chapter twenty
TOGETHER
THE DUBOIS RESIDENCE, IN ALL ITS ELEGANCE AND GRACE, WAS IN A STATE OF EXCITEMENT. The housemaids scurried amongst one another, eagerly discussing in hushed whispers Juliette's promenade with the prince. As the cooks prepared dinner, they kneaded the bread with a certain excitement and pondered whether or not Juliette would marry a prince. Lord DuBois? Well, as he completed paperwork, the man hummed joyously as he knew the circumstances of the promenade. For, Prince Friedrich had asked Lord DuBois permission to propose to Juliette earlier that week. The lord wanted nothing but the best for Juliette. So, he allowed the prince to propose, however, he made clear the final decision would be made by Juliette herself.
Upon arriving back at the house, Juliette was swarmed by questions from Édith and, surprisingly, Edward. The twins followed Juliette around the house as she headed for her bedroom, one sibling flanked each of her hips. The questions did not halt for a second nor did Juliette even have a moment to breathe. The twins asked so many questions that Juliette hardly had time to offer an answer more than 'yes', 'no', or 'maybe'.
However, when Edward asked, "Did you accept the proposal? Are you going to be a princess?" Juliette was rather thankful to be in close quarters of her bedroom. The girl rushed inside the room, shutting the door before her cousins could inquire further information about her afternoon with the prince. She really couldn't muster the energy to respond let alone decide if she was going to accept the proposal or not.
Juliette rested with her back against the door, preventing the twins from opening the door. As uneven breaths escaped her lips, she slid down the wood until she was sitting on the cold hardwood flooring. Hunched forward, she held her head in her hands. The wound on her palm that she obtained from the prince's rose ached against her temple, but the bleeding had ceased earlier that afternoon. As she sat in silence, she stared at the pale purple fabric of her frock and how it shimmered in the sunlight seeping through her window.
Even when Édith released a loud huff and stomped down the hall with Edward following suit, Juliette did not rise from her seat on the ground.
She didn't know what to do. Should she accept the prince's proposal? But, under what reason? Juliette had no desire in becoming a princess or living in a palace. She had no desire to live a life of constant formality, life in the public eye. Nonetheless, the prince was a kind man. No doubt he would make a proper husband. Juliette may even find herself loving him one day. As Juliette sat there with her head cradled in her hands, she was having a hard time coming up with further reasons as to why she should accept his proposal.
But, just as Lady DuBois reassured earlier during their carriage ride home, Juliette didn't have to decide just that moment.
She had time.
Truth be told, Juliette didn't know how long went by before she finally lifted her head from her hands. Half an hour? An hour? All Juliette knew was that the sun was now beginning to set as it inched towards the horizon.
The orange and pink hues of the setting sun cast rainbows in the crystal chandelier above her bed. Juliette was drawn into the pure simplicity and beauty of the colours dancing on her walls. The new scene eased her thoughts about the proposal, taking her mind off everything that occurred the past week. Upon looking around her room, Juliette noticed an anomaly that drained the colour from her face. She pushed herself up from the floor and cautiously stepped forwards. Resting on her bed, bathing in the beauty of the setting sun, was the letters.
Anne didn't burn them.
Juliette opened her mouth as if to yell for Anne and ask why the letters were on her bed instead of reduced to mere ashes, but the words never escaped the confines of her mouth. Juliette tried, she tried to yell for Anne, but every time her voice failed her.
Maybe, unconsciously, Juliette never wanted the letters burnt at all. Perhaps the failure of her voice was a symptom of her unconscious. Would it be so ridiculous if a tiny part of her soul yearned to read what Anthony wrote? Juliette couldn't help but feel like a fool.
Nonetheless, she found herself reaching forward for the letters. With a shaky sigh, Juliette pulled the string binding the letters loose, discarding it on the bed without thought. She plucked the first letter from the pile. The paper was rough against the soft skin of her fingers, and with a delicate touch, Juliette unfolded the letter.
The first thing Juliette noticed, shocking her the slightest bit was that the letter was dated for that day.
My dearest Juliette,
I am not asking for forgiveness nor am I asking for you to forget.
Quite honestly, I hope you do not forgive nor forget.
All I want is for you to understand the love I hold for you. The love I hold for you will surpass my final breath, for it is forevermore — eternal. I love you with the same intensity that the burning sun diminishes its flames to allow the moon to shine each evening.
