Page 15 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
"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 oflike-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.
