Page 18 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
Chapter 9
As Blanche stepped into the grandeur of Brooksdale Manor, Philip guided her through the intricate corridors, the ancestral portraits watching their every move. The air carried the weight of centuries-old secrets, and while the estate's beauty was undeniable, Philip could not shake the uneasy feeling within him.
Awaiting them in the drawing room was the dowager duchess —Evelyn—whose smile reached her warm eyes. Rising gracefully from the antique sofa, she welcomed Blanche with an embrace. The room, adorned with intricate floral patterns, seemed to tell stories of the past. Blanche, dressed in an ensemble that matched the manor's elegance, received Evelyn's hospitality with polite gratitude, for which Philip was truly grateful.
She continued to be graceful, even in this terrible situation.
"Lady Brooksdale, my dear, welcome to Brooksdale Manor." Evelyn’s voice, warm and melodic, filled the drawing room as she poured fragrant tea into delicate porcelain cups. "It gladdens my heart to have you here at last."
"Please, call me Blanche."
Evelyn’s smile brightened. "Then you must, of course, call me Evelyn." Setting the teapot aside with practised grace, she gestured to the nearest chair. "Come, sit with me. We have much to talk about."
Blanche did as Evelyn commanded, so Philip did the same thing. He took a cup of tea, although he was not sure that he could drink it, and watched the women talk.
"I would love to hear all about you, Blanche. Philip tells me that you share his interest in antiquities."
"Yes, I have always harboured a fascination with the past—a love I inherited from my father." Blanche's eyes softened a little as she talked about her father. "It is not a common pursuit, I know, but it connects me to him, even now."
Philip watched his mother soften too, knowing that it was his father who inspired that interest in him too. Evelyn looked his way and smiled happily at Philip, as if this union was a wonderful thing because they shared so much.
If the marriage had not been forced upon them, then Philip might have agreed with her.
But they had not been given the chance to get to know one another at all yet.
It was all so very complicated.
"I would love to hear more about your father, my dear. From the sound of it, he was very much like my own husband… truth be told."
Amidst the warm glow of the chandeliers, the drawing room felt like a haven from uncertainties. However, Philip maintained a guarded distance, finding solace in the shadows as he observed the exchange with a detached gaze. Though Evelyn's kindness and Blanche's polite responses created a facade of harmonious union, Philip could not escape the sense that their connection was one of obligation, not desire.
Blanche's eyes briefly met Philip's, a momentary connection in the midst of the orchestrated hospitality. Philip wished that he could find the strength to smile at her, to try and see if he was able to make her feel as welcome as his mother, but he could not seem to manage it.
The suffocating air of London's high society pressed against Philip as he allowed his mind to wander. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he thought about vicious eyes and wagging tongues following his every move, hungry for the latest scandal to feast upon. Philip's good name, carefully built overthe years, now dangled perilously on the precipice of ruination. The marriage should have repaired the damage.
But had it?
Maybe not entirely.
A clawing sense of desperation gripped him as he weighed his options. The weight of scrutiny, the endless hum of gossip, the ceaseless burden of judgment—it was intolerable. There was only one solution as far as he could see: escape.
"I do not think we should stay here much longer," Philip muttered, frustration lacing his voice. He had not realised how loudly he had spoken until the room fell into a hush, every gaze snapping toward him. But now that he had started, he had to continue.
"We should leave London at once, Blanche. It is the only way to salvage what remains of our reputation. I am thinking that we could go…"
Blanche’s wide, startled eyes fixed upon him, her lips parting slightly in surprise.
But Evelyn was far from silent. She had an opinion, and she was not afraid to share it.
"Philip, my dear," she said, her tone firm but not unkind, "we must not let idle chatter dictate our actions. Leaving in haste would only lend credence to the very rumours you wish to avoid. The ton will only talk more. You and Blanche are married now, there is nothing else to discuss. You must both stand firm and weather this storm. Scandals may swirl, but they burn out quickly. Soon enough, another indiscretion will capture the fickle attention of society."
Philip paced the room, his mind torn between pride and pragmatism. The countryside called to him, a world of serenity and solitude, untouched by Town’s venomous whispers. He ached for the quiet, for the space to breathe.
Yet his mother’s words carried a wisdom he could not easily dismiss.
What did Blanche think?
His gaze drifted to her, only to find her looking toward Evelyn as well, as if searching for guidance.
