"My final letters, were they read? Or were they written in vain?"
Although born in France, Juliette Villeneuve often spent her childhood summers in London. With the passing of each summer, her adoration for a certain Bridgerton boy grew. During thei...
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THE BRIDGERTON HOUSE — A GRAVEYARD CLOAKED BY BEAUTY AND GRACE. A crypt hid behind the iron wrought fence and pale blue wallpaper. The dead lay concealed by the wooden floorboards and plush carpets. The cemetery shrouded in thick wisteria housed the ghosts of memories. It held the ghosts of touches. A series of childlike giggles of Hyacinth and Gregory echoed in the halls. The lively noises carried throughout the large home. It acted as a disguise for the cruel nature of the Bridgerton house, for the painful memories that dwelled there. Yet, Juliette was not fooled. No amount of pure childhood delight could keep the dead buried or erase the ghosts.
Juliette walked through a burial ground. With every twist and turn, a new memory arose from its deep grave. The memories of the past tore through floorboards and shattered windows, clawing from the catacombs. They clung to Juliette, refusing to let her take a single breath in peace. They haunted her, leaving scorch marks against her skin and an unease gnawed at her stomach.
The house of ghosts.
The girl was on edge. Awaiting a ghoul to jump from each corner and behind each door. Dense amounts of adrenaline seared through her veins. The beat of her heart quickened in her chest and her clenched palms were clammy.
The Bridgerton house, as beautiful it may be, was the last place Juliette yearned to be.
Despite the cruelties cast against her heart from the house of ghosts, tea with Lady Bridgerton and Lady DuBois was pleasant. The three ladies chatted for quite some time. They spoke of Juliette's life in London, that is the positive aspects of it, as well as the current events in the ton. The afternoon sun shone through the large windows of the drawing-room. In a playful manner, the bright beams danced against the walls.
Juliette nibbled on a biscuit.
Lady Bridgeton hummed, "Juliette, please do tell of that suitor you've acquired."
"Lord Blackwood?" Juliette questioned. She was met with an encouraging smile from Lady Bridgerton, urging her to continue. Juliette went on, "He is quite handsome in personality as well as appearance."
Lady DuBois confided, "This very morning he sent over a beautiful bouquet of white roses. Absolutely stunning flowers."
"Did he now? Isn't that wonderful!" Lady Bridgerton exclaimed before taking a sip of tea. "Are we to assume a proposal is on the horizon?"
Juliette suppressed a simper. A soft chuckle fell from her lips as she responded, "I am hopeful. Nonetheless, I hardly know the gentleman."
Her words were far from a lie. Yes, she spent many social events by Lord Blackwood's side. The lord also visited the DuBois house a handful of times as a caller. Nonetheless, she only knew of the trivial things—his fortune, his family, his hobbies. There were many aspects of Reginald Blackwood that she yearned to know. What was his greatest fear? Greatest triumph? Favourite memory? What made Reginald's heart tick?
