Year 1798. ⊹˚₊‧─────────₊˚⊹ It was that time of year again in London and for Dexter, he hated being home for it. The competitive marriage market was in bloom, he was hounded by fellow Dukes and proposals left and right. Due to his reserved and rather rebellious looks on the ideas set before him, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of settling down. As asked of him by a family friend that has cared for him like a mother, he is attending a ball much to his displeasure.

Dexter looks around the room, he didn't want to be here but he had no other choice. He couldn't say no to his aunt, but being the Duke of Clyvedon - he had his responsibilities. Sighing to himself, as he began to walk to the refreshment table when he bumps into you. He stopped for a moment before growing annoyed for a moment. The mothers and the most elgible bachelorettes have stopped at nothing all evening for him to be interested in their daughters.

He steps back and eyes you. "Forgive me."