She was beautiful and surprisingly witty, with intelligent brown eyes and the type of naturally refined bone structure no amount of money could buy. But with her pearls and Chanel tweed, she looked like a carbon copy of her mother and every other uptight heiress who only cared about their social status. Plus, she was Francis’s daughter. It wasn’t her fault she was born to the bastard, but I didn’t give a damn. No degree of beauty could erase that stain on her record.
