I had always loved to sing and to play music and to draw and dance and write; my mother was quite puzzled as to where these inclinations originated, as she was a most plain and uncreative girl for all her life. There is much more to her than that of course. She was an extraordinary loving and hardworking woman, who had always felt it was her primary duty to marry responsibly and raise a large and prosperous family. I wanted so much more than that for myself.

Traveling seemed fascinating, having never been outside a thirty mile radius of our large brick mansion. Perhaps, I fantasized, I would be a pianist, or an opera singer, or a writer, romantically secluded in my study for days on end, spinning tales as skillfully as our maid spun wool. Unfortunately, I had learned quite some time ago to hide these ambitions or risk a sharp scolding from my mother about a woman's proper role in society. It was proper for a lady to develop certain skills, but to make a living off of them? Scandalous.

She was exceedingly proud of my dance skills though, and would let me go to local balls and dances much younger than either of my sister – closely chaperoning the entire time, of course. Gentleman after gentleman failed to impress me. "He's so dull," I told Mother when she would interrogate me about my suitors. "He stepped on my foot, look at this awful bruise!" She would shake her head wearily. "Oh Emily," she sighed, "What on Earth am I to do with you?"

That all changed the day that Lord Barkis arrived. The moment he stepped onto the dance floor, I was drawn to him; the handsome squareness of his jaw, the polite, reserved yet disinterested manner in which he treated the other young ladies in the hall, and the knowing way in which he winked at me after catching me staring outright. I was excited yet not the slightest bit surprised when he made his way over to ask me for a dance; it only seemed natural. Hours seemed like minutes conversing and swaying to and fro in the courtly embrace that made the local boys seem like louts.

"I noticed you spent quite some time with the Lord Barkis last night, Emily," Mother observed over poached eggs and toast the next morning.

"Yes, he seemed quite an amiable gentleman," I replied neutrally, spreading too much jam on my toast as usual – ladylike appetites be cursed. She simply frowned, and glanced down the table to Father, who seemed quite oblivious of the conversation. "It would not surprise me if you did not care for him; you care for nothing that I like," I retorted.

"Emily, watch your tongue!" she scolded. "I do not know him, nor does anyone else it seems, so you ought to be wary!" I rolled my eyes and grabbed another piece of toast, and the rest of breakfast was sullied by a rather uncomfortable silence, my loud chewing and Father's slurping of his coffee the only sounds.

Lord Barkis and I danced at every dance after that; entire nights flying by in the blink of an eye, conversing all the while. My mother watched from the sidelines, her eyes narrow and her mouth tight, unable to do a thing about it. After perhaps our fourth or fifth evening spent together, he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his breath on my neck causing my skin to prickle deliciously. "I hope to marry you someday," he whispered.

"Lord Barkis!" I exclaimed, blushing. "What a forward thing of you to say!"

"Forward," he acknowledged, "but honest."

After that, we began scheming up ways to spend time with one another. This was difficult under the watchful gaze of my parents, but I was always a clever child and my sharp mind served me well. Often my mother would send me and my sisters on errands, and I would persuade them to allow me time on my own. He would meet me, and we would wander for hours and hold hands and even kiss occasionally. One day, after months of these brief encounters, he once again asked me to be his wife, and I breathlessly accepted.

Little did I know that this decision would lead to my untimely death.