Dear Reader,

I offer you a small description to provide content, although at times throughout this tale, I shall provide sufficient reason to hate, loave, and despise me, I hope you can look back at this and understand my reasoning's to a degree that give you satisfaction.

Lady, Duchess, manservant, handmaid, master, Duke, Lord, Earl, Baron, Countess, Archduke, such the titles of the day.

There is a propriety in Titles, a social hierarchy created to keep people in there place. It was not Proper for a pauper to address a Lady, not right for a Lady to entertain a Pauper, a leper in the old standards.

Lady Rainsworth, beloved member of the household, I was expected to behave as such, never to lower myself, and to behave in a proper manner. This had been a truth installed since childhood, that would not change with my maturity.

The Rainsworth Household was held in high esteem, my Grandmother the head of such an esteemed estate was valued throughout the dukedom for her wisdom, and her friendship with the other members of such valued Households, as well as Duke Barma her friend, companion to the theatre quite frequently, although I never quite liked him. I loved Grandmamma, she smelt of lavender and when she came to visit I always remember falling asleep in her lap by the fire.

Our time was a beautiful time of extravagance, balls, and fancy dinning. The Men hunted, attended pilgrimages, and were scholars. The women were fashioned to be the wife's of such, although given certain liberties which was hushed, never mentioned in a public format. I was expected to marry into my social status, I was a valued Lady of high education, beauty, and was an eligible candidate to any duke that wanted me.

As a child I was livid of such roles, I dreamed of being a Princess, finding my prince and riding off into the sunset. Thus the dreams for any little girl, lady or not. I had not many friends as a child, not that there were never children to play with, but that they merely bored me. Mother was my friend, she was very attached to me, loved to adorn me in coloured flowers, mend me dresses even though the servants could do a sufficient job themselves, and read me novels in the garden. The problem consisted of when father arrived back from India, when she spent every waking moment in his company as his wife, and lover. Father never called for me then, I never saw father, merely the shadow of his face beside the fire when I peeked into the sitting room. I was always kept out of his company, given other little lords and ladies to play with, ones who hated the games I played, and wished to keep in the company of their nursemaids.

This is when our story starts, a simple fumble in the garden. Playing around the old oak tree that grew in our manor garden since before I was born. It was Spring, and I was chasing a brightly coloured butterfly fluttering low beneath the white daisies. I was a tigress, one of royal descent naturally, I lived in India and this was the lonely prey I had decided to feast upon. Such was the nature of my game. I lay low, the butterfly landed on a virgin flower tasting its sweet nectar, my vision was marred only by wisps of grass, I was ready to pounce. Suddenly in the corner of my vision I saw him, I thought him a beggar that had stumbled into our garden, or a traveller gauging from his clothes. I cautiously stepped closer, focusing on the details, his eccentric white hair and his sword sharp and gleaming, he looked like a funny little knight I had in my picture books. I stepped closer for another look, and saw it, the blood, scarlet, so much of it, covering everything. Then I saw his eye, I screamed a Childs scream, Mother had come running from nowhere, screaming for the nurses, I watched as she had set the man upon her lap, mopping the blood up with the lining of her purple dress.

I can now not remember being taken away, I remember wanting to stay in horror, what had happened to his eye. That funny little knight had been someone I was drawn to. Someone I knew I wanted to make sure was alright, somehow, never mind if he was a simple beggar.

Chains, Contracts, Pandora, and the Abyss, such were such words unbeknownst to me yet.

This is not a story of these however, if this is what fancy you such take, this is not a tale for you. If you want a simple tale of want, lust, danger, and above all undying love then read on.

Lady Sharon Rainsworth