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Philip’s annoyance had been his constant, unwelcome companion throughout the evening, clinging to him like a shadow that refused to dissipate.

From the moment they arrived at the McGearys’ musicale, he and his mother had been the subject of relentless attention—their every movement observed, their presence met with an excess of feigned admiration.

As Lord and Lady McGeary welcomed them, Philip could not escape the orchestrated show of politeness and flattery.

Jane, in particular, gushed over the elegance of the duchess's dress, her compliments delivered with the calculated precision of someone seeking favour.

The smile on his mother's face remained unwavering, a mask of politeness concealing the underlying awareness of the superficiality that pervaded high society.

It irked Philip to witness the insincerity that tainted every exchange, each word spoken not as a true expression of admiration but as a calculated attempt to ingratiate oneself with the Duke of Brooksdale and his esteemed mother.

Inwardly, he sighed, forcing himself to navigate the choreographed dance of pleasantries, all the while suppressing his distaste for the hollow superficiality that permeated the evening.

The facade of societal niceties grated on him, a constant reminder of the fickle nature of those seeking to climb the social ladder.

Trust , he believed, is a rare and precious commodity, easily betrayed in the pursuit of status and influence .

Philip's guarded demeanour, honed through painful lessons, shielded him from the illusions of camaraderie that society often presented.

Amidst the orchestrated charm offensive, Philip reminded himself of the evening’s true purpose—the acquisition of Lord McGeary’s late grandfather’s antiquities.

The treasures awaiting his inspection held an allure far beyond the hollow theatrics of the ton—a tangible connection to history, unmarred by the artifice of polite society.

Were it not for the promise of such remarkable relics, he would not have troubled himself to attend the musicale at all.

So once the musicale had concluded, Philip made a beeline for Lord McGeary to finalise arrangements for the much-anticipated viewing of the antiquities collection because he did not wish to waste any more time exchanging insincere talk with the guests of the evening.

"When will I be able to see your collection?" Philip asked him in a hushed whisper. "I have been looking forward to this all day."

"Soon," the baron promised. "We should meet in the blue parlour. In half an hour. That shall be the perfect time."

"I see." It was too long for Philip, but he supposed he could be patient. "Then yes, I shall see you there."

As he turned to rejoin the mingling guests, Philip's eyes briefly fell upon a middle-aged lady standing nearby, her gaze oddly fixed in his direction.

In the sea of faces, her unwavering stare caught his attention.

A furrow creased his brow as he assumed she must be yet another match-making matron, hoping to capture the Duke's interest for her unwed daughter.

In the world of high society, such encounters were not uncommon.

Philip had grown accustomed to the scrutiny, the subtle attempts to manoeuvre eligible suitors into advantageous matches.

The lady's fixed attention, while peculiar, was easily dismissed as another attempt to navigate the intricate dance of matchmaking and social climbing.

Brushing off the encounter with a polite nod, Philip continued on his path. He did not have to wait long until he could finally see the collection that he was waiting for…

***

Philip knew that the blue parlour housed the antiquities he was so eager to see, yet he had not anticipated encountering a most unexpected distraction—a lovely, blue-eyed lady of evident gentility.

More astonishing still was the ease with which she spoke of history, her enthusiasm unhindered by the usual affectations of polite society.

Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, reflecting his own fervour for antiquities.

In the animated discourse that followed, the rigid dictates of propriety seemed to dissolve, leaving only the shared thrill of discovery.

For a fleeting moment, they existed beyond the constraints of expectation, revelling in the rare pleasure of a meeting of true intellects.

Caught up in the joy of intellectual camaraderie, both Philip and the lady — Blanche — let their guard down. The animated conversation flowed freely, oblivious to the approaching footsteps that heralded the arrival of an unexpected visitor.

It was not until the sounds became too pronounced to ignore that Philip suddenly realised the scheduled meeting time had arrived.

It must be the baron , he reasoned, coming to present the antiquities collection he wished to sell.

In a split-second decision, Philip—thinking on his feet—grasped Blanche's hand and pulled her behind a set of jewel-toned velvet curtains and out of sight.

