Page 61 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
Epilogue
Six months later…
Philip stood in the study, surrounded by the artefacts that now seemed to bear witness to the chapters of his life intertwined with Blanche's. The reunion of the missing pieces from her father's collection added a layer of significance to the room, and he could not help but be swept away by the memories of their last six months together.
The gentle flicker of candlelight bathed the room in a golden glow, casting a warm and nostalgic ambiance. Philip's gaze lingered on a weathered globe that they had studied together during lazy Sunday afternoons, planning their dream adventures. The shelves displayed a curated array of novels that spoke of shared passions and whispered secrets exchanged late into the night.
His fingers traced the spines of old books, each one a bookmark in their love story. As he reached for a leather-bound volume, a folded letter slipped from its pages, drifting gently to the floor. Philip stooped to retrieve it, recognising Blanche's elegant handwriting. Unfolding the letter, he found words that transcended time, capturing the essence of their connection in a way only a heartfelt letter could.
My dearest Philip,
As I pen down these words, I am overwhelmed by the realisation that love, like the artefacts in this room, is timeless. Our shared laughter, the tears we wiped away, and the quiet moments that spoke louder than words – they are etched into the very fabric of this space.
The missing pieces from my father's collection are now complete, just as you have completed me. Each artefact, every memory, stands witness to a journey that was both challenging and beautiful. I want you to know that you are the most precious relic in this collection, and our love is the rare gem that makes it whole. Our love is everything to me.
Let this room be a sanctuary of our shared past, a testament to the strength of our bond. May the artefacts echo with the laughter we shared and the promises we made. As we move forward, let us continue adding new chapters to this story, weaving our dreams into the very fabric of our lives.
Forever yours,
Blanche
Tears welled up in Philip's eyes as he read the heartfelt words. The study, once filled with a sense of longing, now exuded a comforting embrace. It was as if Blanche's spirit lingered in every corner, reassuring him that their love story was far from over.
It might not have begun on their wedding day—which was surely what the world expected of them—but it had certainly bloomed after the misunderstanding regarding her mother. Once they had both been brave enough to express how they felt about one another, everything shifted in the best way possible.
That was why Philip would always heed the wise counsel of his mother. She had never led him astray—and now, more than ever, he understood that she never would. Pride might have barred the door to happiness, but her quiet wisdom had gently unlatched it.
Had he remained steadfast in his stubbornness, who knew where he might be now?
He did not even want to think about it.
In the last six months, Philip reflected, our marriage has been nothing short of wonderful. It is as if a gentle breeze swept away the lingering clouds, revealing the clear skies of our shared happiness.
He had never been much of a poetic man, but this happiness stirred something unfamiliar within him — a softness, a clarity. An ability to gaze both forward and back with equal joy. It was a gift he had never thought himself capable of.
The days that had once felt steeped in shadow now glowed with the vibrant light of joy and companionship. He thought of quiet evenings filled with shared conversation, of laughter that warmed the walls of their home, and of the silent moments — glances, touches, unspoken understanding — that had come to form the bedrock of the love they had chosen to build.
We rediscovered each other, he mused, a soft smile playing on his lips. Blanche's resilience and unwavering devotion became the guiding light that led us out of the darkness. The love that had always been there, buried beneath the surface, emerged stronger than ever. I do not know what my life would be like without her, and I never wish to find out.
The study, once a chamber of solitude and reflection, now seemed to radiate with the warmth of the memories they had forged together. Philip's heart swelled with gratitude for the woman who had stood by him, for the journey of rediscovery that had brought them to this point.
He recalled the simple pleasures—a shared meal, a quiet walk in the garden, and the subtle reassurances of love that had woven their way into the fabric of their daily lives. The artefacts in the room, each holding a story of its own, mirrored the narrative of their rejuvenated marriage.
In these six months, Philip continued in his mind, simply reminding himself of everything that he was lucky enough to have, we have built something beautiful, something resilient. It is a testament to the strength of our love and the commitment we share. The artefacts, the memories, and the love we have rediscovered — all of it has woven together into a tapestry that I would not trade for anything in the world.
