chapter 17
UNTIL THE SUN RISES — PART I
A VICTIM TO HER OWN HEART AND SOUL, Juliette could not escape her daunting thoughts. Since her arrival, many things have occurred that strained her heart. With each passing day and with each added factor of life eager to torment her, Juliette struggled to maintain her composure. Juliette repressed all that haunted her and the feelings that accompanied them. From her father's lack of love and learning of her parents' betrayal in the letter addressed to Anthony, to the anonymous scribbler, Lady Whistledown and her newest scandal sheet. And, everything that occurred between. A lady can only balance so much before she falls.
A few days passed since Juliette found the letter in Anthony's office. Despite her absence at the ball, Juliette was well aware of what occurred. For Lady Whistledown's scandal sheet recounted the evening's events in great detail. The words written by the anonymous scribbler ached her heart and soured her mood. Unfortunately, etched into her memory.
'It appears as if the absence of a certain Miss at the ball went unnoticed or, simply, unfazed. As fast as Miss Juliette Villeneuve arose from the ashes, she fell once again. Like a cunning vulture, Miss Daphne Bridgerton swept in and snatched the prince's attention and quite possibly his affection from the phoenix. Why settle for a duke when one can have a prince?'
Juliette was not attached to the prince, per se. How could she? She hardly knew the man. But, it hurt nonetheless knowing Daphne Bridgerton caught his attention with such ease. Juliette knew she had no claim on the man, and, of course, she was not the only woman in the world. She was absent at the ball, what was one to expect? She was not mad at her friend, not at all, but she couldn't comprehend why Daphne would go for the prince when she seemed so taken with the duke?
Juliette returned from a promenade with Édith. The sun hung high in the cloudless sky, casting warmth across London. A beautiful and optimal day for an early afternoon promenade. As the two arrived at the DuBois house, Édith scurried off to her room and Juliette made way for the drawing-room.
Once Juliette set foot into the drawing-room, the young lady came to a sudden halt at the sight. Lady DuBois stood next to the table, doting over several bouquets.
"Dear aunt," Juliette began, her voice slow and laced with disbelief. A large grin grew on her face. "Who sent all these? I was gone a mere hour at most!"
"Oh, well, these right here," Lady DuBois drawled, as she pointed to the large bouquet of red roses. The older lady's tone was light and a smile tugged at her lips, "are from the lovely prince." She then turned to another bouquet, although smaller, of white roses. "Our dear Reginald sent these."
Lady DuBois ignored the third bouquet. Instead, she amused herself with the pretty bouquets of roses. With a soft sigh, her aunt beamed, "are these not the most beautiful flowers?"
Juliette stared at the third bouquet — carnations. Curious, she asked, "Who sent the carnations?"
"Let us focus on the roses, yes?" Lady DuBois insisted, refusing to meet Juliette's gaze. "They are the flowers of love after all."
"I wish to know who sent the carnations," Juliette demanded, her tone faltering.
Lady DuBois' following words were a dagger to the heart. "Lord Ainsworth."
Juliette's throat tightened and a frown pulled at her lips, eager to disrupt her facade of happiness. As she spoke, her words were heavy with a fool's gold strength, "Get rid of them."
"Juliette—"
"No, I do not wish to see them."
Lady DuBois sighed, succumbing to her niece's wishes. Glancing at Celine, the DuBois' housekeeper, Lady DuBois sent the lady a nod, urging her to come to collect and discard the carnations.
Celine gathered the bouquet of pink carnations and left the drawing-room with haste.
. . .
The Trowbridge ball, hosted by Lady Trowbridge herself, was nothing but interesting. The lady had a peculiar taste, and Juliette found entertainment in the eccentricities. Hoops dangled from arches, with ladies maneuvering the circular confines with ease and with grace. Juliette found the art of such dance to be odd, but mesmerizing to say the least. Juliette eyed the decorative pieces of fruit and flowers. However, her gaze became drawn to the source of such beautiful music.
The soprano was a beautiful young lady with a powerful voice. The soft and melodic tunes of the harp went ignored as they were outshone by the soprano. Not only was her voice breathtaking, but it was raw and heavily laced with emotion. As she stood there, on stage before the attendees of the ball, she sang from her heart. Juliette felt drawn to the sounds, taken by such rare talent and beauty. The soprano brought light upon Juliette's dimmed mood.
Juliette sipped on her champagne, watching the ladies and gentlemen dance. They moved with grace to the enchanting voice of the opera singer. Lady and Lord DuBois were off somewhere, most likely catching up with a friend or fetching a beverage. Despite her loneliness in a room filled to the brim with ladies and gentlemen, she felt in harmony.
