"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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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."
