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Philip's mother had finally made him see sense.

After much deliberation—her arguments steady, unrelenting—Philip had truly listened. He had resisted, stubborn in his own convictions, but in the end, the weight of her words had settled upon him with undeniable force.

The burden of guilt had grown too heavy to carry indefinitely. And while this decision was not one he would have chosen for himself, it was not himself he thought of most—but Miss Ipswich, whose name had been dragged through the mire alongside his own.

The scandal sheets had been merciless, their lurid headlines a constant refrain in his mind, each one a fresh indictment.

The thought of her—bearing the brunt of society’s scorn for what had been, in truth, an innocent encounter—was intolerable.

This was not a matter of personal preference but of duty.

A wrong had been done, and there was but one way to set it right.

With a grim sense of resolve, Philip dressed with newfound purpose. There was no escaping the consequences of his actions, however unintentional they had been.

And so, with the weight of obligation pressing upon him, he set out for the Ipswich residence—his fate, it seemed, already decided.

The Morning Room of Lady Wicksford’s residence felt stifling, the air heavy with tension as Philip sat rigidly, flanked by Miss Ipswich and her mother.

The usually detached, handsome features that adorned his face now bore the etchings of deep regret.

His solemn expression mirrored the weight of the moment, a scene that played out in stark contrast to the genteel surroundings.

Blanche sat beside him, her once lively eyes now quietly distressed.

Her mother, Lady Wicksford, observed the unfolding drama with a mix of concern and expectation.

The societal whispers had forced them into this unwanted corner, a place where honour demanded action, but the heart rebelled against the imposition.

Philip took a deep breath before he finally said what he needed to say; the sooner he got this done, the better for everyone involved.

"I must confess," Philip finally began, his voice gruff and solemn, "this is hardly the manner in which any gentleman would wish to propose marriage to a lady of good breeding."

The words hung between them, a stark acknowledgement of the chasm between duty and desire, between society’s decree and the truth they alone knew.

Miss Ipswich remained unmoving, her expression unreadable, her gaze fixed on the delicate embroidery of the carpet as though it held the answers she sought.

Lady Wicksford, however, was not so silent—her sharp, expectant eyes bore into Philip, demanding an explanation for this most unorthodox turn of events.

"The vicious, uninformed tongues of London's gossip mongers have seemingly forced my hand," Philip continued, the frustration evident in his tone. "When only we know—with clear conscience and righteous certainty—that our discourse was wholly unplanned and utterly without impropriety."

The room seemed to shrink as the weight of the situation pressed upon them.

Philip's sense of duty clashed with the knowledge that their connection had been genuine, a meeting of minds that transcended the confines of societal norms. The code of honour demanded amends, but the heart rebelled against the artifice of a proposal born from coercion.

It was a horrible feeling.

One he could hardly stomach.

Blanche finally looked up, her eyes meeting Philip's with a mixture of resignation and understanding. Lady Wicksford remained silent, her gaze shifting between the two, waiting for a resolution to emerge from this uncomfortable tableau.

"I offer my sincere apologies, Miss Ipswich," Philip continued, his voice softer now, filled with a regret that reached beyond the confines of this room.

"In making this proposal, my intent is not to bind you to an unwanted fate, but to shield you from the cruel judgment of a society that thrives on half-truths and scandalous whispers.

I do believe that this is the best way that we can move forward. "

As he spoke, Philip couldn’t ignore the bitter weight of the compromise he was making. The rules of society demanded a partner in this dance, and Miss Ipswich had been pulled into it, whether she wanted to be or not.

Honour had always been his guiding principle, the thing that set a man apart. But right now, it felt less like a virtue and more like a cage, trapping them both in something neither of them had truly chosen.

As the echoes of Philip's words reverberated in the room, he witnessed Blanche's world as it seemed to tilt on its axis.

The realisation dawned on her with sinking despair.

Refusing this marriage proposition, no matter how lacking in affection, would almost certainly seal her fate — a rapid descent into the abyss of bitter spinsterhood and eventual social exile, a fate normally reserved for women guilty of the worst moral laxity and ruin.

"Miss Ipswich," Philip spoke, his voice softer now, laden with a sympathy born of shared adversity, "I understand the gravity of this decision. It is not a path I wished for either of us, but the unforgiving nature of society demands we make these sacrifices."

Blanche's uncertain eyes darted anxiously, reflecting the distress and hesitation that gripped her as she sat beside her tense mother.

Philip, observing her turmoil, conceded gravely to the palpable tension that lingered in the room.

He recognised the inadequacy of his proposal, understanding how it fell exceedingly short of any gently raised young lady's dreams of romance and happily ever afters.

"I can well imagine," he began, his voice heavy with resignation, "that my offer does not align with the fireside dreams of romance you may have held. This is hardly the future any lady envisions for herself, and for that, I am truly sorry."

The viscountess, a silent but keen observer, watched the exchange with a mix of concern and expectation.

