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In the grandeur of the exhibition hall, Blanche quietly observed the imposing figure of the Duke of Brooksdale.

He stood before a display of ancient tools, his dark hair contrasting with the muted tones of the artefacts.

While he cut quite the striking figure, a brooding aura surrounded him, making him an enigmatic presence in the midst of the scholarly crowd.

Musing on the possibility of a shared passion for antiquities beneath that stern facade, Blanche contemplated the dedication mirrored in the Duke's reputation for transforming Brooksdale Estate into a celebrated collection.

The idea of finding a kindred spirit, someone who viewed ancient treasures with the same reverence, drew her closer.

Beside her, Penelope tittered mischievously, her eyes following Blanche's gaze. "Blanche, the Duke… he is quite the handsome gentleman, do you not think? I wonder why he has secluded himself away from society for such a long time."

Torn between intrigue and reservations about the Duke's enigma, Blanche sighed. "He does cut a striking figure, Penelope, but there is a certain brooding air about him."

Penelope laughed softly. "Hardly the charming type to ask a lady to dance, I would wager."

A wistful smile touched Blanche's lips. "I should not wish to dance, Penelope. What I would fancy is an intriguing conversation. A discussion about artefacts and the influence of Roman antiquities, perhaps."

Penelope arched an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Blanche, my dear, the Duke hardly seems like the type to engage in intellectual banter. He is more likely to be found brooding in a dimly lit study than charming a lady with his wit."

Nodding, Blanche conceded to societal expectations.

"Indeed, Penelope. But, oh, if only I could engage with him as an intellectual equal.

To discuss the intricacies of ancient civilisations without the constraints of formality.

It is a shame that we would have to be introduced officially before I could even approach him about such things. "

Perhaps she could ask Mr. Pratt… but Blanche did not want to get the gossips talking about them. She did not want anyone to get the wrong idea when it was his mind that she was interested in. That and his intriguing collection…

A sadness washed over her as she realised how much her father would have liked to know about the Duke's collection too.

Her father would not have hesitated to approach the Duke and to ask him all about what he had at home. He would have eagerly engaged the mind of the gentleman who shared his interests, and Blanche would have been introduced to him that way.

Losing her father a couple of years ago to the illness that swept through his body and stole her father from her, was the worst thing to happen to Blanche.

It had left her adrift in a sea of misunderstood grief.

Her mother, Lady Wickford, had chosen a different path, one paved with appearances and social climbing.

To her, timeworn fragments of mosaic or corroded coins held no greater importance than the glittering promises of eligible society gentlemen.

She was still not sure how she was supposed to go through life without him. There were days, like this one, where it felt absolutely impossible. Especially when she felt like her mother was being particularly difficult with her.

How could Mother not understand that Father’s spirit lived on in these relics, in the very air of the lecture hall where the past and the present coexisted?

As Mr. Pratt caught her attention while he delved into the significance of each artefact, Blanche fondly recalled the times when her father and she had explored ancient ruins together, the joy of discovery etched across their faces.

Lady Isabella's inability to fathom the profound meaning these artefacts held for Blanche was a source of constant tension.

To her, they were inconsequential trinkets compared to the glittering promises of advantageous marriages.

But to Blanche, each piece was a vessel of memory, a connection to the profound companionship her father and she once shared.

It was an argument that was never going to have a conclusion. Not if they continued to butt heads the way that they had been doing recently…

***

The air outside the lecture hall was crisp, carrying the echoes of intellectual discussions that lingered in Blanche's mind. As she made her way home, the fading twilight bathed the familiar town house in a warm glow. But her mind remained in the past, and in everything that she had seen today.

Ascending the stairs to the entrance, Blanche felt a strange sense of detachment from the society she was expected to navigate. Her mind continued to linger on the artefacts, the whispers of history, and the melancholy tinge of her father's absence.

Maybe even the mysterious duke that she had seen today…

As she reached the top of the stairs, a stern-looking gentleman, a complete stranger to her, descended.

Their eyes briefly met, his gaze unwavering and mysterious.

A chill traced its way down Blanche's spine, and for a moment, she wondered if her mother had entertained an unexpected visitor.

The atmosphere around the man felt peculiar, leaving a lingering sense of unease.

However, the strange gentleman passed her without a word, his steps echoing down the stairs and fading away into the distance.

Blanche hesitated, curiosity stirring within her, but chose not to dwell on it.

The townhouse was ever a revolving door of social calls, and her mother was well known for entertaining guests in the relentless pursuit of advantageous connections.

With a shake of her head, Blanche dismissed the brief encounter and continued inside.

The warm embrace of the familiar walls greeted her, momentarily dispelling the eerie feeling that had settled upon her.

The scent of polished wood and the soft glow of lamp light enveloped her as she made her way through the corridor.

It was easy to let her thoughts drift back to the artefacts, to the intellectual refuge she had found at the lecture.

Perhaps the stern-looking gentleman was an incidental presence, a visitor unrelated to her own world of passion and scholarly pursuits.

In the privacy of her room, she allowed the relics to weave their stories once more, temporarily casting aside the mysteries that sometimes lingered in the hallways of her home.