It has been a long standing joke to those closest to me that I am only a noblewoman in title; a statement that might raise eyebrows for those who aren't in the know, but one that has personally brought me endless amusement. That isn't to say that I hold any issue with my title, nor do I hold myself superior to other women born of a similar rank. Half joke, half self deprecating statement, I can honestly say that I am only a lady in name. As a matter of fact, I take a great deal of joy in many of the pastimes befitting of my station: drawing, painting, embroidery, singing, dancing, and playing the pianoforte for example, though I am sorry to say that I am mediocre in all except the first.

Indeed, rather than improving on the skills that might make me more attractive to any potential suitors, I've spent more of my time romping about outdoors either exploring the woods that belonged to the family estate on horseback or laying about in the fields, identifying the various flora and fauna with the aid of my trusty field guides. Father lovingly despaired of me, citing my neglect towards my accomplishments on my lack of a mother figure but made no real push to make me polish myself like a parent of a different family might.

Because this benefited me, me having no real interest in marriage (with the eligible men I had met thus far anyway), I made no complaints regarding the matter. Besides, I liked to think that he enjoyed my company far too much to really want to marry me off so quickly.

Perhaps I might have felt differently had Mama still been alive. Although I was not her (or Father's) daughter by birth, we were inseparable in my early years of life. I recall very little of life at the orphanage that they adopted me from and perhaps that is for the best, for what I can recall is a vague but constant feeling of discontent and fear.

One of the happiest days of my life was the day that Mama arrived at the orphanage, smiling and dressed in the prettiest gown of robin's egg blue asking me to be a member of her family.

It was her warmth, compassion, and joie de vivre that made it so easy for my six-year-old self to integrate into the family so easily and for the others to accept me with such ease. For seven blissful years Mama was the apple of my eye and wherever she went, I went as well.

Scarlet fever claimed her life just on the eve of my thirteenth birthday. She had been teaching me the ways of navigating Wysterian society as a young lady just before she fell ill. Her death left the entire family devastated, Father in particular. He said that he would rather die a widowed man than marry another woman, so aside from the heroines of my beloved novels I never had another female role model.

There were times when I wondered whether I disappointed Mama's memory, being out to society for three seasons and failing to secure a suitor consequently due to my indifference in those three seasons, but I made quick work to chase those thoughts away as soon as they arrived. She was gone and as much as I missed her, making myself miserable would not bring her back. Besides, at twenty-one years of age I did not count as a spinster just yet, although I knew that my lack of a husband was sometimes a topic of discuss amongst Father's circle of friends.

"If worst comes to worst," I told him one time over dinner, "I shall live with René"-my brother who was older than me by four years-"and take residence on his property as an ornamental hermit. They are still very fashionable in some parts of the country, you know."

Father simply indulged me by replying, "Very sensible of you to plan so far ahead in your future" with only the slightest roll of his eyes.

Such was the way of life at Lavelle Manor.

There was a time many years ago when our halls buzzed with activity, and an invitation to our ballroom was the must have accessory for those in the upper class circles at any given season. Although I was too young to properly appreciate the splendor, some of my happiest memories were spent in the parlor next door dancing with René and some of the other children deemed not mature enough to join in on the festivities.

Nowadays the Renaud family enjoyed a much quieter life. Aside from our pets and the live-in staff, Father and I are Lavelle Manor's only occupants and thus we usually saw each other in the evenings and during mealtimes. (When he wasn't called in to work late at the castle, which, as you can imagine, happened quite often.) René and I remained as close as we were in our younger years, though he was often away to this nation or that nation negotiating trade deals for the coffee company that our family owned as a means of extra income.

We were happy enough together, Father, René, and I, despite the generally solitary nature of our lives.

Or, at least, I thought that we were.

Perhaps I had too far caught up in my own world to notice that changes that were starting to happen in my very own home. It was early summer, just before the most active part of the social season began and Father was working longer and longer hours at the castle, well into the night. I'd attended very few balls thus far, what with René taking residence in Laurelia therefore being unavailable to chaperone me as much as often as he might have otherwise. As much as I missed the dancing at these events, I missed my dear brother even more; though I doubted that we would see each other soon thanks to the spectacular argument that erupted between Father and him late one night. And, try as I might, I was unsuccessful in my attempts to find out the true nature of said argument.

I had just caught the tail end of it, hearing René call Father an "overbearing ogre" before calling for a carriage.

"Write to me if anything happens," he said when he caught sight of me hanging near the office. "I can no longer bear to live here, so I am sorry to say that I'm leaving you for now. If anything happens, I want you to write to me and I will have someone send for you immediately."

He stormed out of the house straight after that, leaving me no time to ask any questions.

While that gave me some idea that things we were not as content I previously thought (for I would be either blind or stupid to think otherwise), I had no idea that that argument was a sign that life as I knew it would change as well.