As he stood in the study, surrounded by relics of the past and the echo of a love reborn, Philip marvelled at all that had changed in just six months. The shadows that once cloaked his life had given way to light—to joy, laughter, and the simple peace of belonging. He now looked to the future with hope, each new day a chapter waiting to be written in the story of their enduring love.
He understood now what Lady Sophia had likely known all along — that theirs had not been true love. It was just as well they had never wed. The heartache of that time had been a trial, but one that left him free to marry the woman who had become the very centre of his world. He could hardly remember what life with Sophia might have looked like; the image faded in comparison to the vivid reality of Blanche.
It was unlikely their paths would cross again — but if they did, he thought with some amusement, he would thank her. Life had its strange ways of setting us straight. Her rejection had been a blessing in disguise, the catalyst that led him to the right path at last.
Buoyed by contentment and the quiet thrill of loving and being loved, Philip turned over a new idea in his mind — a surprise for Blanche, the sort he loved to offer whenever the chance arose. And what better time than a golden Sunday afternoon?
Who knew? Perhaps they might stumble upon something remarkable on their little adventure.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the manor, casting rich golden hues across the oak panelling. The world outside glowed with the promise of spring, and Philip, heart full, went in search of his wife.
He found her in the library, tucked into an armchair with a history book open in her lap. The flickering candlelight played across her features, painting her in warmth and shadow. She looked radiant. For a moment, he simply stood in the doorway, marvelling at the loveliness of the scene — the quiet grace of the woman who had changed his life.
As if sensing his gaze, Blanche glanced up and met his eyes. A smile bloomed on her face, as effortless as it was brilliant.
Philip crossed the threshold with an energy that betrayed his excitement. "My dearest Blanche," he began, voice laced with playful formality, "on this fine afternoon, I propose an adventure. Shall we step beyond the boundaries of our beloved home and explore the old castle ruins just a little way from here?"
Blanche's eyes sparkled, and she snapped her book shut. “A castle? Philip, how could I possibly resist such a proposal?”
He chuckled. "You ask no questions, not even of where we might be going?"
She laughed, a sound that filled the library with joy. “I do not need to know. The company is adventure enough. Lead on, my love.”
Philip grinned, helplessly in love. “You know, I have never met anyone quite like you.”
“And I daresay,” she teased, rising to take his arm, “you never will again.”
With a courtly bow, he offered his arm. She took it with grace, the fabric of her gown catching the warm light like rose petals in the sun.
Together they stepped out into the world, hand in hand, leaving behind books and relics to seek new stories of their own — and for one golden afternoon, no one in the world would be quite so happy as the two of them.
***
Philip knew, without a shred of doubt, that he had made the right decision when he whisked Blanche away on an archaeological expedition to a remote historic castle ruin — a journey that would not only satisfy her inquisitive mind, but deepen the bond they had forged through hardship and healing.
Blanche’s eyes sparkled with wonder as they arrived at the secluded site. The crisp air was laced with the scent of moss and age-old stone, and the crumbling walls seemed to murmur secrets of forgotten centuries. Watching the delight on her face, Philip felt a profound joy swell in his chest.
“So,” he said with a teasing smile, “what do you think? I thought we could explore the mysteries of this place together. I didn’t want to come here alone.”
Blanche turned to him; her eyes alight. “It’s beyond perfect,” she breathed. “Philip, this is… everything.” Her voice faltered with emotion, her wonder mingling with a fierce, glowing affection.
Together, they ventured into the remnants of the castle, a tapestry of stone and shadow. Blanche’s sharp eye picked out symbols etched faintly into the walls, worn carvings that spoke of long-dead lords and ladies, of everyday lives once lived within these halls. It became not merely an archaeological expedition, but a shared reverie — two minds and two hearts wandering side by side through time.
As they walked, Philip couldn’t stop watching her — the way she crouched low to examine a pattern in the stone, the way her fingers brushed reverently over history, as though the past might speak to her if she only listened hard enough.
