11 years later:

Life at Blakeney Manor was never dull. For the occupants of the house, the numerous staff and the many tenants of the estate, life with the Blakeney family was full of its own excitement. Today was no exception.

With a creak, the door to the servants' hall flew open. Through it, a figure bolted. Her boots clattered against the fine marble floors, leaving a small trail of dirt and mud in her wake as she ran as fast as she could manage.

Cosette Blakeney thanked every lucky star in the sky that the servants' hallway was empty for that moment in time. If their housekeeper, Mrs. Windham, had seen the state of her freshly washed floors Cosette would have been in for a scolding and a half - title or no title. The woman was notorious, even if she did always manage to run a tight ship downstairs. Cosette did not need to add her to the potential list of trouble she was currently in.

With a hasty curse, she ran a hand through her windswept and mud-spattered hair. Her feet guided her the rest of the way down the hallway with as much haste and stealth she could muster. It was official: she was late. Very late… Hopefully, her mother had not noticed yet.

Next time she went riding she was bringing a pocket watch. At least this time she had chosen to wear an old set of breeches. Had it been her usual riding skirts she would have been weighed down in her desperate flight. Still, she was clearly not stealthy enough as she had barely made it down the corridor before she heard her name being called loudly.

"'Settie!"

Her feet clambered to an ungraceful stop. There was only one person who ever called her by that name.

"Thomas," she greeted, spinning around to face the eleven-year-old boy staring at her.

There was no ignoring Thomas Blakeney, her younger brother, even when she wanted to. For starters, despite his youth, he clearly had inherited their father's remarkable height and was already rather tall for his age of a mere tender eleven. Then, there were his shimmering golden curls, almost identical to Cosette's, that seemed to declare his location like the torch of a lighthouse. Yet, the most truly noteworthy element of Thomas Blakeney's presence was his infallible ability to be in the place you least expected (or in Cosette's case wanted) him to be. So, it was with a red-faced smile that Cosette faced her sibling.

"What are you doing down here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he replied casually, eyeing her muddied apparel. "But if you must know I am attempting to hide from Papa."

Cosette blinked. "Why? What did you do now?"

"Nothing," he protested innocently, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, nothing much. There may or may not have been an incident with a window upstairs and a cricket ball, which I had nothing to do with."

Cosette stifled the urge to laugh, choosing to roll her eyes instead. "You had best stay hidden a while longer yet, then. Perhaps in the passageway behind the portrait gallery?"

Blakeney Manor was a sight to behold quite unlike any other. The sheer scale of the grounds, and of the Palladian style building were impressive in their own right. However, the interior was another matter entirely. The stables were full of many beautiful steeds, and the hallways were lined with numerous portraits and antiquities of value beyond measure. Each and every room only further proclaimed the wealth of its owners.

But the greatest element of the house, in Cosette's opinion, was the labyrinth of passageways to explore and long corridors to hide in. Blakeney Manor was rich with its own history and mysteries, the depths of which Cosette had only began to delve into through her years of exploration.

"In the meantime, I need to-"

"Get ready for the ball?" Thomas teased, chuckling to himself playfully. "I know. Mama was looking for you hours ago!"

"Hells teeth," Cosette automatically cursed, causing her brother to gasp and cover his mouth. "I am in for it now."

"'Settie, you're not supposed to curse! At least you get to go tonight and not be dumped like a worn out boot!" His tone was oddly bitter as he huffed.

"Sorry, Thomas," Cosette sighed, ruffling his hair and pulling him towards her. "You know I would rather stay here instead. I do not suppose you fancy trading places?"

"Only if you agree to take me with you next time you ride," he warned, pointing to her muddied apparel. "Papa was supposed to tomorrow, but is apparently busy."

That was an easy request. "Of course, for my darling little brother, anything."

Thomas, laughed eagerly, squirming from her affections and all but urging her towards the staircase ahead. Cosette didn't need telling twice.

After a moment more of sprinting past startled servants, she reached her bedroom door and burst inside. She let out a sigh of relief, resting her back against the wooden door and gasping for breath.

She closed her eyes. That had been far too close.

"Well, you made it," came a gentle woman's voice.

Cosette's eyes snapped open instantly and she leapt away from the door. Zounds.

"Mother," she laughed weakly. "You startled me."

Marguerite Blakeney smiled widely at her daughter, sitting up from her perch on the edge of a comfortable looking chair. Despite the years that had gone by, Marguerite Blakeney had lost none of her youthful looks. Truth was, married life suited her. Her face glowed with a mother's love as she watched her daughter bashfully try to recover from being rumbled by her mother.

"Did I now?" she teased lightly, "I am very sorry. I came to check how you were getting on and realised you were not yet back so I thought I would wait for you. I also took the liberty of calling for a bath in your absence. I had a suspicion you would need one."

Cosette smiled and wiped her forehead in relief. "I see… Thank you. I am so sorry. I lost track of time… I came back as soon as I could."

