DEAR JULIETTE ▹ Anthony Bridgerton

xv

Following the laughter that echoed off the pristine white walls, Juliette ascended the wooden staircase. As she did so, she ran her hand up the smooth handrail, maintaining her balance.

Juliette strolled around the halls of the Bridgerton house. She ignored the ghost of memories that attempted to torment her heart. Instead, she focused her attention on the hushed whispers of the three children and the beauty of the house.

Despite her attempts to focus, Juliette became lost in the intricate details of the white walls and the large familial portraits. Aimlessly, she followed the footsteps of her heart as she laid eyes on the familiar and gorgeous paintings.

An anomaly in the familiar setting caught her attention. A deviation to the consistency of her past, of her summers spent navigating the house.

The door to the Viscount's study was open.

From her many years of roaming the halls of the Bridgerton home, the large wooden door was always closed. Anthony never left the door ajar, not once did she witness the door being the slightest bit open.

Juliette had never set foot in the Viscount's study.

As if losing all importance, Juliette forgot her search for Édith and the ball that evening. Instead, an intense desire to investigate a hidden layer of Anthony's personality emerged. Untameable curiosity bloomed in the confines of her chest. Anthony never forbade Juliette from entering his study. No, that was not the case at all. Juliette never entered because Anthony never wanted to waste their passing moments in such a lacklustre place of paperwork. He wanted their summers to be amusing and full of excitement — to be memorable.

Intoxicated with curiosity, she fell victim to her own rash impulses. Juliette inhaled sharply and eyed the hallway for anyone before slipping into the study. Slowly and quietly, she inched the door shut behind her. The door failed to shut all the way, leaving it somewhat ajar.

The drapes were drawn shut, allowing darkness to cloak the room. The only light in the room seeped from the crack where the drapes met and from the brightly lit hall.

Despite the intense darkness, Juliette made her way around the study with ease. Bookshelves lined a wall, built from dark wood. Every crevice of the shelves occupied by a novel or other miscellaneous items. A sudden wave of comfort washed over Juliette. The study was peaceful and cozy, it was an extension of Anthony. Juliette found herself drawn to his desk. The area in which the Viscount spent a great deal of time was tidy, yet obviously worn.

The smooth wood of his desk was soft against her skin as she trailed her fingers against it. The light seeping from behind the drapes hit a piece of paper, casting it in brightness. Juliette would have to be blind to have not seen it. The corner of the paper slightly stuck out from the closed drawer. She knew it was wrong, as it was an invasion of privacy, but she couldn't help it. She plucked the paper from the crack.

It was no larger than her palm. Folded several times to keep the secrets within at bay. Scrawled on the back was an address.  It was addressed to Anthony Bridgerton — a letter.

As Juliette unfolded the letter, she was met with splotches of ink, damaged by water. The creases from the folds were weak, almost ripping beneath her delicate touch. The fragility was a sign that the letter was often reread. Despite the blurring of some letters, the penmanship was all too familiar. From the harsh crossing of the t's, the absence of dotting the i's and the slanted curvature of the letters, Juliette knew who wrote the letter. For she had witnessed the penmanship many times over the course of her life.

Her father, Lord Villeneuve.

Unease arose in her stomach and dread enveloped her heart as she stared at the cursive. A veil of uncertainty and unknowing tainted the atmosphere of the study, causing a chill to crawl along the curve of her spine.