Page 10 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
Chapter 5
Heart racing in the hidden alcove behind the curtain, Blanche observed the unfolding negotiation with an intensity that matched the beating of her own pulse. The dim light barely reached her secluded vantage point, providing ample cover for her to remain an unseen spectator. From the shadows, she listened keenly as the Duke—a master of eloquence and strategy—engaged in discussions with the venerable Baron regarding the acquisition of his late grandfather's extensive collection of antiquities.
The exchange of words resonated in the air, and Blanche strained to catch every nuance. The artefacts being discussed were not mere trinkets to her; they were the subjects of her meticulous research, the focus of years spent deciphering the mysteries of ancient civilisations. She recognised the nuances in the Duke's negotiation tactics and the Baron's guarded yet intrigued responses.
The temptation to interject, to share the wealth of knowledge she had accumulated, surged within her. Yet, she remained steadfast in her hidden alcove, knowing that revealing herself would be entirely unsuitable and ruinous to the delicate dance of negotiation. In the realm of men, her voice was often drowned out, deemed inconsequential.
It was difficult for Blanche, but she just about managed to stay silent until the very end of the conversation.
At last, to her immense relief, the men departed. Their laughter and easy camaraderie echoed through the opulent halls as they strode away, leaving Blanche the chance to cautiously emerge from her concealed alcove.
Her legs wavered beneath her, unsteady from both tension and the prolonged stillness. Her pulse hammered in her ears, theremnants of the clandestine moment lingering in her veins. She drew a slow breath, willing herself to composure, though the dim glow of the hidden recess mercifully veiled the turmoil written upon her features.
The weight of the evening's events pressed heavily upon her as she too navigated the corridors, each step echoing the tumult within while she exited the blue parlour. Re-joining her mother and the other guests in the billiards room, Blanche attempted to wear a mask of composure, concealing the disquiet that coiled within her.
Lady Wickford stood amidst a cluster of ladies, engaged in light conversation. To an outsider, there were no visible signs of the fainting spell Mother claimed to have experienced moments ago. Her countenance remained untouched by any earlier indisposition. Yet, Blanche could not shake the unease that lingered within her, a dissonance that seemed to dance beneath the surface.
Approaching her mother, Blanche could not suppress the urge to delve into the mystery that enveloped Isabella's delayed arrival. "Mother, what detained you for so long? You never arrived in the blue parlour for your smelling salts," she asked, genuine concern etched on her features.
Isabella, with a dismissive wave of her hand, brushed off the question. "I do not know what you are fussing about, Blanche. As you can see, I am quite fine."
The nonchalant response only intensified Blanche's sense of disquiet. The incongruity between Mother’s claimed indisposition and her current composed demeanour fueled Blanche's unease, a nagging suspicion that a veiled intricacy lurked beneath the surface.
The evening's strange turn of events, her mother's erratic behaviour, and the precarious situation she had narrowlyescaped created a knot of apprehension within Blanche. She was concerned to see what would happen next…
***
The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a subdued glow in Blanche's bed chambers. She lay still, the remnants of a sleepless night etched on her face. The strange events of the night lingered in her thoughts the musicale, the laughter with her friend, the intriguing conversation with the brooding duke, and her mother's inexplicable behaviour. The latter remained an enigma, an unsolved puzzle she was not quite prepared to tackle at the moment.
With a reluctant sigh, Blanche finally stirred in her bed. The satin sheets slid from her shoulders as she sat up, running her fingers through her dishevelled hair. The looking glass across the room reflected a face marked by the shadows of contemplation, eyes that held the residue of both amusement and confusion from the night before.
The looming responsibilities of the day pressed upon her, urging her to leave the comfort of her bed. As she swung her legs over the edge, the cold touch of the hardwood floor sent a shiver through her. She reached for the robe draped over the chair, enveloping herself in its soft embrace.
The wardrobe stood as a silent witness to the choices she would make for the day. Blanche pondered over the array of dresses, each holding its own story of social gatherings and whispered conversations. Today, however, demanded a careful selection, for the eyes of society were sharp, and appearances mattered.
After a moment of contemplation, she chose a delicate lavender gown adorned with intricate lace. The fabric whispered as it cascaded down her frame, a muted elegance that suited the occasion. With measured grace, she fastened the buttonsand adjusted the lace collar, her movements deliberate and purposeful.
The reflection in the looking glass transformed as the gown embraced her form, a subtle confidence replacing the uncertainty that had marked her morning. Blanche, now adorned in lavender, felt a semblance of readiness for the day ahead. She smoothed a few stray strands of hair, her fingers lingering on the delicate necklace that adorned her neck.
Her mother would be eager, perhaps even impatient, to discuss how the previous night might have influenced their social standing, particularly if any gentlemen of fine pedigree had taken notice.
There was no avoiding it, however much she might wish otherwise. With a resigned breath, Blanche rose to face the inevitable and made her way to breakfast.
She descended the staircase slowly, aware that there was something strange in the air. An iciness to the atmosphere that she had not anticipated. It left her wondering what she might have done to cause this. Had she misstepped somehow the previous night? Her mother had not mentioned it on the carriage ride home, but that did not keep her safe.
Her worries only intensified as she took a seat at the breakfast table because Mother might as well have been covered in a storm cloud.
Something was amiss, and she was terrified to find out what.
"Good morning," she offered in a quiet voice, but that was something she would soon come to regret.
Lady Wickford turned sharply, her eyes ablaze with fury. Without preamble, she thrust the latest copy of the scandal sheet across the table. Blanche's eyes met the sensational headlines that now stained her reputation, and her heart sank.
A Scandal Unveiled: Duke's Late-Night Tryst with Lady Blanche Ipswich.
The ink on the pages seemed to scream accusations, weaving a narrative of scandalous rendez-vous and compromising positions. Blanche felt the hot sting of embarrassment rise to her cheeks, her hands trembling as she read the lascivious tales spun by the scandal sheets.
Shadows of Impropriety Cast on Aristocratic Pair.
