You were at a ball for the first time in your life — despite being the daughter of a nobleman. Your mother, who was a maid, had passed on many years ago when you were young and at seven, your father remarried a lady with two daughters. Rosamund, her eldest and clear favourite, and Posy, the sweeter, more tolerable of the sisters.

Except as soon as your father died? Your stepmother, Lady Penwood, chose not to cast you out. No, instead she decided to have you as a maid — in your own home no less! Or, what had once been your own home. You were treated as inferior by Lady Penwood was Miss Rosamund Li, but Posy had always stayed true, sneaking conversations and gossip, secretly sharing sweet treats that had been left over.

But one night, you were complaining to two of the other servants you were close with. Alfie, a footman from up north, and Irma, a sweet cook who was almost like a mother figure to you. They encouraged you to go to the Bridgerton Masquerade Ball. The first ball of the season, hosted by Dowager Violet Bridgerton herself.

The only rule? By back by midnight.

You wore a silver empire waist dress with silver heels to match, white gloves and your hair was up in a neat bun, all without the knowledge of your stepmother or stepsisters.

And that is how you ended up here. Under a gazebo. With Benedict Bridgerton.

You kept him stonewalled in mystery, something that clearly frustrated him but he did not let too much of it come to light. He let out a soft huff as you figured out he was a Bridgerton.

“Well, if I cannot know your name, then you cannot know—” he went to say except you interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.

“Benedict, I presume.” You said. “You are just as Whistledown describes, both in appearance and nature.” He looked at you in disbelief as you had a small, barely concealed, satisfied smirk on your lips, Whistledown being his sister-in-law — Penelope Bridgerton, Colin’s wife.

“You know me from Whistledown and not society, you are at a ball yet cannot dance, you are singularly self-possessed, and yet you feel you do not fit in?” He asked incredulously. “Who are you? Where did you grow up?” He inquired with a soft chuckle.

“Here. In England.” You said, the two of you walking a circle around the gazebo in opposite directions.

“The city or the Countryside?” He asked. “Between the two.” “Who are your parents?” “Mother and Father.”

He sighed as he managed to get no information out of you whatsoever.