When they paused in the castle’s inner courtyard, where ivy grew in great waves across broken columns, Blanche turned to him and squeezed his hand. “Philip, this is more than I ever imagined. Thank you. I never thought an archaeological expedition could be so… romantic.”
Philip chuckled, warmth glowing in his gaze. “It’s always romantic when we’re together. But I admit, there’s something magical about exploring ruins with you.”
Her gaze lingered on a fragment of pottery nearby. “Can you imagine the lives lived here? The secrets, the stories, the love?” She smiled. “I always wonder about the people who came before us — what they felt, what they feared, what they cherished.”
Philip nodded. “I do. But I think our story might rival theirs, you know. We found love where it wasn’t expected. That’s the kind of story I’d want etched into stone.”
She giggled softly. “Do you think one day someone will study us?”
“How could they not?” he said with mock seriousness. “Our tale has scandal, secrets, redemption, and love. A historian’s dream.”
As if summoned by their musings, Blanche’s eyes caught on something glinting in the rubble. She knelt and lifted it carefully — an ancient coin, its surface worn but its design still clear beneath the dust of ages.
“Philip,” she gasped, cradling the find. “It’s beautiful.”
He crouched beside her, awe softening his features. The coin, small and circular, bore the symbol of a long-lost house — a noble crest, framed in delicate laurels. It gleamed like a blessing.
“It’s a sign,” she whispered. “As if the past is reaching out, weaving itself into our future.”
Philip reached for her free hand, his fingers closing gently over hers. “Then we’ll place it somewhere prominent in our home. Visitors won’t understand it, but we will. And that’s what matters.”
Blanche looked up at him, her cheeks flushed with more than the afternoon sun. “You’re not the only one with a romantic surprise,” she said, her voice suddenly trembling with anticipation. “There is something I have longed to tell you,” Blanche said softly, her voice scarcely more than a breath. “I merely wished to wait for the right moment.”
She squeezed his hands with tender resolve. “And now… I believe it has arrived.”
Philip’s brow furrowed with gentle concern, his heart beginning to thrum with quiet urgency. “What is it, my love?”
Blanche hesitated only a moment longer before her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I am with child,” she said, her voice catching on the fragile swell of emotion. “We are to have a baby.”
For a heartbeat, time seemed to falter.
Philip stood utterly still, struck dumb by the gravity of her words. The world around them fell away, leaving only the woman before him—his wife—bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with life.
And then he laughed — a deep, breathless sound that seemed to lift something in his chest. “Blanche…” he whispered. “Truly?”
She nodded, her smile tremulous and wide. “Truly.”
He pulled her into his arms, holding her as if he would never let go. All the words he couldn’t speak pulsed in his embrace. He had not spent years imagining himself a father — but now, in this moment, with her in his arms, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
This was it. His joy. His future. His family.
And he would treasure it, always.
***
The revelation of impending parenthood lingered in the air, casting a reverent hush over the ancient ruins. Blanche searched her husband’s face, her heart suspended in a breathless moment of hope and dread. Philip’s eyes widened, caught somewhere between astonishment and disbelief—and perhaps, she feared, something more ominous.
Concern gathered between her brows, and she reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. “Philip, are you quite alright?” she asked gently. “You have gone rather pale.”
It took a heartbeat for him to gather himself. He blinked as though roused from a reverie, his gaze fixing upon her with unsteady clarity. “I… I was simply not expecting this,” he admitted, his voice touched with wonder. “It is a great deal to absorb.”
Blanche gave a quiet nod, striving to conceal the trembling in her chest. “I understand,” she said softly. “I never wished to startle you. I merely… hoped you might be glad.”
Was she mistaken to believe he would be? Her heart twisted with doubt. She had envisioned this moment so many times—his joy, their embrace, the thrill of shared anticipation. Not this silence. Not this pale hesitation. Perhaps he was not ready to embrace a future that had come so swiftly upon them.