The love and adoration I hold for you, and only you led to self-sacrification. I ruined myself — the image of myself — to ease the ache in my chest that refused to cease. I made myself unworthy of you, just as your father claimed I was, I made myself undeserving. One day, another man will have the honour of marrying you, and I needed to accept the inescapable future. I made myself unworthy of you to ease the pain of the inevitable. Even after the ruin, after the gin-fuelled night with another woman, the ache remained. Yet, the damage was done. In the months following that night, I wrote a response to every letter you sent, although I couldn't bring myself to send them. I wanted you to have a future seeping with happiness, and I was an obstacle to that happiness. As your father imposed, I was not to marry you. How could I possibly allow myself to hinder your finding of love?
From every inch of skin to the organs dwelling within, from my conscious to the beat of my heart, I was not worthy of your love.
Yet, the yearning I hold for you adheres to each beat of my heart, intensifying with every breath I take. For the last three years, during the hours of the sun and the hours of the moon, I thought of you. Of your beauty. Of your kindness. Of your pig-like laugh that as inelegant it may be, I adore with all my heart. I thought of what we were and what we could have been. Of the family we spoke of — at least four little ones — and a house of our own. Our first daughter would be named 'Sylvie' after your dear grandmother, and our first son 'Silas' for no reason other than your love of the name. Large portraits of our family would line the walls, showcasing our adoration. We would have a grand library, filled with the books you love, and a large dining room to accommodate our conjoined families. Our children would join us for dinner, as leaving them to a table of their own is cold and lonely, and we would accompany them to parks for promenades and adventures. Our family would be happy and healthy, and most of all loved.
In cruel reality, that was never meant to be.
At dawn, I duel with the Duke. And, in honesty, I am terrified, my love.
I don't want to die.
Now, I sit here as the hour of damnation approaches, as in mere hours I will either face death or exile, I only recall one regret.
Letting you go.
As I recall my past actions and my past decisions, at the time I believed I was acting in your best interest. Now, I come to realize I've been nothing but a fool. Nonetheless, I cannot take back what I have done and those decisions shall follow me to my deathbed. My regret for what I have done does not take away the disrespect and pain I've placed on you.
My dearest Juliette, my dearest love, my sincerest apologies for the torment I have caused you.
As I write my final goodbye, I die inside.
I love you.
I pray you find a suitable and kind husband — perhaps Prince Friedrich or Lord Blackwood? You, my dear, would make a lovely princess.
Farewell, my love.
Yours,
Anthony Bridgerton
The letter slipped from her grasp, fluttering to the floor.
Anthony and Simon duelled?
"Oh no," Juliette gasped. An overwhelming feeling of nausea overcame her as her heart fell to the deepest depths of her stomach. Whilst her breathing quickened, her thoughts became overrun by the possible outcomes of the duel. Gosh, men are foolish! If Anthony was not dead by Simon's hand then she would shoot him herself for his careless actions.
Anthony may be dead. Suddenly, the nightmares she encountered all evening came to mind — was Anthony dead? Was that the meaning behind her dreams? Was her nightmares warning her of future events? As she thought, her head began to ache and tears welled in her eyes.
Juliette clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut, a fruitless attempt at suppressing her tears. Even with her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth as she willed herself to maintain her composure, tears caressed the curvature of her cheeks.
Anthony.
Juliette needed to know if he was safe. If he was alive and well. She needed to know if her love was murdered in a foolish game of ego. Her chest ached at the thought of their last conversation. Was that where their story ends? Heartache?
In Juliette's whirlwind of emotions, it did not take long for her to rush out of the DuBois house. She ignored the question her uncle posed, 'dear, where are you going?' and she ignored Édith yelling from down the hall, 'well, did you accept the proposal?!'. Whilst her mind was still mentally with the contents of that letter, with Anthony's potential demise, her quickened pace brought her physically across Grosvenor Square. Juliette was not aware of the ladies and gentlemen taking note of her distraught appearance — tear-stricken cheeks, puffy eyes and clenched jaw.
Then, before Juliette even realized she physically left her room, she found herself planting a single forceful knock on the door of the Bridgerton house. Seconds after, the door opened, revealing Humboldt.
"Humboldt, good afternoon," Juliette greeted quickly, her voice weak. "I, erm, is Anthony here?"
