Page 36 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
Philip smiled warmly, recognising the joy of a young mind hungry for knowledge and adventure. "So do I, Leopold. So do I."
With the carriage door closing, the trio left, their hearts lightened by the shared experience of laughter, learning, and the limitless possibilities that lay ahead for a curious young mind.
Inside the gently swaying carriage en route to Blanche's family's townhouse, the cobbled streets of London passed unseen beneath them, and the soft flicker of gaslight danced across the velvet-lined walls. The quiet clatter of hooves echoed through the narrow lanes, but within the confines ofthe carriage, a gentle warmth lingered—a cocoon of laughter, comfort, and something Philip could not quite name.
Leopold spoke animatedly, arms gesturing, eyes wide with wonder as he recounted the tales from their day—the lions and parrots of the Royal Menagerie, the tragic ghost stories of the Tower, the whispered legends of long-dead royalty. His voice was bright and youthful, spilling into every corner of the carriage like sunlight.
Blanche sat opposite Philip, nestled close to her brother, her face turned toward him with such gentle attention that it caught Philip unawares. She was smiling—truly smiling—not the polite, strained expression she had worn during those early, awkward days, but something unguarded. Her cheeks were tinged with colour, and the laughter in her eyes lit something in his chest he hadn’t felt in years.
She looked so at ease, her shoulders relaxed beneath the soft folds of her gown, one gloved hand resting lightly on her lap, the other touching her brother’s arm as he spoke. There was an elegance to her that had nothing to do with her title and everything to do with her presence—her curiosity, her sincerity, her quiet resilience.
Philip found himself watching her, not just with appreciation, but with a growing sense of awe. And no small amount of confusion.
This was not what he had expected.
When he had offered marriage, it had been done with a clenched jaw and a sense of grim necessity. An honourable solution to a scandal that had already begun to brew. He hadn’t imagined affection. Certainly not warmth. The idea of happiness—of companionship—had not even occurred to him.
And yet, here it was, quietly unfolding before him like a pressed flower kept between the pages of an old book.
Blanche laughed then, the sound soft and musical, and Philip felt it reverberate through him. She turned slightly, catching his gaze, and for the briefest moment, they simply looked at one another, no pretence, no performance. Just two people trying to make sense of what their lives had become.
Her smile deepened, and though it was tinged with a trace of shyness, it held no discomfort. Only… possibility.
Something inside him shifted.
Not dramatically. Not like a bolt of lightning. But something essential. A loosening of the guard he’d held so tightly. A part of him, long buried beneath duty and pride and past disappointments, stirred to life once more.
He was beginning to care.
Not merely in the way one might grow fond of a well-mannered companion, but something deeper, more unsettling. Something tender and tremulous and altogether dangerous.
Because caring meant vulnerability. And vulnerability meant risk.
He looked away first, back to the passing shadows beyond the window, but his thoughts did not follow. They remained with her—with the softness of her voice when she spoke to her brother, the spark in her eyes when she spoke of history, the way she had reached for his arm earlier and then withdrawn, as though unsure whether she was allowed.
Did she feel it too, this shifting current between them?
Did she wonder, as he now did, whether their marriage—born not of romance but of necessity—might be transformed into something else?
He wasn’t ready to say the word aloud. Not yet. Perhaps not even to himself. But the idea had taken root, however cautiously, however unwillingly.
He would speak to Cedric again. His friend would no doubt have something maddeningly wise and irritatingly perceptive to say. He always did.
But even before that conversation took place, Philip already knew what he would hear.
That the past, however painful, need not dictate the future.
Those walls were built to be broken down and he was allowed, after all this time, to want more.
And for the first time since the scandal, since the hurried vows and the quiet, awkward mornings, Philip found himself wondering…
What if Blanche wanted more, too?
