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As Blanche stepped into the grandeur of Brooksdale Manor, Philip guided her through the intricate corridors, the ancestral portraits watching their every move.

The air carried the weight of centuries-old secrets, and while the estate's beauty was undeniable, Philip could not shake the uneasy feeling within him.

Awaiting them in the drawing room was the dowager duchess —Evelyn—whose smile reached her warm eyes.

Rising gracefully from the antique sofa, she welcomed Blanche with an embrace.

The room, adorned with intricate floral patterns, seemed to tell stories of the past. Blanche, dressed in an ensemble that matched the manor's elegance, received Evelyn's hospitality with polite gratitude, for which Philip was truly grateful.

She continued to be graceful, even in this terrible situation.

"Lady Brooksdale, my dear, welcome to Brooksdale Manor." Evelyn’s voice, warm and melodic, filled the drawing room as she poured fragrant tea into delicate porcelain cups. "It gladdens my heart to have you here at last."

"Please, call me Blanche."

Evelyn’s smile brightened. "Then you must, of course, call me Evelyn." Setting the teapot aside with practised grace, she gestured to the nearest chair. "Come, sit with me. We have much to talk about."

Blanche did as Evelyn commanded, so Philip did the same thing. He took a cup of tea, although he was not sure that he could drink it, and watched the women talk.

"I would love to hear all about you, Blanche. Philip tells me that you share his interest in antiquities."

"Yes, I have always harboured a fascination with the past—a love I inherited from my father." Blanche's eyes softened a little as she talked about her father. "It is not a common pursuit, I know, but it connects me to him, even now."

Philip watched his mother soften too, knowing that it was his father who inspired that interest in him too. Evelyn looked his way and smiled happily at Philip, as if this union was a wonderful thing because they shared so much.

If the marriage had not been forced upon them, then Philip might have agreed with her.

But they had not been given the chance to get to know one another at all yet.

It was all so very complicated.

"I would love to hear more about your father, my dear. From the sound of it, he was very much like my own husband… truth be told."

Amidst the warm glow of the chandeliers, the drawing room felt like a haven from uncertainties.

However, Philip maintained a guarded distance, finding solace in the shadows as he observed the exchange with a detached gaze.

Though Evelyn's kindness and Blanche's polite responses created a facade of harmonious union, Philip could not escape the sense that their connection was one of obligation, not desire.

Blanche's eyes briefly met Philip's, a momentary connection in the midst of the orchestrated hospitality. Philip wished that he could find the strength to smile at her, to try and see if he was able to make her feel as welcome as his mother, but he could not seem to manage it.

The suffocating air of London's high society pressed against Philip as he allowed his mind to wander.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he thought about vicious eyes and wagging tongues following his every move, hungry for the latest scandal to feast upon.

Philip's good name, carefully built over the years, now dangled perilously on the precipice of ruination.

The marriage should have repaired the damage.

But had it?

Maybe not entirely.

A clawing sense of desperation gripped him as he weighed his options. The weight of scrutiny, the endless hum of gossip, the ceaseless burden of judgment—it was intolerable. There was only one solution as far as he could see: escape.

"I do not think we should stay here much longer," Philip muttered, frustration lacing his voice. He had not realised how loudly he had spoken until the room fell into a hush, every gaze snapping toward him. But now that he had started, he had to continue.

"We should leave London at once, Blanche. It is the only way to salvage what remains of our reputation. I am thinking that we could go…"

Blanche’s wide, startled eyes fixed upon him, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

But Evelyn was far from silent. She had an opinion, and she was not afraid to share it.

"Philip, my dear," she said, her tone firm but not unkind, "we must not let idle chatter dictate our actions.

Leaving in haste would only lend credence to the very rumours you wish to avoid.

The ton will only talk more. You and Blanche are married now, there is nothing else to discuss.

You must both stand firm and weather this storm.

Scandals may swirl, but they burn out quickly.

Soon enough, another indiscretion will capture the fickle attention of society. "

Philip paced the room, his mind torn between pride and pragmatism. The countryside called to him, a world of serenity and solitude, untouched by Town’s venomous whispers. He ached for the quiet, for the space to breathe.

Yet his mother’s words carried a wisdom he could not easily dismiss.

What did Blanche think?

His gaze drifted to her, only to find her looking toward Evelyn as well, as if searching for guidance.

Much as he longed to flee this relentless city, if Blanche had found some measure of reassurance in his mother, then, for her sake, he supposed they should stay. At least until she felt more settled. He had promised to make this life as easy for her as he could.

With a sigh, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of reluctant acceptance. He knew this would be a challenge, a trial to endure.

But endure it, he would.

For now.

Still, if the gossip did not subside, he would reconsider. It was impossible not to imagine that life could be so much simpler in the country, away from prying eyes and cruel tongues.

And if it came to that, he would not hesitate.

For both their sakes.

***

As Blanche's belongings from her former home arrived, Philip sensed a mix of anticipation and trepidation in the air.

