Page 44 of A Wallflower's Convenient Duke
Chapter 20
The sun hung low in the sky, casting its golden rays across the wild expanse of the countryside as Philip led Blanche toward the ruins of an ancient fortress—an enduring relic of stone and silence, half-devoured by ivy and time. It was a place he had frequented as a boy, often in the company of his father, and though it bore the weight of centuries, it was imbued with the tenderness of his own memories. Today, he wished to share it—with her.
Since the night of the ball, the memory of their dance had haunted him in the best possible way. His heart swayed with the distant melody that echoed through the corridors of his memories. The dance floor had been adorned with an intricate pattern of swirling lights, casting a warm glow on the couples twirling gracefully to the music. Philip, in his tailored suit, had extended his hand to Blanche, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she accepted the invitation to dance.
The first notes of the waltz embraced them, guiding their steps in a harmonious rhythm. Philip could feel the gentle pressure of Blanche's hand in his, the soft rustle of her dress, and the warmth of her presence. The world around them blurred as they moved together, navigating the dance floor as if they were the only two souls in existence.
In the embrace of the waltz, Philip found himself suspended in a moment so delicate it seemed time itself had paused. The rhythm of their steps aligned with the steady cadence of his heart, beating not alone, but in tandem with hers. Blanche’s laughter—a soft, melodious sound—lingered in his ears like the sweetest refrain, harmonising perfectly with the sweeping swell of the music.
Each turn they took, each graceful movement, felt less like choreography and more like a shared journey—an unfolding conversation spoken not in words, but in the language of touch and breath and presence. Her hand in his, the gentle curve of her arm resting in his grasp… it all felt as though it had always belonged there.
He recalled the way her eyes had met his—clear, steady, and searching. In that look, something unspoken passed between them: a promise not yet made, but deeply felt. The din of the ballroom, the glittering crowd, the pressure of expectations—all fell away. There was only her. Only them.
And it was then that Philip recognised the truth that had quietly taken root within him.
He had never felt this way about anyone before. And certainly not with Blanche—his accidental bride, the woman he had expected only to tolerate. But here he was, utterly adrift in emotions he could neither command nor fully comprehend.
He was not merely captivated by her.
He was undone by her.
Blanche walked beside him now, her expression animated with curiosity as they approached the crumbling remains of the fortress. The ruin sprawled across the crest of the hill, moss clinging to stone, each weathered wall a monument to the march of time. But where Philip saw age and memory, Blanche saw stories.
"Philip, do you see this intricate carving here?" Blanche pointed to a section of the ancient wall, her voice filled with infectious enthusiasm. "It is a symbol often associated with protection and strength. I believe it represents the resilience of this fortress through the centuries. How remarkable that it’s still visible after so long."
Philip's gaze followed her outstretched hand, and a newfound appreciation for the details he had long overlookedblossomed within him. Blanche's insight breathed life into the stones, revealing nuances he had never considered. Her scholarly knowledge, combined with a genuine love for history, transformed the outing into an exploration of shared discovery.
"I cannot believe I did not see that before," Philip chuckled. "I must have been here a hundred times with my father, and I have not seen it. It is truly fascinating."
"Well, sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes to unveil the hidden stories of what we’ve grown too familiar with."
He delights in seeing the moss-covered remnants through her insightfully passionate eyes. She really was the most special woman he had ever laid eyes on. He felt more and more excited with every step. This was the best surprise journey he could have planned for his wife.
They wandered further into the heart of the ruin, where nature and architecture had tangled together like old friends. Suddenly, Blanche gasped and dropped to her knees.
Philip was at her side in an instant.
"Oh my, what is this?" she asked, but more to herself than to Philip.
There, half-buried in the earth, was a vibrant mosaic, remarkably preserved despite its concealment. She brushed away the dirt with reverent care, revealing a tapestry of colours and patterns, delicate and astonishing.
"Take a look. Philip," she gasped. "It is wonderful."
Blanche's eyes gleamed with a mixture of awe and reverence. The intricate patterns, once lost to the ages, now emerged, telling a silent tale of the hands that had crafted them centuries ago. The small but significant find seemed to bridge the gap between past and present, drawing the essence of the ancient world into their own.
"I must keep this," she declared as she looked up to meet his eyes. "It feels very precious."
“You must,” Philip agreed. “It suits you, rare, beautiful, quietly powerful.”
As Blanche cradled the fragile treasure in her hands, Philip sensed a poignant undercurrent in her demeanour. A subtle shift in her gaze, a shadow that danced in the depths of her eyes, spoke of a longing that transcended the immediate discovery. It was a pang of heartache that reached into the core of her being.
"Is everything alright?" he asked her while resting a warm hand on her shoulder, hoping that she would feel comfortable enough to open up to him if she needed help."
"Treasures such as this one remind me of my father. They remind me of the journeys that we went on as a child. Of the excitement we shared in uncovering hidden wonders. I miss him… more than I can say.” She sighed heavily. "I know it is natural, in time, to move forward... but I do not believe I shall ever truly recover from losing him. The ache remains, quiet but constant."
The ache of longing was palpable in the air as Blanche cradled the mosaic. Philip sensed the bittersweet emotions that welled up within her — nostalgia for the joy of shared discoveries, a longing for the father whose memory lingered in the remnants of ancient beauty.
"Perhaps it is time for a little respite," Philip suggested, wanting to keep the good feeling going for the day. Of course, his wife missed her father; that was understandable, but he knew it was up to him to comfort her in any way that he could. "The cook packed us a picnic for the day. Shall we?"
