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Summary
“Mum?” she asks slowly, clutching at her duvet. Portia looks… ridiculous. She looks like she’s off to a reenactment at the local castle, with her hair piled high and pinned up with a huge sparkly brooch, and she’s in an aggressively yellow Regency-era dress.
“Mama, Penelope, you’re not common,” Portia says with a sigh, pinching at the bridge of her nose. Pen’s mouth drops because they bloody well are common, but something has gone horribly awry here, and she’s not sure if kicking off is the best way to manage the situation.
“Sorry-- Mama, um. What’s the date?” she asks slowly.