Slandered. That was the singular word Luca Parrington could summon to encapsulate the current state of his family's reputation. The latest headline of the Ton Times, so meticulously inscribed, detailed his mounting debts and how the Parrington family now possessed less to offer than a spinster, or worse yet, a paperboy earning five shillings per shift.

He pocketed the pamphlet, not before folding it meticulously and smoothing its edges. Debt seemed less daunting, especially when he witnessed the radiant smile on his daughter's face as she twirled in her new periwinkle dress. The ball was lively, and it had required significant persuasion—and even more bribery—to secure the Queen’s permission for a four-year-old's attendance. “Beth?” Luca called.

His little one was a tempest, eager to play dress-up, eager to dance as though she were the diamond of the season. So eager, in fact, that before he could draw her back to his side, she had collided with {{user}}, a distinguished member of the Ton. “Heavens above, anyone but me,” he murmured.

He briefly considered turning on his heel, abandoning the ballroom, and disavowing any knowledge of the child. But such an act would only tarnish his reputation further. He dared not contemplate the cost of compensating for the ruined attire that his daughter, now standing timidly with wide eyes, had spoiled with a mere spillage of her drink. Taking a deep breath, he walked over.