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bosbas · 8 months ago

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Chapter 5: I fear I have fallen from grace

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in French, our girl is in her feels asf, some small hints of ~feelings~, Eloise being the best

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

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.

His comforting touch did away with the last of your resolve. You started crying freely, and you could do nothing but sob into his shoulder as he read, feeling him tense as his eyes scanned the words on the page.

As he got to the part where Lady Whistledown outlined the Duke’s promiscuity, he abruptly stood up, face contorted in what you knew to be fury. You would have been relieved that it wasn’t aimed at you just this once if your situation wasn’t so dire.

“Putain,” he muttered under his breath (Fuck).

He grabbed your hand and dragged you down the stairs with him as fast as possible. You stumbled after him, anxiety mounting as you realized he was taking you to your mother.

What would she think now that you had lost everything? You and the Duke were finished, evidently. But you were still unmarried. You were still out in society. Could you even bear the shame of having been rejected by Arthur? Would any gentleman ever look at you again, or would Lord Barlow’s impatience reflect too negatively on you?

After what felt like an eternity, you reached the open doorway of the sitting room. You could see your mother chatting pleasantly inside, and fear gripped your chest as you realized you were about to shatter any semblance of peace she might be feeling right now.

“Maman!” yelled Louis angrily as he stormed into the room, still clutching your hand.

Your mother let out a startled gasp, bringing a hand to her chest.

“Louis, darling, you scared me! Charlotte and Edward are here,” she said warmly, assuming that you and your brother were having nothing more than another silly argument that would be resolved in a matter of minutes.

But Louis was not in the mood for pleasantries.

“Y/N and the Duke are finished,” he announced, slamming the Whistledown column on the table in the middle of the room.

You sniffled as you saw the looks of confusion on your family’s faces, no longer crying but your breathing was still uneven.

“Pardon?” questioned Charlotte. “I don’t understand; I saw them dancing last night! She’ll be lucky to receive a proposal this week.”

“He’ll be lucky if I don’t kill him,” growled your brother.

“Louis!” your mother snapped, appalled by his language. “That is not-”

But Louis quickly interrupted, reading directly from the sheet in front of him.

“And the Duke… Well, this author can say that he had a very productive evening, indeed. A quick trip to the private Bridgerton courtyard…”

As your brother read, you saw the faces in the room slowly turn from confused to horrified, and you couldn’t help the choked sob that escaped your lips. Your mother quickly reached out to you, holding you tightly to her as you cried into her dress.

“Bloody bastard,” said Edward, shaking his head once Louis was finished reading. No one commented on his strong language, given that it encapsulated exactly how everyone else was feeling.

“Louis, go fetch your father,” ordered your mother, immediately falling into her protective mode.

Without complaint, Louis nodded and headed toward your father’s office.

"Y/N, my love, I do apologize terribly. We didn't catch a glimpse of anything last night," Charlotte insisted, sinking beside you on the settee.

"If I'd laid eyes on him in that courtyard last night, he'd be wishing he hadn't walked out of there," your mother grumbled with an edge to her voice.

Slightly unsure about how to react to three emotional women in one room who seemed ready to kill a man, Edward fidgeted while he decided what to do. Of course, he knew he wasn’t the duke you wanted to kill, but it couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side.

“Shall I ring for some tea? Yes, I think I’ll go fetch some tea,” he bumbled, awkwardly patting you on the head and making his escape toward the kitchen.

As Charlotte stroked your hair and your mother held you in her arms, you heard your father’s footsteps storming down the hall.

“Louis has explained everything,” Philippe said, crossing his arms as he entered the sitting room. “Y/N, you must go to the races today.”

You no longer had any prospects and all your father could think about were the horse races today. Was he serious?

“I can’t!” you argued. “I’ll be a pariah! Everyone knows I’m the girl who couldn’t keep a Duke.” You choked back a sob.

“What exactly happened between you two last night?” probed your mother, wanting to know just how badly your reputation was damaged.

Lady Whistledown’s account did not implicate you in any way, but Catherine knew how vicious the ton could be. She needed to know what level of damage control would be necessary to secure your standing in society.

“Nothing!” you insisted, sniffling. “He said he liked my necklace, we danced, and he asked to go outside. I was unsure about whether he wanted to propose or… do whatever he ended up doing with Miss Barrington.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up, disbelief and newfound anger taking over his features. “He asked you to go to the courtyard with him? Alone?”

