Excerpt of The Rather Depressing Tales of Patricia L. Bordeaux

I suppose I should start at the beginning, and though one would debate just what the beginning consists of, I must say that it starts on the rather cold night of January 4th, 1714. My mother remained at home with her dear Lady Langdon, gossiping about the world and pining for her youth, while I, a quite adventurous sort in those days, made it my fortune to venture to those rather indecent places one would only whisper about behind drawn curtains and closed doors with blushing cheeks and lowered eyes.

My particular goal in sight this night was to scour a new gentleman's club, and although I was no gentleman by any moderation of the word, I often thought it fun to try my hand at getting in.

I had made it to the lamp post, I remember, just several establishments down from the place, when it had occurred to me that Lord Raymond Bennett would be attending tonight’s gambling and assorted debauchery. The thought that he was to attend did not frighten me in the least, quite the contrary it set stirrings of amusement to fill my cheeks, for the Lord was quite known for his rather uncouth air. And it was also known that I had made it something of my duty to rile him wherever I could: An old misunderstanding we had never bothered to sort out, you see. So there, with my surprise appearance at tonight’s affair, would it not rile him thusly?

It was with this thought of great delight that I stepped lightly along the hard sidewalk, mind sparking with my new goal. And that was when I met him.