Humboldt's expression softened and a frown grew on his lips at her distressed appearance.
"Likely in the study, although I haven't seen—" Humboldt began, but soon after his words drifted off once he realized Juliette was already halfway up the stairs. He muttered under his breath, "Oh, Juliette."
When Juliette stepped foot in Anthony's study and saw that he was alive and well, she was met with relief. Anthony was alive. The fool wasn't dead on the ground with his blood seeping into lush grass. Anthony hadn't met the same fate as he did in her nightmares. He was alive, unharmed, and a living example of pure idiocy. Juliette's relief faded as intense anger washed over her.
With haste, she wiped the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her palm.
At the sight of Juliette, Anthony dropped his pen to his desk and stood abruptly from his chair. His paperwork was disregarded without care. The wooden legs of his chair scrapped across the flooring, disrupting the silence with a loud groan.
Calmly, she stepped towards Anthony. Despite her outward calm demeanour, a tempest of rage and sadness dangerously swirled with its prison of skin. Anthony noticed the storm raging within the eyes he loved most. Her irises were so dark that the brown appeared black and conquered the intricate hues of green. His chest tightened at the sight.
"Juliette," Anthony whispered, her name fell tenderly off his tongue and no louder than a soft exhale. "I—"
A mere foot stood between them.
She hit him. Her palm met his chest with a soft thud, causing Anthony to stagger backwards the slightest bit in surprise. Then, she hit him again. And, again. Again. Juliette continued hitting his chest, the area above his heart in anger and frustration. And, most of all, sorrow. With his feet rooted firmly to the flooring and his breathing at an even rate, Anthony received the harmless hits in silence.
"You."
Hit.
"Are."
Hit.
"A."
Hit.
"Fool!"
Hit.
"You've got more hair than wit, you're a man with his brain in his bollocks! You, Anthony Bridgerton, are a cabbage-head! UGH!" Juliette groaned, continuing to hit Anthony as she spoke. "I wish I could despise you with every ounce of my being."
Anthony slouched the slightest bit, overcome with regret and defeat. Juliette's hits were not harmful and didn't cause Anthony any pain. He accepted her frustration and inner pain. For, he was the cause of all that tormented her.
It was his fault.
"You could have died, Anthony!" Juliette exclaimed sorrowly, throwing one final blow against his chest. The rapid beat of his heart pounded against her palm. Her voice crumbled under her following words, "You could have died."
Juliette fell into his chest, one hand at the base of his neck and the other tenderly placed on the area above his heart where she was placing harmless hits moments before. With her head resting on one of his collarbones, Juliette breathed shallowly into his chest. A brief moment passed when Anthony looped his arms around her waist, pulling Juliette into a tight embrace. At the action, as the beat of her heart increased, she slid her hands behind his neck.
Relief. Juliette was grateful that Anthony was still alive, that he was still there with her.
As they were flush together, dangerously close, she felt the beat of his heart against her chest and the tensed muscles of his arm against the small of her back. Warm breaths caressed the side of her face, a sweet reminder of how close their faces were. Anthony mindlessly toyed with the fabric of her frock resting on her waist. A shiver crawled up her spine at the action.
She never meant for her following words to leave the confines of her lips.
"What would I do if I lost you?" She whispered into the fabric of his shirt.
"I'm here, Juliette," Anthony reassured, holding the girl tight to his chest. "And, the Duke is alive as well. Daphne and Simon are engaged — the wedding will be in three days."
Juliette froze. She didn't even think of Simon's well-being.
"Well, that's lovely," Juliette muttered, the fabric of his shirt muffled her voice. "They must be delighted."
Anthony didn't respond. Instead, they stood there in silence as they relished in the comfort of the other's touch. Juliette's fit of anger washed away, leaving sorrow in its wake. Even though Anthony was the root of her sadness, he so easily eased it. A cruel joke that is.
"Juliette, I know the prince proposed, Hyacinth told me," Anthony stated, breaking the comfortable silence. "You would make a lovely princess."
At his words, Juliette pushed herself out of his grasp, causing his hands to hang limply at his sides. She crossed her arms across her chest. The brunette had forgotten about the prince and his proposal, and she certainly wasn't in the mood to discuss it at the moment.
"I do not wish to be a princess," she declared with narrowed brows and a heavy frown. "As for the prince, he is a charming man, but my heart does not yearn for him."