“Surely you said no! That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Charlotte, equally as upset.

“I told him I had a headache and couldn’t stay the rest of the evening,” you said, fiddling with the hem of your dress nervously. “I don’t know what I did wrong! Should I have gone with him? Did I lose my only chance at a proposal?”

“You’ve certainly done nothing wrong,” your father shot back firmly. “No daughter of mine would act in such a crass manner, and the Duke’s shortcomings are most definitely not a reflection on you. Nor us.”

Your mother sighed. “He’s right, dearest. The Duke is simply a man lacking in character, and now the ton knows he is not to be trusted. It’s a horrible thing, what he did. But you’re not at fault,” she insisted, looking at your father. “Which is why you must attend the races today.”

You groaned at the prospect of facing the ton with their judgmental stares and wagging tongues. What your parents were saying made sense, though. You rubbed your temples, frustrated that you were now in such a precarious social standing.

Perhaps you had been right at the beginning of the season. Lord Barlow, along with Colin and Nigel and the rest of them, viewed women merely as breeding stock. There was nothing in it for you. No hope of romance, no hope of ever finding someone who could respect you.

“If you stay home today everyone will wonder if you somehow were involved,” chimed in Charlotte, ignoring your glare. “If you go and act like nothing is wrong, you can prove that the Duke is nothing but a man with a debilitating lack of self-control.”

You looked around to the rest of your family, who all seemed to agree with your sister.

However, seeing Edward walk back into the room followed by a lady’s maid carrying a tray, you tried one last time to get out of leaving your home today, or for the next three years.

“What about you, Edward? Do you think it’s a bad idea to go to the races today?”

“Oh, certainly not! In fact, it might be the best way to assure your future,” he said sympathetically.

You threw your head back in frustration. He had probably heard the conversation as he walked up and didn’t want to disagree with the rest of your family, you thought glumly. Nevertheless feeling quite defeated, you slumped back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Fine. I’ll go,” you conceded as if you even had a choice.

The horrible feeling in your chest had subsided somewhat, but you were still devastated. At least your family was on your side. However, you were still feeling dreadfully embarrassed, and you knew being out in plain view today would only make it worse.

---

“And you saw them?” asked Eloise, a disturbed look on her face as she walked toward the bustling paddock.

Colin nodded, careful to keep his voice down. “I wish I could claw my eyes out. I think his tongue was so far down that-”

“Colin!” scolded Violet, failing to hide her small giggle at her son’s retelling of the previous night.

“I’m sorry, Mother, but it was a horrific sight!” said Colin, also struggling to contain his laughter.

But as soon as your family came into view, the Bridgertons sobered. It might have seemed funny at the moment, but Lord Barlow’s actions had the potential to ruin your future. It was doubtful that they would, since you were from a titled family and had done nothing wrong, but Colin could sense the whispers and pointed looks aimed at you as you walked toward the racetrack.

“Oh, Y/N!” called Eloise, quickly leaving her family as she rushed to your side. “Colin’s just told me what happened. He found Lord Barlow in the courtyard last night! Are you alright?”

Colin felt a bit ashamed of himself for making light of the situation as he saw tears welling in your eyes at his sister's words. The regret gnawed at him; he wished he could have told you himself, or at least had his mother break the news more gently. Yet, time had been against them.

For all the sorrow he felt at seeing you hurt, a selfish part of him couldn't help but feel a flicker of relief that the impending marriage was off the table. But he quickly quashed that thought, not quite sure where it had come from and not caring to understand why he felt this way.

You blinked quickly to try to keep your tears from spilling as you looked at Eloise making her way to your side. Taking a few deep breaths, you grabbed onto her hand. Nodding at the rest of your family, you waited until they were a few paces ahead of you to answer Eloise.

“Oh, El, it’s dreadful,” you sniffled. “I don’t know what I did to lose him is the worst part. I can barely believe it. I thought it was Louis at first, trying to wind me up.”

Eloise cooed sympathetically. “I know, it must be horrible. I have no idea how he managed to get into our private courtyard. But at least he hadn’t proposed yet! Seeing the kind of man Lord Barlow is, it’s lucky that this happened now and not three months into your marriage.”

“I suppose,” you answered, not quite ready to see the positives in the situation yet.

