over any ordinary subject. Penelope kept her usual stiff exterior - the sort that was rarely seen in private moments with her new sister in-law.

However, she listened carefully to the wording Lucy chose to offer. What was once a glimmer of hope of a phrase brought on new meaning. Her chest tightened as a shot of pain ran under her ribs and through her lungs, eyes squeezing shut before she looked back down to her tea.

Yet a question forced her gaze back up quickly. As painful as it was to look at Lucy, she couldn't believe the Australian had not only invaded her morning ritual, but also said something so forward. What was the point in putting the Brit through all of this. "I am afraid not." Penelope replied dryly, lifting the tea cup again and resting it under her lip before taking a sip.

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Being met with a dry response felt like a very distant memory. She couldn't recall the last time the only Blaise daughter had spoken to her in such a way; to think, from the outside, everyone was assuming they were getting along so well.

More to the point, she felt as if her repetition had been scathed. It was difficult enough to consider the most appropriate ways to express herself in the current atmosphere, but to have it driven off was another thing entirely. Not a single ounce of detail out of place, yet she did look sad to the ink manipulator who loved her.

"Thought not." Lucy replied, her voice as light as it likely shouldn't have been.

And in the briefest of moments, Lucy felt the way her eyes dropped. To familiar lips that found their place against the cool work of the cup nestled within her grasp.

"The company this house kept last night was... Unsettled." She finally reasoned, refusing to filter her gaze anywhere beyond her face. It was tragic work to drive her attention to her eyes as it was, yet somewhere within them she couldn't hide the blatant way she stared, "Wandering the halls quite late; quite aimlessly. I can't imagine why, but it certainly brought forth some impossibilities."

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

Miscommunication within its most basic form, Penelope had taken everything as it shouldn't have been. What was worse, she took everything to be the most negative of responses, stirring more emotions within her chest than she should have allowed. The psychometrist put herself in the most detrimental of mindsets, completely unaware to any second possible meanings Lucy's words could have held. To give herself hope was to give herself a weakness - one she already had felt the pain of.

However, as Lucy continued, Penelope couldn't completely ignore her. More, she couldn't unconsciously deny the straightforward explanation given to her, nor the way her gaze wavered, and where it had landed.

The company they housed were a rowdy bunch; Penelope had done her best to ignore them throughout the day, and even more so in the evening. Her dark eyes unwillingly lightened for a moment, only barely drawing the teacup from her lips as her eyebrow quirked upward. "Pardon?"

Because why would she now try to offer an excuse for her absence after saying what she had?

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

There was a point to being seen. Lucy felt it from the moment she'd been first folded into the household she'd eventually call her own. Every action was supposed to have a draw behind it; a reason. Nothing could and would be said out of turn. No look taken in a time like this unless it was supposed to be seen.

The simple response she was given forced a sliver of confusion to the ink manipulator's eyes, but she did her best to act as if it wasn't so. It existed in the time where it was most appropriate, hidden away by the proverbial veil that was Blaise family customs. For someone bred completely out of the passive aggressive life, she thought she was doing well.

Because she was hardly done.

"Have I lost you?" She asked, eyebrows raising in the briefest of moments after the question hit the air. For all its meanings, Lucy had to wonder which she might choose.

[Penelope Serrano-Blaise]

It took longer to draw her cup away than it should have. Penelope briefly considered taking another sip in order to obtain a few more seconds of consideration, or possibly to simply keep herself covered in some sense. To make it impossible to be completely under her gaze, because familiar dark eyes were far too overwhelming just on their own.

However, the base of the cup met its matching saucer with the gentle sound of china colliding on a small impact. Elbows refrained from finding the edge of the table, and instead she removed her hands completely to rest on the lap, hidden within the many layers she wore.

Because passive aggressive tones were something of a normality, just not when it came to her. Penelope felt the twinge of her eyebrows as her lips pursed together. Lips parted slowly, feeling the pain break through what she hoped was a stonewall expression. "I do not understand what you're implying," She started carefully, "But no, you have not lost me."

[Lucy Serrano-Blaise]

Twice answered, yet it all wrapped together as a singular package. She was so clever when she wanted to be. When she wanted to look. But she hadn't - not from the time Lucy first sat down to now - and that fact remained completely jarring. Because there she herself existed, barely able to draw her eyes away, and never long enough to sell any kind of point. She wondered how difficult his was to follow, really.

Her tongue breached the line of her lips again, and she almost conceded.

"I didn't sleep because I couldn't find the usual comfort. I missed it." But she would believe what she would, and Lucy could hardly exist to change a fact so seemingly set in a cracking stonewalled expression. "Perhaps not everything is reciprocated."

There; the briefest of fumbles and a threat to a believe. As perfectly wrapped as duel answers to a single question.

Eyes lost their strength - or perhaps the resolve to remain still - as the smallest fall brought her attention to the curve of her neck. There, dark eyes found themselves lingering, for a point or not before she dragged the cup to the edge of her lips and closed her eyes.

A small intake, and a slow settle.

"Your hair," She started, like an off-beat compliment, "It suits you; up like that." Dragging her gaze back to that set of eyes, she offered the small curve of her lips at the corner of her mouth. A simple smile, "I rather like it."