Philip continued, "But we find ourselves in a sharp predicament, and choices are limited if we harbour any hope of salvaging your family's reputation. It is not the union either of us would have chosen willingly, yet the unforgiving eyes of society demand a sacrifice."

Blanche’s eyes held a pained, weary look, as if the weight of it all was slowly crushing her spirit. The sight unsettled Philip more than he cared to admit. He hated seeing her like this, but what choice did they have?

Philip's gaze held a mixture of empathy and determination as he spoke again, "Should you accept becoming my duchess, I vow to be a properly protective and dutiful husband.

Your comfort will be my priority—you shall want for nothing that wealth can provide.

It is not a promise of love, but it is a pledge to shield you from a world too often lacking in compassion.

I can only hope that will be enough for you. "

Philip's gaze remained fixed on Blanche, gauging her reaction as he offered the pragmatic assurance of material security—one of England's highest peerages held such promises.

He could see the turmoil in her eyes, the conflict between probable dreams of romance and the stark reality of societal expectations.

It was a compromise he had reluctantly proposed, understanding the weight it carried for both of them.

As the echoes of his words lingered in the air, Lady Wicksford grasped the lifeline with unhesitating fervour.

The relief in her eyes—thinly concealed beneath a facade of enthusiasm—betrayed the desperation that simmered beneath the surface.

Without pause, she declared with effusive urgency that there was no other course left to them.

"Yes, yes," the viscountess exclaimed with increasing delight, the poorly veiled urgency thinly masking her desperation.

"This fortuitous marriage must go through post haste.

It is the only sensible solution to preserve the Ipswich name, to secure stability, and to avert the utter catastrophe of scandal.

Truly, I can think of no better resolution. "

The air in the room seemed to thicken as Blanche's gaze met Philip's, a tumult of emotions swirling in her eyes.

Philip's pragmatic proposal, born out of necessity, had cast a shadow over the dreams of romance she might have harboured.

The weight of societal expectations pressed heavily upon her shoulders, and he could see the inner conflict etched on her features.

Unfortunately, there was no way they could escape this now.

The deal had been made.

Now, all that remained was to make the necessary arrangements—the very practical details of a day that would change their lives forever. And yet, in this moment, it all felt strangely unreal.

Lady Wicksford, eager to seize control of the situation, launched into discussions at once, undeterred by the palpable reluctance of both Philip and Blanche.

Blanche hesitated before finally nodding in agreement with her mother.

What other choice did she have? The sight made Philip’s heart sink.

Neither of them wanted this, not truly. It was not likely to bring either of them much happiness, yet this was the only way to salvage what remained of their reputations.

Who would have thought that one innocent conversation about artefacts would have led them here?

Philip exhaled slowly, the weight of it all pressing down upon him. As his gaze met Blanche’s, he caught the quiet pain flickering in her eyes, and the realisation struck him with unexpected force.

Perhaps he should never have listened to his mother at all.

***

In the whirlwind of a chaotic week that followed behind the polished doors of the townhouse, Philip navigated the intricacies of acquiring a special wedding license.

Urgency loomed over every decision, driven by the impending threat of worsening scandalous whispers that hovered like an ominous cloud.

A private and perfunctory ceremony was hastily arranged, devoid of the usual joyous wedding fanfare.

Blanche, her countenance reflecting a mixture of resignation and determination, moved through the preparations with a grace that belied the tumult within. Philip could not help but notice how sadness clung to her with every decision made.

But that could not be enough to stop him.

Not when he had come this far.

The day arrived with a muted solemnity; the small gathering assembled within the townhouse bearing witness to a union that stood as a shield against scandal rather than a celebration of love.

Blanche, adorned in a simple gown that mirrored the subdued atmosphere, stood beside Philip before a makeshift altar.

Philip tried his utmost to find some emotion as the vicar’s voice rang through the church, solemn and unwavering.

"Philip Brooks, will you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you live together in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, remain faithful to her for as long as you both shall live?"

Philip’s jaw tensed. His voice, when it came, was measured but devoid of warmth.

"I will."

Next, the vicar turned to Blanche. Philip dared a glance at her, but she kept her gaze lowered, fixed on a distant point—anywhere but him.

"Blanche Ipswich, will you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?

Will you live together in the holy estate of matrimony?

Will you love him, honour him, care for him, and stand by his side in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, remain faithful to him for as long as you both shall live? "

There was a pause.

Philip could feel the hesitation before she spoke.

"I will."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Philip wondered if the gossips who had forced their hand felt any remorse, if the whispered words that had spiralled into scandal had ever seemed worth it to them. But speculation was useless now. The course was set.

The vicar continued, gesturing for Philip to place the ring upon Blanche’s hand. He took her fingers—cold, fragile, unwilling—and slipped the band onto them. His voice, steady yet hollow, filled the space between them.

"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

Blanche barely looked at him as the ring settled into place.

Philip had never given much thought to marriage. He had assumed it would happen one day, though he had never imagined it like this—his bride looking as if the world she knew had collapsed around her.

But there was no changing course now.

It was done.