Suddenly, you heard snickering behind you and turned to see two women who looked to be your age pointing at you and talking in hushed tones.

Turning around back to Eloise, you hissed, “The nerve! Why are they laughing at me? It’s Lord Barlow they should be laughing at.”

“I assume they would be if he was here.”

“He’s not here?”

“No one’s heard from him since last night,” Eloise remarked, linking her arm with yours as she guided you back to the stands. “And it’s all for the better. I daresay I might have given him a swift kick to the face if I laid eyes on him today.”

You chuckled, the first glimmer of lightness since reading Lady Whistledown this morning, thankful for Eloise’s friendship. Giving her arm a grateful squeeze, you found comfort in her mischievous smile.

“Our mothers are likely already planning the Duke’s demise as we speak,” she quipped, gesturing towards where your families were seated together.

But a deep weariness overtook you at the thought of being the subject of ton gossip for the next few days. “It’s all anyone’s going to be talking about for the next week, isn’t it?” you sighed.

Eloise’s heart twinged with empathy, knowing the delicate balance you now faced in the unforgiving eyes of society. She wished desperately that your worth wasn’t tied to another man’s title or fortune.

“Well, actually,” she began with a twinkle in her eye, “the real scandal will be that the beautiful Lady Y/N Montclair is still unclaimed by any suitor. You’re in a prime position to be selective now! It might just be a bit of fun.”

You shot her a wry look. “How much more selective can I get than a duke?”

Eloise was intimately familiar with the high pressure you faced to get married. She knew that you had been preparing for this your entire life, but she also suspected you weren’t entirely aligned with your parents’ view of marriage. She had seen the uncertainty in your gaze whenever Lord Barlow walked away, the fluttering nerves you disguised as excitement.

“Tell me honestly,” she pressed gently. “Is there not a small part of you, deep down, that feels a sense of relief now that your courtship with the Duke has ended?”

Pausing thoughtfully, you mulled over her words. Maybe you weren’t actually as attached to Lord Barlow as you thought. After all, you weren’t upset that you had lost him, only that he had embarrassed you and that you had to begin your search for a husband anew.

With a tentative smile, you nodded, admitting, “Just don’t let my mother hear you say that.”

Stepping onto the stands, you and Eloise quickly found your way to your families. Unfortunately, the only empty seats were next to Colin. You were tempted to turn around and leave, but Eloise placed a hand on your back and pushed you forward, forcing you next to your least favorite member of the ton.

You unsuccessfully tried to hide your disdain as you sat next to Colin, who looked the picture of serenity. It made you unreasonably angry that he seemed completely unaffected by last night’s events while you had to face the social repercussions.

“I’m sorry about Lord Barlow,” he spoke softly, a hint of sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard.

You hesitated, the anger in you momentarily waning as you looked at him. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from Colin Bridgerton, and you found yourself unexpectedly moved.

“I’m sure you are,” you shot back, tone more biting than you intended.

“Pardon?” Colin’s brow furrowed, a touch of offense creeping into his voice at your sharp retort.

“Oh, spare me,” you rolled your eyes, a familiar frustration you only felt around Colin coming back to you. “You expect me to believe you just happened upon the Duke and Miss Barrington? It’s a bit too convenient, don’t you think?”

Colin’s eyes widened, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before it was masked by indignation. Did you really think he was capable of something like that? Of making up a lie that would sabotage your future marriage to a duke? The thought stung more than he cared to admit.

“Other people saw them, you know,” he retorted, a hint of anger seeping into his words. “And I wouldn’t lie about something like that,” he snapped.

The two of you had spent enough time that he was thoroughly offended that you thought so lowly of him. You were just entrenched in your grudge against him and refused to budge. He regretted trying to be agreeable at all.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow skeptically, feeling your own anger rise in response. “So they just magically appeared in your private courtyard without being given access?”

Colin opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He was too angry, too upset that you thought so lowly of him.

“Fine,” he finally bit out, his jaw clenched. “Believe what you will.”

Colin turned away, unable to face you any longer. His reputation among the ton be damned; why did you think he was some kind of monster? He supposed he hadn’t made a good case for himself, tormenting you whenever possible, but he was still furious that you were acting like Lord Barlow’s actions were somehow his fault. Why was he chronically unable to be in your good graces?

—

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