But then, she saw the shift. Slowly, subtly, Philip’s features softened. His eyes warmed, and he reached for her hand, pressing it between his palms with newfound resolve. “Blanche,” he said, his voice steadier now, “it is not that I am displeased. Far from it. I was simply overcome by the enormity of the news. But now that I have found my breath again… it is extraordinary. You are extraordinary. We are to become parents.”
Relief coursed through Blanche, tears springing to her eyes. “Truly?” she whispered.
A smile bloomed across his face. “Truly. This is a blessing, one I never thought to have. I am honoured to share this journey with you.”
He gathered her into his arms, holding her as though she were the most precious treasure on earth. Blanche melted into him, her heart alight. Whatever shadows had lingered between them were gone now. In this moment, only love remained.
Before she could reply, Philip drew back just enough to capture her lips in a kiss—gentle, reverent, and full of promise. It was a kiss that spoke of new beginnings.
The journey home was bathed in golden light and quiet anticipation. Seated beside one another in the carriage, they spoke of the life they were about to begin—not just as husband and wife, but as parents. Their hands remained entwined as the landscape rolled past, their shared future unfolding with each turn of the wheel.
“I can scarcely wait to tell Mother,” Philip said, eyes gleaming. “She will be positively beside herself.”
Blanche smiled softly. “Indeed. There is no one whose joy I would rather see first. I am certain she will embrace this news with her whole heart.”
They spoke then of the nursery, of names and lullabies and all the sweet, uncertain mysteries of parenthood. Hope wove through their words like ribbon, delicate and bright. Philip pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “You will be a wonderful mother, Blanche.”
“And you,” she replied with a glance that brimmed with affection, “shall be the most devoted father.”
Yet beneath her joy, a shadow stirred. The thought of her own family crept in unbidden—of the rift with her mother, of the aching absence of her brother. Leopold, sweet and wide-eyed, still remained in her mother’s care, too young yet to claim his place as Viscount in full. And Blanche, for all her resolve, could not reach him without reopening wounds that had only just begun to scar.
Her reverie was broken as the carriage slowed to a halt before their manor. But the unease remained.
Inside, the household was unusually still. The hush was broken only by low voices drifting from the parlour. Blanche and Philip exchanged a puzzled glance before stepping in—and stopped short.
To their surprise, Evelyn was not alone. Another figure sat on the couch; someone they had not expected to find. The shock on Philip's face mirrored Blanche's as they took in the unexpected presence in their home.
"Blanche, Philip," the unexpected guest greeted them with a knowing smile. "I hope you do not mind the surprise. I thought it was time we had a family talk."
A gasp escaped Blanche's lips. Her hand instinctively flew to her stomach, a mixture of shock and disbelief coursing through her.
It was her mother.
Isabella was here, almost as if she sensed that Blanche was about to go through something life-changing. Almost as if she knew that Blanche had just been thinking about her.
It was a big shock.
“Mother,” Philip said, his voice low with disbelief. “What is the meaning of this?”
Evelyn rose calmly, folding her hands. “I invited her,” she said. “I believe there are words long overdue.”
Blanche turned sharply toward her. “You knew this would hurt me.”
“I believe,” Evelyn replied gently, “it may also help you. If you let it.”
Evelyn had hardly ever been wrong before, but it seemed like there was a first time for everything.
The room felt smaller, suffused with the weight of memories and unfinished conversations. Blanche's first instinct was to retreat, to escape the specter of the past that had unexpectedly materialised in her present. She glanced at Philip, searching for reassurance, but his expression mirrored the surprise and uncertainty in her own eyes.
Evelyn, ever perceptive, stepped forward with composed grace. “Philip, perhaps we ought to allow Blanche and her mother a moment alone,” she said softly, her gaze reflecting an understanding of the delicate nature of the situation.
Blanche hesitated, torn between the instinct to shield herself from the ghosts of the past and the realisation that it might be too late. It was unlikely that she would leave without at least forcing Blanche into one conversation, so perhaps it was better to get it over and done with. Philip, though visibly surprised, nodded in agreement with Evelyn's suggestion.