Since reading the letter days before, she had been subjected to the constant turmoil of her heart and mind. She could not find peace. Every time she attempted to rest, she was cursed with a night of restless sleep. And, if by chance she did sleep then nightmares tormented her dreams. The turmoil followed her into the hours of the sun as well. For the words written by her father arose with every thought. As well, she found herself eyeing the Bridgerton house much more than normal. She wondered what her life would be if her father never intercepted her and Anthony's love.
Now, at the ball, Juliette was free from the turmoils of her heart and mind as she was captivated by the music. She was at ease.
Free.
Someone cleared their throat and a deep voice arose to her left. "Miss Villeneuve, so lovely to see you again."
Immediately, Juliette recognized the insufferable qualities of the voice. Of course, any ounce of tranquillity that dwelled in her mind and soul vanished. She withheld an inelegant groan. This man would not ruin her facade of elegance and joy. Turning towards the man, she smiled, although strained. "Lord Ainsworth."
The flickering flames of the candle-lit ballroom were no rival to the bright orange hues of his hair. Strands of orangish hair fell into the dark blues of the ocean storm inhabiting his eyes. He was a handsome man, yet Juliette was well aware that inside he was anything but.
"Would you care for a dance?" Lord Ainsworth questioned. Although, the intonation of his words deemed it more of a demand. A large, and quite chilling, grin sat upon his mouth. "Seeing as last time I asked, we were so rudely interrupted."
Truthfully, Juliette had no desire to give this man a mere second of her day, let alone dance with him. She recalled how he disrespected her without care at the beginning of the social season. He then proceeded to ruin her image. She did not wish to dance with this man. But, the last time she offended him, the next day she was labelled an 'ineligible crone' by Lady Whistledown. Then for weeks to come, the DuBois drawing-room echoed from the emptiness of callers.
She could not have her image tainted any further by the anonymous scribbler.
One dance, that is all. Lord Ainsworth was not asking for her hand, but a mere dance.
With a fool's gold smile, Juliette sweetly said, "It would be a pleasure."
A sickening smirk grew on his face, nearly causing Juliette to outwardly react. He offered Juliette his arm, which she accepted with reluctance. The sensation of her arm linked with his caused her stomach to churn. As Lord Ainsworth led Juliette towards the dancing ladies and gentlemen, darkness blossomed in her chest. A frown tugged at the corner of her lips, yearning to replace the fraudulent smile that rested there.
Lord Ainsworth came to a sudden halt. A hand rested upon his shoulder, having forced the lord to stop in his tracks.
Anthony.
"Lord Bridgerton," Lord Ainsworth grumbled in greeting. He shook his shoulder, causing Anthony's hand to fall at his side. "How may I be of help?"
Anthony flicked his gaze to Juliette for a brief moment. A mischievous glint flashed across his eyes of liquid honey and warm browns. The young woman refrained from smiling widely at the sight.
"I must dance with Miss Villeneuve—"
"I believe you may wait until Miss Villeneuve and I finish, Lord Bridgerton," he sneered.
"But, you are finished," Anthony stated, his tone thick with authority. With raised brows, he offered his arm to Juliette. "Shall we?"
Without offering Lord Ainsworth a mere glance, Juliette disconnected her arm from his. She did not notice the rage dwelling in his eyes nor the clench of his fist. She interlocked her arm with Anthony, who held an amused expression on his face.
With a nod, no doubt to enrage the man more, Anthony turned away from Lord Ainsworth and led Juliette into the crowd of ladies and gentlemen.
Once they were far enough from Lord Ainsworth, Juliette stated, "I was in no need of a saviour. But, thank you, Anthony."
"You appeared miserable," he declared, a soft chuckle falling from his tongue.
Juliette gasped, hitting his bicep lightly with her free hand. However, she did not remove her palm from his arm upon contact. Unknown to her, Anthony's heart spiked in his chest at the sudden touch, at her touch. Juliette became lost in the moment. A moment that seemed so natural. As she did so, Anthony glanced downwards at her with a small grin, relishing at the time they were sharing. They remained like that for seconds, yet it felt like forever. Composing herself, Juliette dropped her hand to her side. With a sharp inhale, she exclaimed, "I did not! I made sure to smile."
"One that failed to meet your eyes, my Juliette," He breathed. The words almost went unheard due to the loud atmosphere of the ball. In a much more stern and audible voice, he claimed, "I do not like that man, he's quite distasteful."
Juliette scoffed. "He sent flowers this morning."
Anthony's nose scrunched in disgust. "Do you wish for me to set them ablaze? I would take great pleasure in the action."
