Penelope Featherington stood in front of the grand mirror in her bedchamber, her reflection a picture of nerves and uncertainty. Today was the day of her arranged marriage, a union orchestrated by her parents to secure their family's position in society. She smoothed down the delicate lace of her gown, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach. As she made her way down the staircase of her family's townhouse, she couldn't shake the feeling of dread that weighed heavily upon her. She knew little about the person she was to marry, only that they came from a respectable family and had a sizable dowry. It was a match made in the parlors of society, where alliances were forged and fortunes were secured.

But as she stepped into the opulent carriage that would take her to the church, Penelope couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. She longed for a love that was passionate and true, a love that would set her heart on fire and make her feel alive. But in the world she lived in, such luxuries were reserved for fairy tales and daydreams. As she reached the altar, she saw her betrothed standing there, a woman. A woman?