Marguerite nodded, rising to face her daughter. She observed the muddy attire her daughter wore and smirked in amusement. "Maybe I will have to join you on your ride next time."

Cosette paused, raising an eyebrow. "You?" she laughed softly. "I did not think you liked riding."

"You forget I had a life before you. I was quite adventurous when I was younger," Marguerite replied, a hidden past glazing her eyes over. With a subtle shake of her head, she dispelled any and all thoughts of the past that may have been lingering.

"Really?" Cosette smirked, slowly peeling her boots off and depositing them by her bedpost. She looked back around her bedroom slowly.

Her room was large with lots of light pouring in from the set of windows that lined the opposite wall, making the room feel light and airy. The large sets of tapestry curtains were pulled back, and there was a fine matching tapestry rug lying on the otherwise bare floor. On the walls around the two women were a few paintings and drawings, all too fine to be Cosette's, the only decorations in there minus a vase and a few ornaments.

Apart from that, there were a few pieces of furniture and books balanced on nearly all of them. Cosette had never been too decorative and cherished the eclectic feel of her room. It was hers.

There was also a screen in one corner, masking a now full bathtub behind it and a washstand. The scent of the salts in the tub was actually divine, as was the prospect of removing the layer of filth that clung to every part of her.

"Yes really, Madame," Marguerite scoffed back. "But never mind. I came, as I said, to check how you were getting on. The ball is in a couple of hours. Your father is currently wrestling your brother into agreeing to behave and stay home, the little terror he is. Honestly."

The thought of him trying to locate the boy was amusing, more so if her brother had made it to the passageway. "Oh, please, don't say I actually have to go to that thing. Maybe I should have stayed outside."

Cosette immediately felt a groan escape her lips.

"Cosette, it is a party. Not your execution."

"I fail to see a difference," she replied deadly serious, stepping forward as she did so.

Marguerite laughed again. "Come on, your father is getting ready as we speak and it is only for a few hours." She tried.

Cosette smiled and shook her head. "A few hours that are filled with more pain than I can bear. Can I not just stay here?"

"No, you have a reputation to uphold. Besides, I want you to go… please. For me?"

Before Cosette could reply, the door opened, and a slender, dark-haired girl dressed in a plain dress and cap entered, carrying a dress, draped delicately over her thin arms. She set the dress down over the edge of the large four poster bed completely oblivious to the argument behind her.

"Amelia," Marguerite began, sounding almightily relieved to see the young girl. "Thank heavens you are here… maybe you can be my comrade in this battle I seem to be losing."

Amelia straightened as Marguerite addressed her, bobbing in a small curtsey, the novelty of which was lost on Cosette, and turned quickly around to face them. As she lifted her head, her face rose into full view, displaying her features in the bright sunlight. Her eyes were dark hazel, her skin soft and smooth, and her lips delicately shaped. She was very beautiful, despite the plain clothes she wore.

Amelia was more a friend and confidante than a servant in Cosette's opinion. They'd been that way for many years, too many to count. They spent hours together every day, in such an intimate setting that their companionship was almost inevitable.

"Your Ladyship?" Amelia asked, smiling in confusion at what her mistress had just said. Marguerite laughed lightly.

"I see you brought the dark blue dress I asked for. Thank you," she breathed. "It's just his Highness's Summer Gala is in a few hours and I need Cosette ready. Yet, Cosette seems determined to remain here."

"Oh," Amelia managed. Her eyes moved to her younger mistress and Cosette saw the amusement they concealed. Amelia was Cosette's closest friend and ally at Blakeney Manor. Having served as Cosette's Lady's Maid for as long as Cosette could remember, Amelia was more than used to this. This wasn't the first time Cosette had protested against her aristocratic duties.

"I just fail to see the point, mother," Cosette replied to her mother's previous comment whilst walking away from the conversation. "I hate these things. All I do is stand there, bored out of my mind, whilst men I loathe pester me into dancing with them. This time I simply refuse to be subjected to this torture… as my mother I pray you, nay I beg you… please don't send me. Let me stay home with Thomas," she continued, flopping down onto her mattress in an over-theatrical manner. It was something she seemed to have inherited.

Besides, Cosette felt she did rather have a good point. If her younger brother, Thomas Blakeney, was allowed to stay home then she should be too. Did it truly matter that he was only eleven, whereas she was now ten and eight? As it was, he was the only one of the Blakeney children who actually wished to attend this blasted ball. He hated being left behind whilst his family were out, whereas Cosette loathed being dragged along.

It was something truly comical to behold when the two of them bickered over the topic. As it was, Marguerite began to laugh loudly at the mere thought, shaking her blonde head, and crossing her arms.

"Cosette," she grinned, "You are going and that is that. All this resistance is futile… I have had too many years living with your father. If I can handle him I can handle you. Please… for me and your father… just get ready," she begged.

Cosette groaned loudly and turned over, burying her face in the duvet. "Fine," she mumbled.

"Good. See you downstairs," Marguerite finished, winking at her daughter affectionately. "I love you."

