It was hard for the woman to remember the last time that she had had a good night's rest. Then again, those sleeping troubles of Adelaide's hadn't really begun until after the announcement daddy dearest had made at the dinner table those months ago. Even as she sits upright in that large bed spacious enough for multiple individuals, her back pressed comfortably in to the numerous down pillows of various sizes that completed her plush sheets, she can still feel the outrage that had boiled in her blood at the news he'd decided it was time that she move on to the next step in her life: marriage. She had been less than pleased to hear that the French nobleman had taken it upon himself to deem her ready for settling down as some little wife to some pompous son of some hoity-toity nobleman or gentleman of stature, and that was putting it very mildly. She'd been absolutely and unquestionably livid that he would think he could make such a decision for her, that he could tell her exactly what it was that she was ready for in her life. Twenty-six years old and plenty responsible enough to make her own life choices, and being some trophy wife was not on her list of things she had planned for herself. Adelaide was about as stubborn as her father, if not more so due to that spitfire influence that her mother had imparted unto her through that refined gene pool. It wasn't that the French woman was hot-headed or considering no man worth her time, because in any other moment she regarded herself as a relatively cooperative and kind creature, not some barbaric and uncivilized amazon, but for him to simply state that he had already taken it upon himself to gather a list of "proper suitors" simply did not set well with her â€" not one bit. And being the spirited and headstrong young woman that she was, she'd very much ensured that her father knew she was not about to settle down, no matter what he said he wanted "for her", or what was "in her best interest".

Honestly, she had been somewhat surprised when the nobleman had given in to her unrelenting demands that she at least be given the chance to live her own life before having to live it with someone else, for someone else. He had been clearly unhappy about the whole idea of moving away from the estate, and at first he'd even tried to argue that there would be no one nearby that could "ensure she was out of harm's way", which in all actuality meant that he would have a hard time supervising her from afar. Hence the entire reason why she declared that she would be moving to Sacrosant, a place far away from the outskirts of Paris and far away from the father that seemed to think her nothing more than a puppet of his or some bargaining token. She remembers with a subtle regret the horror that had flickered across her mother's face, and while it hurt the young woman to remember how her mother had nearly begged her to reconsider what she wanted or at least where it was she wanted to go, Adelaide had to remain firm. There was no getting away from the nobleman unless it was far away. Who knows, she may never even return if she had it her way, if she found that she could live here in this foreign place without having to worry about the nobleman breathing down her neck and trying to negate her every move. She missed her mother, and she had promised to write them (more specifically her mother rather than her father), but for the first time in so long that she couldn't even remember last, she felt free. She felt like she could breathe. She felt like her own person, and that was exactly the point of her moving here. A sense of pride fills her breast as she lay there contentedly beneath those warm covers, the elegant lamp on each of her nightstands filling the large room with light, book in hand as green eyes traced along the words to indulge her love of reading about times long ago, just as she always did before bed.

There is a soft knock on the closed doors to her room and she gives pause in her reading, slender index finger placed carefully at the end of the sentence she had just finished, eyes shifting towards the entrance of the room."Miss, are you still awake?", comes a familiar voice through the fine wood, a voice that she had grown up with."Yes, Townsend. What is it?", she replies, silken accented tones like milk and honey falling elegantly from her lips. It is then that the butler opens the door, the glow of the light embracing the man who had served in her father's manor and long ago been appointed as Adelaide's companion for whatever she needed. There is a softness in those usually fiery eyes as she watches the well-dressed man step the rest of the way into the room though she makes no move to rise from those comfortable sheets."I simply wished to inform you that a letter was received from your father, requesting to know if you shall be returning home before the year's end", he says, those rich british tenor tones ushering ever calmly in their refined way. Almost eyes narrow upon the man, though it was not because of him that causes her expression to harden."Tell that father of mine that I surely will not, that I have no intentions of returning before a full year's time at the very least", she answers, her previously sweet and smooth voice now bearing a sharpness to them as he reminds herself that Townsend was simply doing as he'd been instructed by the nobleman and that however unbearable her father was, there was nothing fair in taking it out on her dearest friend and most devoted of servants whom she hardly held in such regard."I shall see to a response in the morrow, miss", he replies with a small dip of his head before quietly exiting the room, unknowingly having now left Adelaide in a bitter disposition.

