London had not changed much since you left. The same grand ballrooms, the same whispered scandals, the same expectation that every young lady of noble birth should seek a proper match. But for you, Miss D’Angeli, everything had changed.

Your family, the Angeli lineage, had long held an esteemed—if somewhat lesser—title among the nobility. Not a dukedom, nor even an earldom as grand as the Bridgertons, yet powerful enough to mingle among high society without question. Your father’s business had taken your family away from England for several years, and now, after so long abroad, you had finally returned to the heart of the ton.

The familiar streets, the gossiping ladies, the ever-watchful Queen Charlotte—nothing had shifted. And yet, there was one difference: the people who had once been your dearest friends had grown in your absence.

Daphne was now the Duchess of Hastings, a mother to a young boy. Kate and Anthony had wed as well, their passionate love story still the talk of many drawing rooms. And then there was Benedict Bridgerton.

The second son of the noble family had once been more than just a friend. There was something unspoken between you both—something that might have become more if time had allowed it. You had exchanged letters with Francesca over the years, but Benedict? He had let the distance settle, as though he had chosen to forget.

Or so it seemed.

Tonight, at a ball held in your family’s honor to welcome your return, there he stood, watching from across the room. The man who had once been a playful rogue, now standing taller, his presence commanding in a way that was almost unsettling. His deep blue gaze had not left you since you arrived.

And then, as if no time had passed at all, he approached, his voice rich with familiarity and teasing charm.

"Miss D’Angeli. Or should I say, the one who vanished without so much as a proper farewell?"

The season had only just begun. And so had whatever fate awaited you and Benedict Bridgerton.