With a gentle smile, Evelyn motioned toward the door. "We shall be in the kitchen. Take your time."
As the door closed behind Evelyn and Philip, silence blanketed the room. Blanche took the armchair across from her mother. She crossed her arms, her expression unreadable.
It was a hard notion to overcome, but this woman was still her mother, despite what she had done. Plus, with her own baby coming along, this was something that she was going to have to deal with, sooner or later.
Maybe it was best to just see this through.
And if it led Blanche a step closer to being able to see her brother again, then even better.
Silently, she folded her arms across her chest and took a seat opposite her mother, hoping and praying that this would not turn out to be another heartache and a monumental waste of time.
“Well then,” she said, voice clipped. “What is it you’ve come to say?”
The drawing room fell into a loaded hush. The soft ticking of the mantle clock was the only sound that dared disturb the silence, as the two women sat opposite one another in the shadowed light of early evening.
Isabella looked older than Blanche remembered. The months of estrangement had drawn new lines around her mouth and eyes — not merely of age, but of consequence. She sat stiffly, her gloved hands folded in her lap, her gaze uncertain.
“Blanche,” she began at last, her voice quiet, tentative, and—most surprising of all—sincere. “I need you to know how deeply sorry I am… for everything. For the trap I set, for the artefacts I sold, for the wounds I inflicted. I have carried the burden of those choices every day since. I do not expect your forgiveness… but I wished to offer the apology regardless.”
Blanche’s eyes narrowed slightly; her expression unreadable. She met her mother’s gaze, searching. Listening. But her heart remained guarded.
“I never meant for it to come to this,” Isabella continued, her voice faltering as she tried to steady it. “Leopold asks for you often. He does not understand why you are gone. I never wished to tear our family apart. Truly, I did not.”
At the sound of her brother’s name, something within Blanche softened — not completely, but enough. The ache of missing him was a wound she had kept well hidden. To hear that he still thought of her, still longed for her presence, stirred the pain anew.
“I have changed,” Isabella said, her voice lowering. “Life has a way of… humbling a person. I want to make amends, Blanche. If not for myself, then at least for Leopold. And perhaps… in time… you.”
The silence between them stretched, taut and unresolved. Blanche wrestled with the tangle of memory and betrayal. Could a single conversation mend what had been so completely broken? Could she ever truly trust her mother again?
And yet… something compelled her to speak.
She drew in a steadying breath. “Mother… I am with child,” she said at last, her voice firm though quiet. “Philip and I are to become parents.”
Isabella’s eyes widened with a rush of surprise. “Blanche…”
Blanche pressed on. “I am about to have a family of my own. I do not have the strength—or the patience—for past transgressions and tempers. I came here today hoping you might understand that.”
For a moment, Isabella said nothing, visibly absorbing the news. Then her expression shifted — not to delight, but to something more tentative. Genuine.
“You will be a far better mother than I ever was,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “And should you one day allow it, I hope to be a better grandmother than I managed to be a mother. I cannot undo the past, Blanche… but I might still do better with what lies ahead.”
Blanche remained silent, her heart beating a little faster. It was not an apology that undid years of hurt. But it was not nothing.
She thought of Evelyn — wise, kind Evelyn — who had, for some reason, believed this moment might be worthwhile. Perhaps there was something to be said for trying. For taking one small step toward grace.
“I cannot promise anything,” Blanche said at length, her arms still folded, though her tone had softened. “But I will say this — we shall see. That is all I can offer just now.”
Isabella exhaled as if she had been holding her breath. “It is more than I dared hope for,” she said, her voice trembling. “And Leopold… he will be so pleased. Perhaps we might arrange a time for you to see one another soon?”
That thought, at least, brought a genuine warmth to Blanche’s expression. Her brother. Yes. That, above all, was worth trying for.
“For Leopold,” she said, quietly, “and for the child I carry… I am willing to begin.”
The End
