Page 9

Later that distressing morning, the pallid light filtering through the drawn curtains mirrored the heaviness in Blanche's heart.

The echoing tick of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed to resonate with the rhythmic beats of her own troubled pulse.

Each second felt like an ominous drum roll, foretelling the storm that had unleashed itself upon her life.

If only she could go back in time. If only she could not listen to her mother, who insisted that she needed help with her so-called fainting spell. If she had not gone to the blue parlour, then this morning would be like every other.

But then she also would not have had the chance to talk to the Duke, which was something she could not regret, however much she wanted to.

She had felt herself light up in the opportunity to talk to someone with whom she shared so much in common, and honestly wanted to do so again.

But that was unlikely to happen.

"Miss Ipswich." The sound of the butler calling out to her shook Blanche from her thoughts.

She hurriedly wiped away a stray tear before answering. "Who is it?"

A part of her expected it to be the Duke.

She did not know why he would want to visit with her in the midst of this scandal, but at least if she saw his face, she would feel much less alone in this.

After all, this affected him too. Maybe not to the same degree that it would affect her, since it was always worse for women, but maybe they could talk again and find a way to get through this.

She stiffened her spine, expecting his name…

"Lady Haywood."

It was not a crushing blow to hear that it was actually Penelope who had come to visit with her, but it was hard to disguise the disappointment that hit her.

But she nodded and forced a composed smile that betrayed none of the turmoil within.

As the door creaked open, Penelope's concerned eyes met hers, a silent understanding passing between them.

"Blanche," Penelope whispered, her voice a soothing balm, as she raced to sit with her friend. "I saw the headlines this morning. Are you alright?"

The vulnerability in Penelope's eyes broke down Blanche's fragile defenses, and she allowed her emotions to show just a little bit. "It has been a terrible day, as I am sure you can imagine."

Penelope nodded understandingly. "What happened? I thought you were going to the blue parlour to help out your mother? How did that become this?"

Tears burning in Blanche's eyes. "Mother never came. I waited for her for a while, but she did not arrive."

"And you did not leave once she did not come?"

Blanche shook her head. "The room was filled with the antiquities owned by Lord McGeary so I used the time to take a look at everything that he had in his collection. It was while I was looking that the Duke entered the room."

Penelope gasped understandingly. "So, what did you do?"

"Nothing," she admitted. "It did not even occur to me that I was unchaperoned. I was still thinking about Mother at the time. It was the Duke who spoke to me."

Tears welled up in Blanche's eyes as she recounted the nightmarish turn of events, the scandalous whispers that clung to her like a sinister fog. Each word hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her shattered dreams and the potential ruination of her future.

"He started talking to me first about my pendant, and then we ended up discussing our fathers and their mutual love of artefacts like the one Lord McGeary had on offer. There was nothing scandalous about it at all. Just two like-minded people talking."

"Oh my." At least Penelope was incensed on her behalf. That made Blanche feel a little better.

"I did have to hide when Lord McGeary came in the blue parlour to start his negotiations with the Duke…"

"Do you think it is the baron who talked to the scandal sheets?"

Blanche shrugged hopelessly. "I have no idea, but I did not think that he could see me.

I am truly confused. I never imagined," Blanche admitted, her voice a mere whisper, "that a single evening of shared passions and interests could unravel into such a scandalous nightmare.

The ton can be merciless, and these tales in the scandal sheets threaten to tarnish everything I have worked for…

everything my mother has worked for, and that is the scariest part of all. Because you know how Mother can be."

Penelope reached across the small table, placing a comforting hand over Blanche's trembling one. The warmth of the gesture eased some of the cold fear gripping Blanche's heart. She looked into Penelope's eyes, finding solace in the empathy reflected there.

"And the Duke of Brooksdale," Blanche continued, her voice barely audible, "I allowed myself to hope, ever so briefly, that he might see beyond the facade.

That he might come to genuinely know me, not as just another face in the crowded ballrooms but as a woman worth more than fleeting nods and polite pleasantries. "

Penelope's eyes mirrored both sympathy and understanding. The complexities of the heart were a maze, and Blanche found herself lost within its twists and turns. The fragile hope she had nurtured now lay shattered, scattered like shards of a delicate porcelain figurine.

"So, you enjoyed talking to the Duke?" Blanche could only nod. She was not sure if she could trust herself to talk anymore. "And he seemed to enjoy talking with you too?"

"We certainly had a lot to talk about. It showed me how important it is to share interests with someone, which is what I have always tried to tell Mother…"

Blanche's words trailed off as she realised it was useless. It was not like she would be flooded with marriage proposals now. She had ruined it for herself. Maybe forever.

Penelope’s arms wrapped around Blanche, a silent promise that she was not alone.

The warmth of her embrace was a balm against the storm of scandal, offering comfort where words could not.

Blanche had fought to keep her composure, to swallow the emotions threatening to consume her—but in Penelope’s hold, the last of her restraint crumbled.

With a shuddering breath, she let the tears flow freely.

"Blanche," Penelope whispered gently, her voice a soothing melody in the midst of chaos, "last night, the joy you found and the bond you kindled over shared passions were real, genuine.

But the world beyond these walls, the society we navigate with masked faces and hidden truths, is a harsh judge. You cannot forget that."

Blanche nodded, the weight of Penelope's words sinking into the depths of her already-burdened heart. The room, adorned with delicate furnishings and the lingering scent of lavender, seemed to close in around them, a cocoon of shared secrets and unspoken fears.

"No matter the happiness you discovered in the walls of the blue parlour," Penelope continued, her voice unwavering, "no matter the bond briefly kindled over a happy meeting of like-minds, your future marriage prospects and your precious reputation now hang by the most fragile thread."

The stark reality of Penelope's words pierced through the haze of emotions, leaving Blanche vulnerable and exposed.

The delicate balance of a lady's standing in society, like an intricate tapestry, could be unravelled by the slightest whisper of scandal.

In the eyes of the ton, Blanche's fleeting joy threatened to overshadow a lifetime of propriety.

Blanche pulled away slightly, meeting Penelope's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and desperation. "What am I to do, Penelope? The dreams I dared to nurture now seem like fragile illusions, shattered by the cruel hands of gossip."

Penelope held Blanche's hands in hers, her expression a blend of sympathy and determination.

"You must navigate this treacherous path with caution.

The society we move within may thrive on rumours, but you have the power to shape your own narrative.

It will not be easy, Blanche, but with my help, I hope we can weave a thread of resilience amidst the fragility that threatens to unravel your future. "

As Penelope spoke, Blanche clung to the hope she offered, a lifeline in the storm. The threads of fragility surrounding her suddenly felt less constricting, as if Penelope's words had the power to strengthen the delicate strands that held her reputation and prospects together.

In that moment, with Penelope by her side, Blanche found her resolve.

The world might cast her in the shadow of scandal, but within the sanctuary of their friendship, she discovered the strength to stand against the weight of judgment.

Together, they would weather the storm of whispers and hold fast to the joy she had found in the quiet corners of history, among the relics of the past.

Whether the Duke would play a role in that future was another matter entirely.

Perhaps he would find his own way forward—that choice belonged to him, just as hers belonged to her.

For now, Blanche would do what she had long neglected—focus on herself.