If they were caught alone together in the blue parlour, there was no telling what would happen. Questions would be asked, and gossip spread, which was the last thing that Philip needed.

It was only once she had vanished from view that Philip realised, with a flicker of dismay, that he had not even thought to ask Miss Ipswich whether she would be quite well behind the curtain.

He truly hoped that she would.

Philip's heart raced, not from the thrill of hidden intrigue but from the realisation that this impromptu concealment added an unforeseen layer of complexity to the evening. Yet he tried to disguise that as he greeted the baron who had finally come to join him.

"Ah, you are here at last," Philip announced in a voice that might have been a little too loud. "I have been awaiting you."

"Yes, Your Grace, and I see you have made good use of your time by inspecting my collection," the baron replied, bemused.

"I have, and I am particularly interested in this one. Do tell me all about it."

Philip had chosen an artefact far away from the curtain, but his eyes kept drifting that way the whole time. He was acutely aware of poor Blanche behind that curtain and what she must be thinking about everything.

He longed to focus on the Baron’s words, to give the conversation the attention it deserved, but it was an impossible task. His pulse refused to settle, and his thoughts refused to be tamed, darting endlessly to the woman he had concealed in the shadows.

The mere thought of discovery sent a cold thrill of dread through him. What if we were caught? The consequences would be unthinkable.

Eventually, he managed to concentrate a little, while examining a pile of recently unearthed tablets.

During this time, his guard raised as he noticed the baron frequently flashing odd, conspiratorial grins.

Suspicion crept into Philip's mind, a subtle acknowledgement that the transaction might hold more than met the eye.

Perhaps he should have been paying more attention the entire time.

This feeling became even more overwhelming as Lord McGeary openly glanced toward the curtain behind which the mysterious lady was concealed. This was far too close for comfort. A flush of discomfort tinged Philip's features as he hastily redirected his attention to a gilded gladiatorial helmet.

"Hmm, now this is a fascinating piece," Philip remarked, his eyes narrowing as he studied the helmet's elaborate craftsmanship. "Is it from the arenas of Rome, my lord?"

The Baron, a connoisseur in his own right, nodded with a twinkle in his eye. "Indeed, Your Grace. That helmet once graced the head of a renowned gladiator in the Colosseum. A testament to the grandeur of ancient combat."

"Please," he asked quickly, glad to draw his attention away from the curtains for as long as he possibly could. "Tell me more…"

***

Once the negotiations concluded and an agreement sealed for Philip to return to two days with payment, Baron McGeary extended an invitation for a celebratory toast in the billiards room.

Philip, inclined his head in acknowledgment and followed the baron as they made their way downstairs. That way, he could know that the baron was gone, giving Blanche a much-needed chance to escape. Hopefully, she could do so without being caught out…

The corridors of the grand estate seemed to echo with the weight of the recent negotiations.

The anticipation of acquiring the late grandfather's antiquities collection loomed large in Philip's mind.

He walked with measured steps, contemplative and guarded, his thoughts weaving through the intricacies of the agreement.

As they approached the billiards room, the murmur of voices and the clinking of glasses signalled the continuation of the evening's festivities.

The atmosphere shifted from the tension of negotiation to the anticipated celebration.

Lord McGeary, ever the gracious host, led Philip into the room, where an array of gentlemen awaited, their faces alight with the prospect of revelry.

The room was adorned with the opulence befitting high society; rich mahogany furniture complementing the gleam of polished crystal glasses.

A hint of anticipation lingered in the air as the gentlemen prepared to raise their glasses in celebration.

Philip—though reserved—allowed a measured smile to grace his features as he observed the camaraderie unfolding in the midst of the celebration.

As the baron proposed a toast, glasses clinked, and the echoes of congratulatory remarks filled the room.

Philip, ever composed, joined in the collective cheer, his mind still tinged with the gravity of the agreement struck.

Amidst the revelry, the Duke could not help but wonder how this acquisition would alter the course of his solitary existence, woven as it was with the threads of his father's legacy and his own guarded heart.