Page 24 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
Isabella smiled, pleased to move on. "Now then, tell me—how is married life? I hear you were seen out in London yesterday."
Blanche stifled a sigh. "Yes, Philip and I attended an exhibition at the Egyptian Hall. A display on Greek artefacts."
To her surprise, Isabella brightened. "Ah, because you both share an interest in history. That must make it easier to be married."
Blanche’s lips parted, then pressed together again. "It would be easier if we had chosen one another." Blanche reminded her. "At present, we are simply endeavoring to rise above the scandal, which has made it rather difficult for us to truly converse. I do not know him as well as I should like."
She watched as her mother laughed her concerns off. "Oh, well you have done the right thing, my dear. Being married is the perfect way for you to overcome all of that. Thank goodness the man you were caught with alone was a duke with all this finery. You will certainly live the good life. Just remember, this could allbe a whole lot worse. You could have found yourself in a terrible situation. Married to a worthless man, or not married at all! You would have been in ruin had it not been for the Duke's good heart."
Blanche gritted her teeth together angrily. It seemed like her mother was purposefully not hearing what she had to say. Isabella did not want to hear it because she was so wrapped up in excitement. Her daughter was now a duchess, which of course was going to work out well for her.
As she continued to prattle on about fortunes and opportunities, Blanche felt a sharp pang of longing for her father.
He would have understood the heartache that she was now suffering.
He would have had some good advice for her, to help her get through this challenging time.
But he was not here, and nothing was going to bring him back. The only way Blanche could keep that man close to her was to locate his artefacts.
Much as her mother did not want to think much about it, Blanche was not going to allow it to be forgotten. Although Mother cared only for the family name and their social standing, Blanche could not simply move on. She would not let the matter rest—no matter what.
***
The imposing silence of the portrait gallery surrounded Blanche, the watchful gaze of generations past seeming to weigh upon her shoulders. The figures in their gilded frames, their expressions regal and unmoving, only deepened the unease coiling in her chest.
The reality of her new position—Duchess of Brooksdale—pressed upon her with a weight she had not yet learned to carry.
Evelyn, ever perceptive, did not miss the tension in her daughter-in-law’s expression. With a gentle touch to her arm and a warm, knowing smile, she murmured, "Blanche, my dear, may I steal a moment of your time?"
Blanche turned, grateful for the interruption. "Of course, Evelyn. What is it?"
Evelyn led her to a quieter corner, away from the solemn stares of painted ancestors, where they could speak freely. Her gaze, steady and kind, held none of the scrutiny that Blanche had become so accustomed to since her marriage.
"My dear," Evelyn began, her tone soft yet assured, "I have observed how difficult this transition has been for you. The expectations placed upon you, the weight of this house, this title—it is no small thing. I hoped we might discuss a way to make it easier."
Blanche exhaled, some of the tension slipping from her shoulders at the older woman’s understanding. "I do feel a little out of place at times," she admitted. "It is all… rather daunting."
Evelyn nodded. "Which is precisely why I believe we must host a ball in your honour. A grand affair to properly introduce you to society as the Duchess of Brooksdale."
Blanche hesitated. A ball. A spectacle where she would be displayed before London’s elite, subjected to their judgment. The thought alone made her stomach twist.
"I am not certain, Lady Brooksdale," she said carefully. "It seems such an undertaking. And I would hardly know where to begin."
Evelyn’s smile did not waver. "Blanche, my dear, you possess far more grace than you realise. This ball is not merely for the sake of appearances—it is an opportunity. A way for you to step into your role on your own terms, to be seen as more than a name in the scandal sheets. And, of course, I would be with you every step of the way."
Blanche glanced toward the portraits, as if seeking reassurance from the generations of women who had stood in this very place before her.
Could she do this?
"You will not be left to manage it alone," Evelyn added with a playful wink. "I have organised many a ball in my time. I daresay my guidance may be of some use."
A small, hesitant smile pulled at Blanche’s lips. There was something comforting in Evelyn’s quiet confidence, in her unwavering support. Perhaps this did not have to be a trial to endure, but rather a chance to reclaim some semblance of control over her new life.
"Perhaps you are right, Evelyn," she admitted at last. "A ball may be precisely what I need."
Evelyn squeezed her hand fondly, her expression warm with approval. "It shall be a magnificent affair, my dear. One that will not only mark your place in society but celebrate the woman you are becoming."
For the first time since stepping into Brooksdale Manor, Blanche felt a spark of anticipation rather than apprehension. The idea was still daunting, yes—but perhaps, just perhaps, it could also be something more.
Something hers.
