Page 53 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
She steadied herself, though her voice came quieter than before. “And what else have you done, Mother?”
Isabella hesitated for the barest of seconds, then spoke—flatly, almost coldly. “I did it. I arranged everything. The scandal. The blue parlour. Philip. All of it.”
Blanche went still. Her heart skipped a beat.
"You did what?"
“I orchestrated the moment you were found with him,” Isabella said, a brittle edge creeping into her voice. “I left nothing to chance. I even tipped off the gossip sheets myself. It was the only way. Without your marriage to him, Blanche, we would have been ruined.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Blanche's vision blurred for a moment, as if the world had tipped sideways. Her limbs felt heavy, her breath shallow. She had suspected many things of her mother—manipulation, certainly. High-handedness. Emotional coldness. But this… this was unforgivable.
“You used me,” Blanche whispered, the words catching in her throat. “You sacrificed me to save yourself.”
“I saved us all!” Isabella snapped. “You speak of sacrifice? Do you think I enjoyed it? Do you think I haven’t lost everything too? I did what I had to do for this family.”
“For this family?” Blanche’s voice trembled, rising with each syllable. “You stole from me. You lied to me. You watched mesearch for Father's artefacts while you sold them off in secret. You humiliated me before society. And now, you stand there in your silks and jewels and call it sacrifice?”
Isabella’s face flushed with a rare fury. “You ungrateful child. You’ve never understood what it takes to survive in our world. You think your books and your ancient urns will protect you from disgrace? From ruin?”
Blanche’s lips parted, but for a long moment, no words came. She felt as though the very air had been pulled from the room. Everything she had believed about her marriage, about her past, about her place in the world—it had all been warped by her mother’s hand.
When she finally found her voice, it was soft, but razor-sharp.
“You may have saved our name, Mother. But you’ve destroyed everything else.”
She turned away, her steps slow, but resolute.
The drawing room, once gilded with the illusion of security, now felt like a mausoleum of betrayal. And her mother, sitting so regally among the ruins, had no words left to say.
At least, Blanche thought so.
Until Isabella scoffed behind her. “Well, my dear. You may not have orchestrated the thing, but you did play your part in this and don’t act as though it didn’t serve you just as well as it did the rest of us. You gained a title, a handsome husband, and a place in society you never would’ve secured clinging to your dusty relics. We all came out ahead.”
Blanche froze.
The words hit her like ice water down her spine—but before she could turn, before she could refute the venom, a sharp intake of breath echoed from the doorway.
She spun around.
Philip stood there.
His eyes, wide and stricken, locked onto hers. His face was ashen, his breath uneven, and Blanche knew—knew in an instant—that he had heard enough to wound him.
“Philip…” she started, desperate to speak, but the look in his eyes silenced her.
“I cannot believe this,” he said, voice hoarse, as he glanced between the two women. “I trusted you.”
“Philip, no—whatever you think you heard—” she reached for him, but he stepped back.
"I cannot believe that you would do this to me," he stammered. “Can I trust no one? I have already had my heart toyed with by a woman who did not truly love me, and now—now it seems history repeats itself.”
Blanche's heart stalled as his gaze locked on hers, fury and betrayal blazing in his eyes.
"Was it all a performance?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "Did you willingly trap me? Was this marriage nothing more than a scheme to restore your family’s fortunes? If so, I must commend you, Blanche—you played your part to perfection."
Blanche, stunned by the accusation, stepped forward instinctively, but the pain in Philip’s expression halted her. She had never seen such devastation in his eyes. She had never wished to be the cause of it.
