Page 7 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
“Pray forgive the interruption, Miss,” he said, his voice low and resonant, each word carefully measured. “But I confess I was struck by the remarkable pendant you wear. It is most uncommon... and undeniably evocative.”
Blanche, unprepared for such directness from one of the highest-ranking men in the realm, felt a flicker of unease stir beneath her corseted calm. His presence — tall, composed, and unyieldingly intense — unsettled the tranquil air of the parlour, sending her thoughts scattering like petals in a breeze.
However, the scholar's curiosity that defined her essence quickly overrode trepidation. This was the moment that she had been waiting for after all.
"It is a mosaic piece from a Roman Fort that I once visited with my father. I enjoyed the piece so much that I had it transformed into a pendant."
The Duke of Brooksdale's gaze lingered on the pendant, his eyes absorbing every intricate detail of the mosaic piece. There was a brief silence, filled only by the hushed whispers of the room's ornate furnishings.
"A Roman Fort, you say?" he finally replied. "How fascinating. You say you visited the fort with your father?"
"Oh yes, my father was a great collector of artefacts like this one. Until he passed away."
"I am sorry to hear that," the Duke smiled. "Unless of course, he forced you to join him on such missions."
"Oh no, quite the opposite. I have always enjoyed them."
The Duke, shrouded in an air of mystery that clung to him like a well-fitted cloak, took a measured step closer. His gaze lingered on the pendant, as though seeking to unravel the secrets woven into the ancient mosaic. Then, at last, his eyes lifted to hers.
When he spoke, his voice was low, almost contemplative.
"Your love for history is evident, Miss. It is a rare quality, and I find it quite enchanting.
May I ask your name?"
Blanche felt a flicker of unease, though whether it was due to the impropriety of such an exchange or the unsettling intriguethe Duke stirred within her, she could not say.This is all wrong.And yet, she did not care enough for society’s dictates to silence her own curiosity.
"I am Miss Ipswich, daughter to the late Viscount of Wicksford."
“And I am Philip Brooks, the Duke of Brooksdale.” His grin grew wider. “Perhaps we share a similar appreciation for the mysteries that time bestows upon us.”
Blanche, though initially taken aback by the Duke's directness, found herself intrigued by the layers of complexity in his character. She nodded, the conversation weaving a delicate tapestry of shared appreciation for history and artefacts.
"Your Grace, might I inquire about your own interest in history?" Blanche asked nervously. "I am certain you have encountered many remarkable artefacts. You have a very famous collection, from what I have heard."
As the Duke and Blanche engaged in lively discourse over their shared passion for history, the parlour seemed to dissolve into something beyond mere ornament and propriety—a sanctuary for like minds. The pendant, once nothing more than a fragment of mosaic, now served as a silent conduit, a bridge between two souls drawn together by their reverence for the past. In that moment, the weight of expectation faded, leaving only the quiet thrill of discovery—a shared longing to unravel the narratives hidden within the artefacts that had shaped their lives.
