Lost in Translation (C. Bridgerton)

Chapter 5: I fear I have fallen from grace

May 23, 1816 – Of course, this author saved the most scandalous tidbit for last. It seems something dark lurked beneath the waters of the seemingly perfect courtship of Lady Montclair and Lord Barlow. Yesterday evening, Lady Montclair retired early from the Bridgerton ball, citing a debilitating headache as the reason for her early departure.

And the Duke... Well, this author can say that he had a very productive evening, indeed. A quick trip to the private Bridgerton courtyard found him locking lips with Lady Barrington in what seemed like a very passionate affair.

But what of Lady Montclair? One can be certain she has deftly avoided a most unfortunate situation, for what use is a Duke if he is not truly yours? Shall we witness Lady Montclair's endeavors for another match this season, or perhaps she will retreat to the sunlit hills of Tuscany? Hopefully, today's races will reveal more about her intentions.

You crumpled the gossip column in your hands, eyes wide in shock as you felt your heartbeat in your ears. It seemed like the walls of your bedroom were closing in around you as tears blurred your vision. Surely this couldn't be true. Surely Lord Barlow hadn't completely betrayed you so far into your courtship. There had to be another explanation.

The longer you read and re-read Lady Whistledown's words, the more you needed to convince yourself that they weren't real. You felt anger rising in your chest, your chest constricting as your breathing quickened. It had to be Louis. There was absolutely no universe in which you got so close to getting everything you had worked for only for it to be taken away from you in such an unceremonious way.

You felt tears prickling your eyes and aggressively wiped them away, too angry to care about your appearance.

Standing abruptly and rushing to your door, you slammed it open and yelled into the hallway, "Louis!"

If he had somehow managed to create a fake Whistledown column as his idea of a sick joke, you were quite ready to kill him. But this was your only hope. It had to be him.

Not receiving a response from your brother, you desperately screamed out, "Je vais te crever !" (I'm going to kill you!)

Rushing out of his room, bewildered at your agitated state, Louis stopped in front of your open door. "Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas chez toi ? Arrête de crier." (What the hell is your problem? Stop yelling.)

You shoved the crumpled gossip sheet into his chest, forcing him to take a step back with the force of your push. He steadied himself on your doorframe, a questioning look on his face, and you felt your hope dwindling.

Shoving the paper into him once again, you cried, "T'as vu ça? C'était toi qui as fait ça?" (Have you seen this? Did you do this?) Tears were streaming down your face as you unsuccessfully tried to contain your emotions.

Though it certainly would have been cruel of Louis, you wished more than anything that he had been the one to do this. That Lord Barlow's betrayal wasn't real. That you would go to the races today and see the Duke and that he would greet you with a soft kiss on the back of your hand as the two of you walked pleasantly.

But your hopes quickly came crumbling down. Louis looked as confused as you felt, and you came to the realization that Whistledown's words were, in fact, accurate. You choked back a sob, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you fought to keep yourself under control.

"Attends, attends," Louis said nervously (Hold on, hold on).

Recognizing that you were very much in the middle of a crisis, but having absolutely no idea why, he grabbed your hands and gently pushed you back into your room. Sitting you both down on your bed, he took the paper from your hands and smoothed it out to read as he placed a comforting arm around you, rubbing your arm up and down.