Storyline:
As Chelsea was growing up, she would quietly play about the house as her father would sleep off the effects of the drink from the night before. In the nights when he would leave the house, she would lose herself in her story books, reading by candlelight for hours till in the wee hours of the morning. She would hear her father stumbling about the house in his drunken stupor calling out to her mother, who never responded, who could never again respond. (Rework last sentance)
Sometimes after such nights, strangers would come calling on her father and after they had left, something of their home had always gone with them. Firstly, it was her mother’s jewelery, than the silverware, and over time the priceless paintings and more recently, furniture. Their home was almost barren of furnishings now, their existence was meager and more often than not they were fed by the loyalty of her mother's servants, who all lived near their home, for they had no money and nothing to sell to feed themselves.
Chelsea had once been the oldest of four children, the youngest Cecilia, was why her mother was no longer with them, in her fathers eyes. Their Mother had died in giving birth to her and as soon as her father's gambling started out of control, she was the first of her younger siblings to be lost on the card table. Next went her brother Adam, then her closets sister Rachel, all lost in card and dice games as servants to other lords in the area. All the while Chelsea was the mother to her siblings, watching them be pawned off and given away, making her mature beyond her years and fiercely protective of them. Even she had to admit, there was nothing she could do to save them.
Chelsea was left off the table for the same reason she avoided her father. She was an exact copy of her mother, from her long brunette hair, her eyes and even her soft skin and body build. Chelsea was beautiful and her father was sure to keep her away from his gambling group, even drunk, so she was never hurt. Her father would never let her go alive, or as he told her, because she was 'all he had left of his wife'. Chelsea was well aware that the site of her hurt him more then anything, so she stayed in her room when he came stumbling in the door after his drunken gambles for the night.
The night before, her father had left their home once again but this time he didn’t return alone. It was well in the early hours of the morning that she had been woken from a fitful sleep by the incessant banging on the great doors of their Manor. She had hurriedly pulled on her dressing robe and flew down the steps, not noticing that the servants of the house were huddled in other rooms away from the door, thinking that her father had lost his key. When she had opened the door, there were two men either side of her father holding him up, his crisp white shirt crimson with his blood, his face pale and lifeless. Standing behind them was Lord Templeton, a lecherous smirk on his face as he looked past her father and the men and was staring at Chelsea, who's night robe had fallen open allowing the light of the moon to capture the soft sensual shape of her breasts beneath the light gauze of her nightdress.
They had taken her father into the parlor, laid him out on the chaise and as she turned with questioning eyes to Lord Templeton he spoke. "Girl, your father lost a bet. The bet was for this fine Manor and all in it. I won the bet but he accused me of cheating and challenged me to a duel. I am sorry for your loss but wish to inform you that this Manor, and all in it now, belongs to me. That includes you." He smirked again running a hand down her tear streaked cheek, "I will give you this day to lay your father to rest but know that on the following day, I will return to claim what is rightfully mine." With that he and his gang left Chelsea standing in the parlor to arrange for the burial of her father, still shocked and half bare.
That day the sun did not rise, instead the heavens opened up as if they were crying for her plight. The lightning enhancing her beauty, the grief etched on her beautiful face, she knew as she stood at the door watching him ride up that she had no choice. By the hands of her father, she was destitute and now parent-less. She had no money to look after herself, and nowhere to go. She was to become a victim of her father’s grief. But she did know this, Lord Templeton would not have a willing prize.
