chapter eighteen
UNTIL THE SUN RISES — PART II
ANTHONY'S POINT OF VIEW
THE MOONLIGHT SEEPED THROUGH THE OPEN DRAPES, bathing his skin in a whitish glow. The moon hung high in the sky, a harrowing light against the inky black. That night, the stars didn't shine so bright anymore. Perhaps, the darkness resting within the confines of his heart had tainted the sky or perhaps it was due to the ticking clock, in which every second the hand inched closer to his downfall. For, not only did he love a woman he does not deserve, but his sister was defiled by the Duke.
As the moon inched towards the horizon, Anthony became closer and closer to two horrific outcomes:
Shoot the Duke.
Or, be shot.
Either way, blood was to be spilt as death was on the horizon.
Death.
Frankly, Anthony did not crave either. Nonetheless, he had a duty he must follow through. Disrespect had been placed against the Bridgerton name, and Anthony must protect not only Daphne but his entire family. He must protect their honour. It was his duty.
A duty 'till death.
How charming.
Anthony did not wish to die, yet he was willing. As morbid it may be, he had accepted it as a potential outcome. Although anxiety ate away at his gut and terror crawled up his spine in a ghostly chill, Anthony knew what had to be done.
And, he must do it with honour.
It was an affair of honour, after all?
After arriving at the Bridgerton house hours before, and after discussing affairs with Benedict and Colin, Anthony spent what may as well be his final hours at his desk, alone. He was haunted by the events of that evening, of what happened at the ball. Haunted by the shattered soul that rested behind the beautiful eyes of the one he loved most. Haunted by the image of his dear sister being defiled by the Duke. Anthony's eyes, which were typically a lively brown strung with intricate hues of golden honey, were now lifeless as fear scratched at his insides and sorrow gnawed at his heart.
The young man was in a frenzy, opening every desk drawer and rustling the documents inside as he searched for what he desired most, for what he needed. With every piece of paper he placed in a pile on his desk, the weight in his chest grew heavier.
As death's fist gripped at his neck, warning him of his upcoming doom, there was only one thing on Anthony's mind. Well, there was quite of bit whirring around in that head of his, but every thought circled back to one person:
Juliette.
His only regret in life was losing her.
Juliette Eléonore Villeneuve was the best thing that happened to him. She was supposed to be his past, present, and future. His life was supposed to be forever intertwined with hers.
What happened with Siena was a gin-fuelled mistake. A mistake feeding off the intense rage and sorrow plaguing his heart and mind. That day, three years prior, Anthony had just received word of Lord Villeneuve's refusal, amongst other claims in the letter. Anthony Bridgerton was not worthy of Juliette, he would never take her hand in marriage, and they would never live the life they always dreamt about. Anthony did not know what to make of himself. He did not know how to ease the pain clawing at his chest.
He knew there would come a time where another man would have the great honour of having Juliette as their wife. Anthony had to let her go. In the eyes of Lord Villeneuve, Anthony was undeserving of Juliette, and he had to instill the same ideology into his self-perception. The self-destruction was an easy feat. A single night and a bottle of gin were all it took to successfully strip himself of any worth. After that evening, he had not indulged in the presence of another woman again.
Anthony Bridgerton did what had to be done — he was no longer deserving of Juliette's love and attention. Just as her father instilled. Anthony had made Lord Villeneuve's declaration a reality.
Nonetheless, with every rise of the sun and fall of the moon, the love he held for Juliette did not fade. Instead, it seemed to intensify as she haunted his dreams and plagued his memories. He wished for nothing more than his life to be forever intertwined with hers.
But, he had to let her go.
Juliette deserved more than the world had to offer.
Anthony Bridgerton was not worthy of her.
And, he made sure of that.
Now, as Anthony reflected at his past actions as the hand on the clock inched closer and closer to dawn, he could not hate himself more. Well, he had always despised himself for what he put Juliette through. If only he had tried more. If only he dared to call Lord Villeneuve's bluff. If only he journeyed to Paris and fought for Juliette and their love.
But, he didn't.
Deep down, Anthony knew that at the time, he did what he thought was best for Juliette.
She had just lost her mother. Anthony couldn't allow himself to tarnish the relationship she held with her father. She could not lose her father as well. Unknownst to Anthony, the moment the final breath fell from Lady Villeneuve's sickly lips, Juliette had lost both her parents. Anthony did not know that the only thing tethering Juliette to the world, that the only thing providing her with an inkling of hope during that harrowing period was him. Yet, just like her parents, Anthony became a ghost to Juliette.
Anthony only ever wanted the best for his love. He wasn't what she merited, he wasn't the best for her.
He never was.
Anthony rustled through the contents of his desk once again, however this time he was in search of a blank piece of paper. When the rough skin of his fingers met with an unused sheet, a sigh of relief fell from his lips.
Then, Anthony Bridgerton wrote everything.
As he wrote the song of his heart and the torment of his mind, the writing was sloppy. Through the absence of dotting the i's and the rushed crossing of the t's, the words of his heart were written with haste. The letters were loose and slanted dangerously as the quill scratched against the paper, leaving his thoughts dancing on the paper in ink. The study was chillingly silent, causing his throat to tighten under death's grasp. The shaky breaths of Anthony Bridgeton did not surpass the threshold of silence nor did the howl of wind outside. All that could be heard was the scratching of the quill against the paper.
Anthony wrote everything he needed to say. For, when dawn comes, he will either have thick crimson pooling from his body, seeping his life into the lush grass, or he will have murdered his friend and be a criminal on the run forevermore. However, there was one thing for certain, he will never be blessed under the beauty of Juliette's glance again.
Juliette will finally be free of him.
When the fresh ink became bloated by a droplet of water — a fallen tear — Anthony didn't give it much thought.
And, he continued to write until the sun began to creep beyond the horizon. At the sight, his heart fell into the depths of his stomach as the hour of damnation was upon him. With haste, Anthony collected the pile of papers, as well as the final letter, and hurried out of the Bridgerton house.
"Until the sun rises, my Juliette."
. . .
rose's notes
I know this is short and I know this is almost a month late, and I'm sorry.
I had a hard time writing something I liked and the past month has been filled with several deleted drafts and pretty bad writer's block.
Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter and if so, please vote and comment! I always love hearing what you all have to say <3
^ me reading your comments last chapter