A loud and inelegant laugh fell from her tongue, shocked by Anthony's words. With haste, she covered her mouth with her hand, attempting to muffle the noise. She was happy and felt light in his presence. It was as if nothing happened, as if those three years never occurred. Whilst the sound of her laughter faded, the sound of the opera singer's voice made Juliette stiffen. The beautiful voice of the soprano that once brought Juliette joy became the haunting soundtrack of Juliette's thoughts. The pitch of the powerful voice resonated at such a frequency that it penetrated Juliette's heart, and shook her from her daze. She was drawn from the past back to the present.
The smile donned on Juliette's lips fell as her throat tightened in realization — those three years did occur. Those years should not be something so easily disregarded. She was ignoring the pain in her chest as she fell back into what was comfortable, into what her heart yearned for.
How they were acting, how Juliette and Anthony were acting with one another was not natural. Their relationship was not normal. It was not carefree banter, not after everything they endured. She could no longer reenact the past when the present bestowed plaguing issues. Too much has happened that has yet to be addressed.
Juliette's hand fell from her mouth to reveal anguish cursing her countenance. In the confines of her chest, her heart pounded. She felt the beat of her heart in her throat and heard it in her skull. She could not escape the sound nor could she escape the haunting voice of the opera singer. A chill crawled up her spine. She attempted to breathe, but it was as if her lungs were unable to provide a sustainable amount of air or any air at all.
She couldn't breathe.
Juliette was being suffocated. Everything, everything she endured and repressed was surfacing at once and attacking her soul without mercy. She felt as if her life was a game of chess, one in which she had no control over the movements of the pieces. From her father's letter and mother's betrayal to Lady Whistledown's words of condemnation. From Lord Ainsworth's reappearance to Daphne Bridgerton's sudden interest in the prince. Amongst other things, like the trivial and demanding nature of the social season, Juliette couldn't handle it anymore. Yet, what sent her over the edge was Anthony Bridgerton. She had not seen the man since before she found the letter.
Since she learnt the truth.
Anthony was an anchor tied to her ankle, and the mere presence of him pulled her under the dangerous current.
"Anthony, I cannot," Juliette muttered, forcing the raw words from her throat. Anthony's brows narrowed at her words, unsure of what she meant. Her breathing became rapid as she fought to fill her lungs with air, but, the attempt was futile. She continued, weakly, "I cannot pretend. I cannot pretend that this banter is normal nor can I pretend that I am all right. I am not fine and this, us bantering as if those three years never occurred, is not natural."
He reached to cup her cheek endearingly, to ease her unrest. "Juliette—"
"I cannot breathe in here," she croaked, pulling away from Anthony's grasp. In frenzied haste, Juliette said, "I need to go, I need to leave."
She did not wait for Anthony's response.
Juliette hurried through the crowd of the ball. The taunting voice of the soprano followed her every step, a ghost haunting its prey. She weaved through ladies and gentlemen, refusing to meet anyone's eye. They could not know of her current hysterical state. Lady Whistledown cannot learn and tease apart Juliette's current downfall.
"Miss Villeneuve," Prince Friedrich greeted. He halted Juliette in her attempt to escape the ballroom. "I'm saddened to have missed you at the ball the other night." As he eyed the girl, concern washed over his handsome features. Softly, he asked, "Miss Villeneuve are you well?"
"Yes," Juliette managed. She cringed at the vulnerability of her voice. Offering the prince a fool's gold smile, she reassured, "I shall be back with haste."
Although, she failed to find the truth behind her own words.
She walked away from the prince, ignoring him as he called out, "Miss Villeneuve!"
The distress tormenting her soul mangled her thoughts and toyed with her sight. Everything around her was becoming hazy — a spinning blur. She needed air, she needed to breathe. Quick inhales and exhales of empty air racked her lungs. Every breath she took was not adequate. The door to the outdoors was in her line of sight. With larger strides, Juliette headed towards her source of escape. She needed the silence of the night to ease her mind and the crisp air to coax her lungs.
Juliette Villeneuve needed to calm down.
She was stopped again by another man.
Reginald reached out to the young woman, a large grin pulling at his lips. As he spoke, his tone was happy, "Juliette! You are here! It is so wonderful to see you once again—"
Juliette maintained her weak smile as she nodded to Reginald, walking away before he could finish his phrase. She knew her actions were rude and Reginald was undeserving of such callous behaviour, but Juliette was drowning.
She was drowning in the treacherous current of life. All that she repressed and endured since arriving in London stole her breath. She hit her breaking point. Anthony's presence made her break. He pulled her under the current.