She turned and walked out of the room, but not before she mouthed, "good luck" at Amelia. Heavens knew the girl needed it.

Amelia smiled back and looked at her friend and the mammoth task before her.

As soon as the door shut Cosette sat upright and turned back around. Amelia remained where she'd stood a moment ago.

"Do not say it," Cosette smirked instantly.

"Say what?" Amelia laughed, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow at her friend. "I do not know what you are talking about."

"You were about to tell me to go, that it will be fun - heavens knows, I might even enjoy it," she teased back, hurling a pillow in Amelia's direction. Amelia caught it with ease and put it down beside her. "You know it is the truth."

Amelia grinned. "Oh, hush. I was actually going to say that your mother means well. You are a lady at the end of the day - parties like this one are part of your life. She just wants you to have a good time."

"If she wanted me to have a good time she would let me stay here and read, fence, ride… anything but this," Cosette vented.

Cosette may have been a Blakeney but she thoroughly detested all aspects of aristocratic life. It made her mother and father laugh to no end when she refused dresses, invitations and everything ladylike. It was almost ironic considering her debut into society only a few short months ago had been a roaring success.

She could remember the night like it was yesterday. How could she not? She had been waiting apprehensively for it for months. There was so much preparation it felt more like she was heading into battle, rather than into English society. Then again, these days that very much meant the same thing.

Every moment of the day would be ingrained in her memory for as long as she lived: from the way her periwinkle dress had swept behind her with every step down the grand staircase during the presentation ceremony, to the way his majesty had bowed his head as she stood before his throne, curtsying so low her knees almost touched the fine carpeted floor. But that hadn't even been the half of it; there had also been the small matter of her debutante ball afterward.

As was customary in society, every debutante often held a ball to officially mark her entrance into English Society. The creme de la creme of English gentle society had been there, as much for the attention it gave them, as much as the opportunity to appraise the eldest Blakeney child.

Cosette had never been more terrified, whilst simultaneously excited, in all her life. She had been on her best form, even if she did say so herself. She had promenaded the room with grace, poise, and charm as she made her way from one introduction to the next. In fact, for a few hours, everything seemed to be going swimmingly. Then came the matter of her first dance, and the fact that none other than his royal highness, the King, came to collect it.

"May I request the honour of the first dance?"

Cosette had tried not to beam too proudly as she took his outstretched hand, and dipped in a formal curtsey. It felt like her heart would beat right out of her chest. "Your Highness does me an immense honour," she beamed, knowing exactly what that particular moment meant for her.

The fact he had accepted the invitation to the party alone was enough of a sign of prestige and respect. But to ask her for her first dance in society? Cosette didn't blame her parents for beaming as proudly as they did from the side of the room.

As much as she had enjoyed the evening, by the end of it she was left with an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude that it was over. It had gone better than she had dared dream, but if Cosette ever had to attend another ball again it would be too soon for her. What fun was an endless evening of small talk and gossip compared to a sense of adventure?

Her preference was clear through the fact that, as a child, she had asked her father for lessons in shooting and fencing rather than dancing. They were never exactly thrilled by the prospect of their daughter learning how to fence and shoot a pistol but there was little either of them could do to stop it. All Cosette had to do was grin and her father's heart would melt just as easily as it did for her dear mother.

It was abundantly clear that Sir Percival's daughter was slightly more reckless than either he or dear Margot wished.

"Oh stop it," Amelia smiled kindly, pulling her friend up off the bed. "It will not be that bad. I hear Lord William is going tonight. You shall have him to talk to."

The William in question was Sir William Ffoulkes and dear Sir William was now eight and ten too, son of Sir Andrew and his wife Suzanne. You could tell his heritage by the identical brown hair of his father, and his mother's gentle green eyes. He was not their only child, for he also had a younger sister, Rose, who was also similar in age to Thomas. She also shared her father's colouring, but was far quieter than her brother.

Will was Cosette's only other close friend. Ever since the two of them had been born, they'd been inseparable. Many a day they had spent together, running around the estates, fishing, riding, talking, fencing, climbing… just about anything. They had always done it together. Will was like her brother in a sense. One brilliant thing the two of them also shared was their hatred of balls; he hated them just as much as she did. If he was going then that would be some small relief.

She nodded. "Thank heavens… I am sorry I am so miserable today Amelia, it is not your fault." Cosette touched the sleeve of the dress she was to wear with the tips of her fingers. It was deep blue satin, with a gauze netting layered delicately over the top. She had to admit it was beautiful.

"It is no matter, your Ladyship, honestly. Besides, you know perfectly well that if you do not get in that tub I will have no choice but to throw you in myself," Amelia offered with a sly smile.

"You would not dare."

Amelia laughed, edging closer as Cosette leaped towards the tub obediently.

"Alright, alright," she surrendered, stripping her clothes off and casting them aside.

"Will you require some help changing afterward?" Amelia asked softly.

"Much obliged Amelia. I believe I will." If she was to head into battle that night she would at least go prepared. "Do your worst."