Page 39 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
Chapter 18
The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the ancient artefacts that lined the shelves of Philip’s private study. Shadows danced across carved stone and timeworn scrolls, the treasures of forgotten empires bearing silent witness to the inner storm brewing within their collector.
This room had always been his sanctuary—a haven of quiet contemplation and scholarly pursuit. But tonight, the allure of ancient relics faded into the periphery of his thoughts. His fingers absently traced the rim of a Grecian urn, yet his mind was not in the past, but fixed firmly on the night ahead.
The upcoming ball—meticulously arranged with all the splendour befitting Brooksdale—loomed like a beacon on the horizon. Yet, where once such an affair would have filled him with reluctant obligation, tonight stirred something altogether unfamiliar.
Whispers had reached Philip's ears of a certain Mr Munroe, a renowned seller of antiquities discreetly planning a private auction for a cache of exceptionally rare artefacts. The mere mention of such a prospect sent a surge of excitement through Philip's veins. His passion for collecting antiquities, an obsession that often burned quietly beneath the surface, flared to life. Even without the details surrounding the artefacts.
The fact that Mr. Munroe did not even feel the need to express some details about what he was selling only made it that much more exciting to Philip. It was a mystery that he could not wait to unfold. The allure of rare artefacts, veiled in mystery and shrouded in the secrecy of a private auction, beckoned to Philip's adventurous spirit. His thoughts drifted away from the societal intricacies of the impending ball, consumed instead by the prospect of acquiring treasures that would enrich his collection.
The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, yet Philip's mind remained entranced by the possibilities that awaited him. He could not shake the image of those rare artefacts, each whispering tales of civilisations long past. The idea of being the highest bidder, of possessing these relics, ignited a fire within him that surpassed the social obligations of the evening.
Philip made a decision in the depths of his mind. He would be the one to claim those treasures, regardless of the cost. He simply had to have them.
He had to admit that having a wife who would likely share his passion and his urge to pay the highest price for whatever Mr Munroe had to offer made it that much more exciting. Blanche's eyes would light up if he came home with a new set of artefacts for them to explore together. That brought a smile to his face.
Imagining Blanche’s reaction brought a smile to his face. He leaned back, his gaze fixed upon the fire. His marriage to Blanche had begun as a necessity, a balm for scandal—but now, it was shifting into something else. Something warmer. Something real.
Was he anticipating the music, the dancing, the society?
Or was he simply longing to see her again—dressed in her finest, cheeks flushed with laughter, eyes seeking his across a crowded room?
The thought both delighted and unsettled him.
Just as the idea began to settle in his mind, the study door creaked open, and Cedric’s familiar voice carried into the room.
"Good gracious, Philip—are you smiling?" he teased. "You must be ill. What has happened to the man who despises such social affairs? I thought I would find you gloomy about the ball tonight."
Philip chuckled, standing to greet his friend. "I assure you, I’m in full health. I was merely thinking about an upcomingmysterious auction being held by a gentleman I had not heard of before. Mr. Munroe."
Cedric laughed heartily; his voice tinged with amusement as he took a seat opposite his friend. "Hmm, no, I do not think it has anything to do with the antiquities."
Philip hesitated, his thoughts lingering on a name that had become a quiet refrain in his mind. "Cedric, have you ever found yourself looking forward to something you would normally disdain?"
There was a thoughtful pause on the other end of the line before Cedric replied, "So, youarelooking forward to the ball. I wonder why that might be."
Philip took a deep breath, grappling with the realisation that had taken root within him. "It is Blanche." A weight lifted off his shoulders as he admitted the truth. Thank goodness he had Cedric to talk to. "Something about her presence has shifted my perspective. I find myself eager for this evening because of her."
Cedric exhaled, his expression softening. "Well. That is not so very unexpected, is it? You admire her. You enjoy her company. You even share an interest in dusty, crumbling things. It sounds to me, Philip, as though you are—dare I say it—growing fond of her."
Philip gave a short, dry laugh. "Perhaps. It has crept upon me without warning. I never imagined feeling this way—not after everything that happened with Lady Sophia."
At the mention of her name, a shadow passed over Cedric’s features.
"You must not let Sophia’s betrayal shape the rest of your life," he said gently. "Yes, she used you. But not every affection is laced with manipulation. Not every woman is her."
Philip was quiet for a long moment, staring into the fire.
"I know. And yet... it is difficult to trust that part of myself again. But Blanche—she’s nothing like Sophia. She hasno interest in power games or position. She is sincere. Curious. Kind."
Cedric nodded, smiling faintly. "And you care for her."
"I am beginning to," Philip admitted, the words tasting strange on his tongue. "Or at the very least... I wish to."
"Then do," Cedric replied simply. "Do not squander the chance. Not all marriages begin in love—but love may still find its way in."
Philip glanced down at the urn beneath his hand, the worn etchings barely visible in the firelight. A relic from a forgotten time, but no less meaningful. He understood the value of things that took time to be revealed.