Pushing through the french doors, she left the bustling nature of the ball behind. She was met with the crisp spring air and tranquil silence. The doors shut behind her. The haunting voice of the soprano became locked within the confines of the ballroom. Juliette was at peace in the silence.
Resting her head against the stone of the building, Juliette breathed slowly. Despite the rough nature of the stone, it was pleasant against her skin. The harsh texture eased her back into reality, calming her thoughts. Her eyes fluttered shut as she allowed the serenity of the night to overtake her other senses. The breeze nipped at her exposed flesh, causing a chill to crawl up her spine. But, she could breathe. A sense of calm began to wash over her, easing the torments placed against her soul.
Finally, she could think once again.
She did not see the figure barging through the doors, but she heard him. Whilst the door was open, the noise from within the ballroom seeped through. The doors slammed shut once again. She did not have to steal a glance to know who it was. For she knew how his body moved, and the man stepping before her was Anthony. She knew from the shaky breaths that fell from his mouth and how he carried himself, she knew him.
"Anthony, please leave." The words were rough against her throat.
Anthony stepped closer. She felt him brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. As he did so, his warm fingers caressed her cheek. Juliette found herself leaning into the brief touch. He mumbled, "I will not leave you out here alone when you are in such a vulnerable state."
Juliette did not respond. Instead, she pushed herself from the wall and walked away from Anthony. Her pace was quick and her strides agile as she hurried away. Anthony followed her as she stepped through the iron-wrought gate of the garden.
"Juliette."
She wished to be alone.
"Are you all right?" Anthony asked, following her into the concealing hedges of the hedge garden. When she did not answer, he questioned again, "Juliette, what is wrong?"
"Leave, please, I wish to be alone," she pled, her words were weak and almost failed to reach the atmosphere of the night air. She did not offer Anthony a mere glance, instead, she continued further into the hedge garden.
The tall hedges hid their forms from onlookers, pulling them into a world of their own. The only light came from the moon, which bathed their skin in a whitish glow. A harsh breeze whipped through the garden, disrupting the tranquillity. Goosebumps rose on her skin.
They reached an area circled by lush hedges and precious flowers in stone vases. If Juliette was not so consumed with escaping Anthony's presence, she would have admired the allure. With a delicate touch, Anthony grabbed ahold of Juliette's forearm, bringing her to a sudden halt. Anthony's following words tore through the silence of the night, "I will not leave you. I will follow your steps to Spain if I must." He paused for a moment, a frown plaguing his beauty. In a soft, near-silent tone, he begged, "Tell me what is wrong, my Juliette."
"The words of a dead woman," Juliette whispered the words that were at the forefront of her every thought. A fraction of the letter that tore her soul. Although her voice was quiet, it slashed through the tranquillity of the garden. She hated the weakness behind her words. A shaky breath fell from her plush lips as she turned to face Anthony. "Why did you not tell me?"
"You read the letter."
"Why did you not tell me? Did you attempt to write to me nonetheless? Did you have a sliver of hope that one letter may slip through my father's fingers?" She quizzed, yearning for answers. When Anthony failed to meet her eye or to mutter a response, she shook her head in disbelief. She asked, her voice frail and cracking, "Why did you not tell me when I arrived in April? My father may seize your writing, but he cannot seize your voice—"
"How could I?" He interrupted, his voice loud against the silence. Juliette winced from the sudden noise, shocked. Anthony exhaled deeply and rubbed his hand along his temple. He stated again in a much calmer tone, "How could I?"
Anthony released his hold on her arm, taking a step backwards from Juliette.
"Anthony, my heart knew nothing but hatred for you for three years. I despised you, I despised the man I loved," She muttered, disbelief heavy on her tongue. Anthony failed to show any reaction to her words. Harsh, she demanded, "Do my honest words plague your heart?"
"For you, my Juliette, I would do anything."
A short and breathy laugh fell from her lips. "Yet, you refused to try?"
"The hatred you felt for me was a mere sacrifice," he stated, sorrowfully. He paused for a moment. "You had lost your mother, how could I possibly subject you to the poison of that letter? Not only was your mother gone, but her image would be forever tainted — how is a dead woman supposed to redeem herself?" Anthony sighed. "I needed to protect you from further hurt."
A surge of sadness overtook her. Juliette squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She did not wish to cry. A few moments passed before she spoke. Juliette exclaimed, her tone unstable, "You hurt me! How is that protecting?"
A shaky breath fell from Anthony's lips. Regret gnawed at his organs, causing unease to arise within his body. The sight of Juliette placed anguish upon his heart. As he spoke, his voice failed him, "If—If I wrote to you, and if you read the words of my heart and the words of your parents' betrayal, then that pain caused would be in vain. Subjecting you to the pain of what your parents had done would be cruel in nature and without reward."
