Page 33 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
Chapter 15
Blanche stood in the heart of the grand ballroom, where the soft rustle of silk and the perfume of fresh flowers filled the air. All around her, preparations for the upcoming ball unfolded in earnest—footmen adjusting candelabras, maids smoothing damask drapery, and florists weaving garlands with swift, practised hands.
Beside her moved Evelyn, calm and composed amidst the bustle, guiding each detail with effortless poise. Blanche had grown to admire her mother-in-law's quiet command, the way she made even the grandest task seem manageable. Without her, Blanche knew she could never have managed something of this scale.
"My dear," Evelyn said, placing a gentle hand on Blanche’s arm, "you need not look so grave. Everything shall be splendid. This ball will be a triumph—a fitting welcome for the Duchess of Brooksdale."
Blanche, grateful for Evelyn's reassuring words, managed a small smile. The warmth and consideration Evelyn had shown her throughout the preparations stood in stark contrast to the distant and often enigmatic demeanour of her own mother.
"Thank you, Evelyn," Blanche replied, her voice tinged with sincerity. "Your guidance has been invaluable. I appreciate your kindness more than words can express."
Evelyn's eyes held a motherly warmth as she squeezed Blanche's shoulder. "It is my pleasure, my dear. You are family now, and I wish nothing but joy for you in this new chapter of your life."
As they continued to oversee the preparations, Blanche found herself reflecting on the stark differences between Evelyn's approach and that of her own mother. Evelyn'skindness and genuine concern stood out, a contrast to the distant and calculated demeanor she had grown accustomed to.
It left her wondering how different her life could have been had she grown up with a mother more like Evelyn. She might not have become quite so unsure of herself all the time.
"Now," Evelyn continued, "I understand you have plans with Philip and your brother today?"
Blanche’s eyes lit up. "Yes—the Tower of London. I had nearly forgotten in all the bustle."
"Then go," Evelyn said with a fond smile. "Enjoy yourself. I have every confidence in the staff, and it’s not every day one has the chance to spend time with one’s brother. Especially at such a young and impressionable age."
"Philip has planned it all so thoughtfully," Blanche said, almost shyly. "Leopold will be thrilled."
Evelyn touched her arm again, her voice soft. "I am glad to see my son being so attentive. He is not always the easiest man to read."
A thick lump of emotion balled up in Blanche's throat. She was a little overwhelmed by everything that was happening, but she could not avoid the effect that Evelyn's words had on her. Philip really had been kind to her. Attentive too. And moments between them had begun to feel... something more. She hadn’t quite dared name it.
Just then, as if summoned by her thoughts, Philip appeared at the ballroom doors, his usual quiet confidence wrapped about him like a well-fitted coat.
"Are you ready?" he asked; his tone easy. "The carriage is waiting, and I suspect your brother is already pacing the threshold with impatience."
Blanche laughed. "No doubt he’s been ready since dawn."
Evelyn gave them both a shooing gesture. "Off with you. I have draperies and supper menus to contend with, and I shall not be disturbed."
For a brief moment, as they were walking toward the carriage, Philip's hand grazed against hers and Blanche's heart skipped a beat. She wondered—no, hoped—that he might reach for her hand, to lead her to the carriage.
He did not, which unfortunately made Blanche's heart sink.
Was she getting far too carried away here? Reading too much into fleeting glances and kind words? She wasn’t even certain what she wanted—but she couldn’t seem to quiet the feeling all the same.
The morning sun bathed London's streets in a soft glow, which only built up the anticipation surging through Blanche's veins. She had never been lucky enough to visit the Tower of London before, nor had Leopold, so it was going to be enjoyable to undertake this journey together. Especially with Philip, who would undoubtedly make this an interesting, amusing day.
To Blanche's surprise, the door opened not to the excited face of Leopold but to the flustered countenance of her mother. It seemed like Isabella had been eagerly awaiting her arrival. Her eyes, usually veiled in an enigmatic mask, were unusually bright, and her movements betrayed a certain agitation.
"Blanche, my darling!" Isabella exclaimed, her voice overbright. "You’ve come at just the right moment. I found a box of your little antiquities. Imagine! How forgetful of me to misplace it."
She pressed an old box into Blanche's hands, the lid slightly askew. Intrigued and hopeful, she lifted the lid with tentative fingers, imagining the sight of her beloved relics restored to her at long last. A quick end to the mystery that she had not been enjoying.
Hope bloomed briefly in Blanche’s chest as she pried it open.
And then withered.
Inside were only a few chipped tile fragments—none of the rare pieces her father had so carefully curated. None of the items she had searched for in vain.
"Oh, Mother," she said softly, her voice strained. "These are only fragments. The most valuable pieces—Father’s favourites—are still missing."
