"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 BALLROOM FULL OF VIVACIOUS TUNES AND LOVELY LAUGHS grew increasingly more soundless as Juliette approached Lord Blackwood, as she became lost. Consumed by her thoughts. Her form was followed by a pair of brown eyes woven with strings of vibrant gold. The eyes of Anthony Bridgerton held a complex puzzle. He stared longingly at the back of her head; the downward curvature of his soft lips and the solemn creases plagued his handsome face. Without casting a mere glance behind her, Juliette knew. She did not know of the pining ever so meticulously etched into his face by Aphrodite herself nor did she know of the solemn creases that cursed his beauty. Yet, she felt the burning of his gaze upon her skin, for wherever his glance blessed her skin, a tameless wildfire erupted — the sensation was one she grew familiar with over her summers in London.
Juliette was lost, nearly drowning in the treacherous current of her own emotional turmoil. A cursed pirate lost in dangerous waters. Cursed. Juliette's heart was cursed as well as her soul — doomed to yearn for the one who does not merit her heart nor her soul.
With every footstep she made towards the ever so charming Lord Blackwood, her heart was a step behind, lingering. Her brain cursed her heart, silently casting forbidden and inelegant words. With every interaction, as short as it may be, with the Viscount since her arrival a month ago, her heart grew more fond whilst her mind craved to mar the blighted increased beats of her heart.
Anthony Bridgerton, her childhood friend and the possessor of her heart, did not deserve her. She was well aware of the simple fact. Also, she was well aware of the unrequited affections, or, perhaps more accurately, the once requited feelings turned to stone hastily, as if under Medusa's cursed gaze. For, if Anthony truly loved her, he wouldn't have failed in responding to her letters. Yet, he did. He so easily inflicted his neglect upon her without reason.
Lord Blackwood, if all goes well in the coming weeks, may hold her future. She can't deny the schoolgirl giddiness that blooms in her stomach when in his presence. Lord Blackwood was a charmer, as well as undeniably handsome. Her heart may flutter under his gaze, yet he lacked ownership. But, he's a man she can learn to love. A lesson that may come easy, as the variables for the equation were already at hand.
Anthony, however, was her past. He had no place in her future, even if her heart wished otherwise. To have a chance at happiness, a chance at love, Anthony must be subtracted from the equation. Disregarded without care.
If only the beating in her chest followed the wisdom of her mind. The two organs were dependent on one another for life, yet acted independently of one another in strikingly contrasting ways.
The gruesome battle was exactly that, a battle.
Whether the champion was of her chest or her head, the battle was to be lost nonetheless.