"If I would have known, if by chance I read your letters before my father knew, then I would have had no reason to despise you." She fell into a brief silence, stepping closer to the man. A tear threatened to fall. "Anthony, I would have returned to London. I would have remained here, in the ton, with you and my dear family."
Anthony lightly shook his head.
"Weeks before the passing of your dear mother, I wrote to your father," Anthony revealed. His tone was tense and laced with pain. "I asked for your hand, I requested his permission and approval." Juliette inhaled piercingly at his revelation. An ache blossomed in her chest. Anthony broke their gaze, clenching his jaw. "My request, as you may imagine, was not met with joy. Your father refused."
Anthony asked for her hand.
Her father denied his request.
The revelation came as a shock to Juliette, and it acted upon her like a dagger to the heart. The surprise was soon overruled by sadness and anger. Her father, the man who once showed her immense love, had taken her Anthony away. He prevented their love.
Ignoring the tempest of distress rising within, contained by her prison of skin, Juliette focused her attention on the man before her. The man she loved was torn on the inside, he was broken. She wished to ease his pain. Anthony may have caused her pain, but she did not wish to see such emotion troubling him. Juliette reached up, cupping his cheek in her hand. The tensed muscles in his face softened under the warmth of her skin. His facial hair tickled her palm. With a gentle touch, she forced Anthony to meet her gaze once again.
She did not know what to say, so she spoke the words of her heart. Words recited to her regularly during her summers in London. "The coldness of night is forevermore conquered by the warmth of dawn. Darkness will be conquered by light and loneliness by love. Until the sun rises, for night and darkness as well as loneliness shall only seize our souls for so long. Until the sun rises, my Anthony."
Until the sun rises.
A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips at the familiar words. The words he had spoken to her frequently in the past. However, the petite smile fell as fast as it appeared. Anthony exhaled, attempting to maintain his composure. He whispered, "Juliette, I cannot lie to you, that is why I refused to tell you."
Under the moonlight, Juliette failed to see the liquid honey and flecks of gold of his irises. Instead, a dark brown conquered the familiar warm colour. Embodied in the darkness was an intricate blend of emotions, ones that tore her chest at the sight. Anger. Sorrow. And, regret.
"Why should you ever need to lie?" Juliette questioned, her voice frail. Anthony never had reason to lie to her before. Juliette's inner brows raised and her eyes softened. She was fearful of what he could reveal. "What have you done, Anthony?"
Anthony remained silent. He nudged his chin, causing Juliette's hand that held his cheek to fall. Stepping backward, he shook his head and swallowed, harsh. No longer forced to meet her eye, he settled his gaze on the rustling leaves of the hedge behind Juliette. She noticed the pained expression written on his handsome features accompanied by what she recognized as guilt.
"What have you done?" Juliette demanded with fear and sorrow heavy on her tongue. Anthony did not answer. Juliette requested, strength building behind her words of ice. "You are to answer me, now."
"I have disrespected you."
Before Juliette could answer, Anthony spoke again. His words were silent as they surpassed the confines of his mouth. Nonetheless, Juliette heard with ease what he spoke in the tranquil atmosphere. Tainting the peacefulness of the night.
"Her name is Siena."
Siena.
In an instant, her heart fell from her chest. As if fabricated from glass, it shattered against the lush grass of the garden. She did not care about picking up the discarded fragments. Instead, she walked away, leaving the remnants of her heart at Anthony's feet. The world grew silent as she rushed to escape the haunting dark walk. She heard nothing. She could not hear Anthony calling her name nor could she hear the brisk wind rippling through the night. She became lost in her thoughts, a weak victim. As she quickened her pace, eager to escape, her knees were weak and her strides sloppy. She stumbled through the twisting corridors of the dark walk, grasping on the hedges for support. A single tear did not fall from her eye, nor did a sob threaten to tear through her throat.
Juliette suffered in silence.
She had never felt such pain.
. . .
rose's notes
I hope you enjoyed chapter 17! If so, please vote and comment! I love hearing what you have to say <3
4.5k words of Juliette suffering cool cool cool no doubt no doubt
Juliette has literally been through so much and I lowkey feel bad bc she's my baby (for real tho, this girl can't seem to catch a break I'M SORRY)
So... Lord Ainsworth has made an appearance ... so has Siena... and we all know what's about to go down in the dark walk with Simon and Daphne... things are getting interesting // chaotic??
(meme credit: whistledownmemes on IG)