The crates unveiled the remnants of her past life, and among them, the most cherished was her late father's antiquities collection — a trove of ancient artefacts that held sentimental value and bore witness to a rich history.

In a room designated for sorting through the belongings, Philip chanced upon Blanche.

She sat by a table surrounded by a plethora of artefacts, each one clearly carrying the weight of memory.

Her fingers delicately traced the patterns of a weathered vase, and her gaze lingered on an intricately carved figurine.

"Philip," she greeted, her eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions, the moment she spotted him.

"Look at these," she said softly, gesturing toward the artefacts spread across the table.

"They are all that remain of my father’s legacy.

This figurine he and I found it together on one of his expeditions. "

Philip stepped closer, drawn by the intricate pieces displayed before them.

The weight of history seemed to hum in the air, woven into each carefully preserved artefact.

His eyes roamed over the collection, noting the precision of the craftsmanship, the stories embedded in the worn edges and delicate engravings.

Yet even amidst the beauty, Blanche’s unease was palpable.

At first, he assumed it was grief, a fresh wave of sorrow that had surfaced while she reminisced about her father. But then she sighed, frustration creeping into her expression.

"Philip, this is truly disheartening," she murmured, her voice tight. "Several of my father’s most priceless artefacts are missing."

Philip frowned, his brow knitting together. "Are you certain?"

Blanche nodded, her hands skimming over the remaining pieces as if searching for something that was no longer there.

"I know this collection better than anyone. I know what should be here—and it isn’t.

Each missing artefact was special to him, each one irreplaceable.

" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head.

"No one in my family ever cared for these but me.

I cannot understand where they have gone. "

Sensing the depth of her distress, Philip reached for her hand, a brief, reassuring touch. "I cannot imagine how difficult this must be for you," he said sincerely. "Tell me, what is missing? What made those pieces so significant?"

Blanche hesitated for a moment before beginning to recount the treasures that had vanished.

"There was a delicate Ming Dynasty vase, my father adored it for its exquisite craftsmanship.

A medieval tapestry, woven with a history passed down through generations.

And an illuminated manuscript, he considered it the heart of his collection.

" Her voice caught slightly, but she forced herself to continue. "I cannot believe they are gone."

Philip considered this, glancing over the artefacts that remained. "Could there have been a mistake?"

Blanche’s brow furrowed. "I do not think so. Everything has always been kept together. That is why this is so unsettling."

Philip nodded, absorbing the gravity of her loss. "I am truly sorry, Blanche. Losing such meaningful artefacts is more than losing possessions, it is losing part of your father’s legacy. We must do everything we can to recover them."

Blanche’s eyes met his, her expression a mix of gratitude and quiet determination. "Thank you, Philip. We need to find them. They were everything to him."

As Philip gazed upon the artefacts once more, something stirred within him. Recognition dawned, and he felt a surge of disbelief. Among the items spread across the table were pieces long thought lost — ancient treasures that had eluded collectors all over the city.

"Blanche," he uttered, his voice laced with astonishment and realisation, "these artefacts, they are... they are the ones thought to be gone, vanished."

She looked at him, startled. "Are you certain?"

He nodded, studying them with renewed intensity. "Your father must have been safeguarding them all along. And no one ever knew."

Blanche exhaled a soft, incredulous laugh, her fingers grazing the pieces as if seeing them anew. "He always did value knowledge over notoriety."

As they spoke, their conversation shifted, what had begun as distress slowly transformed into discovery. Philip listened as Blanche recounted the stories woven into each artefact, the depth of her understanding evident in every word.

He had always admired history, but seeing it through her eyes felt different.

This was what had drawn them into conversation that first time.

This was what had gotten them into trouble.

Philip had entered this marriage wary, resigned. But now, as Blanche’s passion illuminated each relic, he found himself drawn in, the walls between them beginning to lower. She spoke with an infectious enthusiasm, her love for antiquities mirroring his own.

He had spent so long seeing her as a complication. Now, for the first time, he saw her as something else entirely.

A scholar. A partner.

A woman who understood the past just as deeply as he did.

Philip straightened, a thought forming, sudden yet undeniably right.

"Blanche," he said, a new certainty in his tone. "Would you care to visit the Egyptian Hall with me?"

She blinked in surprise. "The Egyptian Hall?"

"Yes. There is an exhibition on newly discovered artefacts from a Greek excavation. I believe you would find it fascinating." He hesitated for only a moment before adding, "I would very much like for us to see it together."

Blanche studied him, curiosity flickering in her gaze. The prospect of exploring such an exhibition, the chance to engage in intellectual pursuit rather than mere obligation, seemed to spark something in her.

"Philip, that sounds wonderful," she said, a genuine smile breaking through the tension of the afternoon. "I would be delighted."

Philip returned her smile, something inside him settling for the first time in weeks.

Perhaps this was how it began.

Perhaps, with time, they might find common ground beyond duty and expectation.

Perhaps, against all odds, they might yet build something real.