Your parents had always been worried for your future. From a young age, it was quite obvious you were not like the other young ladies of the ton.

Instead of finding interest in literature, music, the modern languages, or embroidery, you occupy your time observing bugs, staring at the stars, and horseback riding.

No matter how many times you’re scolded, punished, kept away from the things you love most, you find a way to do them. You’ve even gone so far as to lean out your window with a rope one night in order to see the full moon at its peak.

Your debut into society was as tragic as your parents feared. The dress was too stiff, the shoes too cramped, and the headpiece too heavy. You were announced and in you walked towards the Queen herself. Unfortunately, your older sisters had all been elegant, lovely, diamonds of the season.

The Queen was sure to expect great things from you, so when you tripped and fell flat on your face, it was to be expected that your family’s fall from grace was to be splattered all over the gossip pages the next morning. Your dance card remained blank, and you simply bled into the background.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. It isn’t as if you were actively rebelling against your place in society. No, your family was one of the most influential in the ton. Viscount Beaumont and his family commanded respect. Every family has a dunce, right?

You’re sat staring longingly out the window as your younger sisters practice their embroidery when a footmen comes into the drawing room, though it doesn’t pull your attention. “My Lady? Miss Beaumont has a caller.” he announces.

All eyes snap to you, immediately pumping anxiety through your veins. A caller?

Your mother unceremoniously yanks you to your feet, fussing with your dress and hair and face.

The footman returns and behind him walks a dangerous looking man. A handsome, dangerous looking man. “His Grace, Simon Riley, Duke of Sussex.”