Page 45 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
Blanche looked at him, her eyes still glossy with memory, and nodded gratefully. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
They found a quiet hillside where a willow tree bowed low, its graceful branches casting dappled shade across the soft grass. Beneath its sweeping canopy, they settled, the rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the breeze creating a hushedsymphony that lent serenity to the moment. Philip stole glances at Blanche as he began to unpack the hamper their cook had so thoughtfully prepared.
The spread was nothing short of exquisite — artisanal cheeses arranged with care, still-warm bread wrapped in linen, a vibrant array of fruits, and a bottle of their favourite wine nestled among the provisions. Blanche's lips curved into a soft, appreciative smile — a momentary reprieve from the wistful heaviness that had lingered over her since morning.
Philip uncorked the wine and poured it with a practiced hand, the garnet liquid catching the golden light that filtered through the willow leaves. Their glasses met with a quiet chime, a silent toast to the peace of the afternoon. The first sips offered a warmth that eased the knot in Blanche’s chest.
“This is lovely,” she murmured, her voice touched with gratitude. “Exactly what I needed. The sunshine, the quiet… It’s all rather perfect. Thank you, Philip.”
He gave a small nod, his eyes never leaving hers. “I know today has not been easy. I wish there were more I could do to lighten the burden. But perhaps moments like these can bring a measure of comfort. Tell me more about your father — and the adventures you once shared. I would very much like to hear about them.”
Blanche’s gaze drifted to the horizon, her expression softening as memories unfurled. “My father was a man driven by curiosity. He believed the world was full of wonders, waiting patiently to be discovered. He taught me to seek stories in every place we visited — to cherish the journey, not merely the destination.”
Philip smiled, intrigued. “He must have been a remarkable man.”
“Oh, he was,” she replied, a tender warmth threading through her words. “There was one summer… we decided toexplore the countryside," she continued. "We stumbled upon a hidden village where the locals shared ancient traditions and folklore. It was as if time had stood still there, and my father revelled in the connection between generations, bridged by stories passed down through centuries."
Philip listened with undivided attention, her memories painting vivid landscapes in his mind. She spoke of laughter around fires, of forgotten villages, of treasures found and friendships forged. And as she spoke, he found himself dreaming of discovering those places with her.
When the meal was nearly finished, Blanche rose to begin clearing away the remains of their lunch. But in her haste, her foot caught on a root hidden in the grass. A startled cry left her lips as she stumbled.
Philip surged forward.
He caught her just as she fell, his arms strong around her waist. Her hands landed against his chest. Their faces were far too close.
“Blanche, are you hurt?” he asked, the words rushed and breathless, his brows drawn in sudden concern. "Did you hurt yourself? Is your ankle injured?"
Caught off guard by the sudden proximity, as Blanche gazed up into his eyes, he could not help but notice that her breath momentarily caught in her throat. His arms, a sturdy embrace, held her securely as he anxiously awaited her response. The air seemed to shimmer with an unspoken tension, the weight of his concern palpable in the space between them.
For a moment, Blanche appeared quite breathless, her heart pounding, just as hard as his. The closeness was almost unbearable.
“I—no,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Just surprised. I think I am perfectly fine.”
Still, he didn’t let her go.
The moment stretched.
He could feel the rise and fall of her breath, see the gentle flush upon her cheeks. His heart pounded as a thousand unspoken thoughts collided in his chest.
She looked up at him, and for a moment, the world was suspended in time.
He wanted to kiss her.
He very nearly did.
But instead, he helped her gently to her feet, ensuring her balance before reluctantly stepping back.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “You were quick.”
“I will always be there to catch you… Always,” he replied, his voice low.
Their eyes met and held. The air between them shimmered with something fragile, something new. Philip opened his mouth to speak—but no words came.
Blanche had a way of stealing them from him, every time.