Anthony was taken aback by her words.
"What of Lord Blackwood? He would make a fine husband," Anthony urged, darkness growing within his eyes — sadness.
Juliette exhaled deeply, attempting to release a sliver of frustration. "Anthony, what is the meaning of this?"
"I do not deserve you," he stated, his tone laced with pain. After a brief pause and a shaky breath, he continued, "but these gentlemen, Prince Friedrich and Lord Blackwood would treat you well. Juliette, you can find happiness with them."
"Anthony—"
"I do not deserve you!" He shouted the noise rattled the windows of his study."I have made mistakes, I have hurt you—"
Juliette had enough.
She was tired of Anthony acting like a child.
"Then fix it!" Juliette yelled out of frustration and anger. The loudness of her voice carried throughout the Bridgerton house, but Juliette was not fazed by the noise. Little did they know, in pure curiosity, Hyacinth and Gregory stood with their ears pressed against the closed door. Anthony flinched at her tone. She continued much softer, anger still seeping from her tongue, "If what you wrote in the letter was honest from the heart, then fix it. Mend your mistakes and stop whining. Redeem yourself and become someone I deserve. I do not want to marry a prince. I do not want to marry any fine husband. I want to marry the man my heart burns for." Juliette paused, allowing a weak breath to fall from her lips. With a shaky voice, she demanded, "So, grow up, Anthony, and fix it."
"I want to, Juliette, but your father! He denied my request to take your hand, I-I can't marry you, my love."
"A weak excuse," she scoffed in disbelief. "I have no care for my father's wishes, and clearly, he has no care for mine." Shaking her head, she revealed, "If it so interests you, my father gave my dear uncle written authorization to handle all affairs of my debut in High Society." Juliette released a curt laugh, one riddled with the slightest bit of sorrow. The sound ached Anthony's heart. "My father cares so little of my well-being and future that he's allowing my uncle in control of it all."
A frown toyed at her lips, however, it was a blessing of sorts. Lord DuBois was more of a father figure to Juliette than her father. Lord DuBois cares more for Juliette's well-being and happiness; the same cannot be said for Lord Villeneuve.
Juliette would be a fool to miss the brief moment of hope that flashed across Anthony's irises of brown and gold.
"I will mend this, my Juliette," as he spoke, his voice was so soft and tender as if he never meant to say it aloud. Juliette nearly blindly believed him.
"Promise me."
"I promise."
"I'm counting on you."
"And," Juliette quickly added on before Anthony could muster a word. "If I learn you attempt a foolish duel again, I-I will murder you myself!"
"In my defence, I was—" Anthony's voice faded at the unimpressed glare Juliette sent him.
Juliette gave Anthony a strained smile. "Great. Now, I will not be leaving this study until I receive a proper explanation—who is Siena?"
As the pinks and oranges of the setting sun were replaced with the inky night sky, Juliette sat in Anthony's desk chair with her clasped hands on her lap. Anthony sat on the edge of the desk, looking downwards at Juliette. Every so often, he would hold his head in his hands and release a shaky breath.
As Anthony spoke, recounting everything that occurred in the last three years, including things not mentioned in the letter he left on the DuBois doorstep, Juliette sat in silence. He spoke of how Siena was the consequence of his actions, of his gin-fuelled rage due to his rejected proposal request. He spoke of his immediate regret. He spoke of how he never spoke to her again. He spoke and spoke and spoke, and Juliette let him. Anthony frequently tripped over his tongue due to his nerves. Nonetheless, his words were quick, barely allowing him enough time to catch a weak breath, and his heart pounded in his chest. Anthony Bridgerton was a wreck.
What happened next surprised not only Anthony but Juliette herself.
Juliette reached over and clasped Anthony's hand in hers. At the action, his eyes widened in surprise, but the emotion quickly faded into relief. The simplest touch from Juliette eased the pounding in his chest and slowed his speech. And, he breathed.
The challenges at hand and the challenges up ahead, they would face them alongside one another.
Together.
. . .
rose's notes
I'm so happy bc now that everything's out in the open (20 chapters later lmao), they're gonna start rebuilding their relationship!! Yay honesty is the best policy!! 😭❤️
I hope you enjoyed chapter 20! if so, please vote and comment! I always love hearing what you have to say <3
this isn't edited that much so many apologies for anything that sounds weird/crusty hehe