She removes herself from the covers of her bed now, striding with all the grace expected from a woman of her upbringing across the room and enters into the bathroom, the tile floor cool on bare feet as she moves into the walk-in closet and undressing from her silken pajamas and dressing herself in a fitted white blouse, faded light blue slim jeans and black heels, she then plucks from its place amongst the various expensive wardrobe a black mid-length wool frock coat and moves back out into the bedroom where she'd left her favorite teal knitted scarf. She needed to go for a walk. A long walk after having to think about that man and the audacity he had to think she was not serious about living on her own (for the most part). She then opens the doors to her room and descends down the stairwell where she is greeted at the bottom by her two beloved beaucerons, Reginald and Rose. She gives them each a small stroke of their large heads, admiring the handsome pelt of the black and tan male that complimented Rose's harlequin hues. She contemplates taking one of them with her, and yet she decides against it, unsure of where her walk might lead her. She ushers quietly out the front door, closing it behind her with care and hope that Townsend wouldn't take it upon himself to follow her. She needed some alone time, the mere mention of her father always seeming to get the best of her at times. She walks along the lit streets, the last light of sunset beginning to become overwhelmed by the violet hues of nightfall. She is looking for anything and nothing in particular when she arrives at an old brick building, the distant and loud sounds of dance music reaching beyond the four walls to her attentive ears. Long dark brunette locks swirl around her shoulders in a chilly gust, and though green eyes give a distasteful look at the metal door and that neon light, she reached out with her hand to open the door and steps into the burlesque. It certainly wasn't the ideal place to warm up, but it would have to do.

Paying no mind to the... exotic dancers as she'd heard them mentioned as, dressed in obvious fashion to draw attention of the male race, she moves over to the bar. She is then approached by the barkeep, the gentleman dressed in a black vest, black tie, and black dress pants. It seemed to go well with the surprisingly classy overall appeal of the establishment she happened to find which made it a little more satisfactory to the French woman."I'll have a glass of red wine, s'il vous plait", she requests in those silken words of her native tongue and the man regards her for a moment with a kind smile before turning to fetch a glass and whine. She seats herself away from the others that occupied the other portion of the bar that stretched out along the opposite side of the stage, allowing for her green gaze to trace idly over the sea of dark faces she knew she would not recognize. In only moments, the barkeep returns and places the glass before her."Enjoy, miss", he says to her, earthen eyes lingering over her for a moment more than she cared for but she simply decides to disregard him. With her back to the stage, she is content to mind her own business, deciding then that she would just return home after she's finished her drink. The walk had been long enough and she felt content enough that she would likely be able to sleep soundly as she had the nights before. Her attention is drawn away from her own thoughts when suddenly there is a man sitting beside her, smelling heavily of alcohol as he tries to lean coolly against the bar."What a pretty lady like you doin' all by yerself", he slurs and she lifts a brow at him."Trying to enjoy herself. So, if you don't mind...", she replies with those lilted tones that hold no amusement or interest in entertaining the fantasies of some drunken man. He doesn't seem to get the hint however, even as she pointed turns away from him. He then snakes his arm around the back of her chair, leaning so close that she could nearly taste the rank whisky he'd been drinking."Oh come on, don't be like that, gorgeous. Why don't ya come over to my place tonight for somethin' better than the wine yer drinkin'", he urges, messy blonde locks falling in front of his eyes for a moment before he manages to run his hands through that unkempt hair, returning it to the bar that more or less kept him from toppling over."I think not. Get your dirty hands off me immediately", she demands, green eyes narrowed and glittering dangerously towards the man though he only tries to bring her closer to him, forcing her to place her hands against his chest in an attempt to push him away only to have little to no effect aside from forcing an amused chuckle from the drunk. No one even seemed to care what was happening, hardly even sparing a sideways glance as the French woman fought to free herself from her harasser.