Once upon a time, there was a little girl who did everything she was told. She saw no reason not to. Born into a family of immense wealth and impeccable pedigree, with a face that could launch a thousand ships, she was feted and cosseted and petted, as if she were a doll made of the finest porcelain, and no one ever refused her anything she wanted.

And so she grew up beautiful and spoiled and conceited, believing that she was above most people and deservedly so. She refused to drink tea if the amount of sugar and cream wasn’t to her liking. She reprimanded any maid who left a single hair out of place when styling her hair—and her scolding could run anywhere from three minutes to thirty minutes. She once dismissed a servant for failing to give her a parasol when she went out. She spared no expense on clothes, jewelry, cosmetics, and would not go out without a carriage and a veritable retinue of maids and footmen.

And more than that, she was determined that she would marry none but the best eligible bachelor in the kingdom. She would have gone for the prince if he hadn’t got himself engaged to a foreign princess, but since that couldn’t be helped, she settled for the Duke of Montfort, who was young and handsome and most importantly, possessed a mass fortune. It was said that he was disagreeable and cold, with little interest in women, but that wasn’t on her list of concerns. She didn’t have a sweet personality anyway, so they were even.

So the girl set her goal to ensnare the Duke of Montfort and worked hard to achieve it. She made a point of going to the parties and balls where he was invited and tried to approach him without appearing too desperate. She always took care to dress elaborately and show off her best features—her silky flaxen hair, her forget-me-not-blue eyes, her trim, hourglass figure—though in her opinion, every part of her from head to toe was perfect.

So it came as a surprise when the eminent duke did not fall head over heels for her. He was indeed dashingly handsome, but his looks did not measure up to his personality (even a snowman exuded more warmth than him), and no amount of subtle flirting could make him act more animated than a rock. He did not ask her for a dance, he did not inquire after her family, he yawned when she asked how he liked the party so far! Which was an answer itself.

The girl redoubled her efforts. She had plenty of offers but she turned them down—she could not stoop to the level of a lower-ranked family or a much older, unattractive spouse. Besides, her pride wouldn’t let her admit defeat--she had her eye on the Duke of Montfort, and she’d do anything it’d take to get him!

And so she tried harder. She threw insane amounts of money on beautifying herself, never pausing at the cost, never pausing to think that her family wealth had limits.

At yet another ball, she committed the heinous, though also cliche-ridden, crime of trying to eliminate competition. The duke had danced with a young lady from a family that had no pedigree but had amassed a fortune due to stock investments. She couldn’t tolerate that. So once she got the chance, the girl sought out her rival.

“I saw you dancing with the duke,” she said, with a wave of her plumy fan. “Stay away from him. Don’t assume that a pot of filthy lucre enables you to socially integrate with us. We have centuries of elite standing and tradition.”

She continued in this shameless fashion, terrorizing any lady who had the temerity to approach the duke, even going as far as to spill champagne on a young woman who had dared to dance more than once with the duke, and it wasn’t long before she paid for her offensive behavior.

The girl chose a rainy day to visit the duke’s mansion, armed with the excuse that she had dropped her handkerchief at a ball and he must have it in his possession. The footman, after conveying her message, came out and informed her that the duke had never seen her handkerchief, the ball was weeks ago, and would she please return.

“Return?” The girl shrieked. How could he say that? The rain was pouring so hard that it was slamming into the roof! Even though there was a well-constructed awning above the door and her retinue of umbrella-carrying attendants would not let a single drop of rain hit her, she was enraged. No one would send such a lovely young woman home without inviting her in. “You have made a mistake. I will wait in the parlor for him.”

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“Lady Renee, there is no mistake. Please, I urge you, to take leave and depart. His lordship is extremely busy.”

She ignored him and tried to step into the house, when the sound of a brisk step came in the parlor and the duke himself appeared, his face as cold and white as the marble statues in his garden.

“Lord Montfort! Oh, I knew you’d come. Your footman has been lying…”

“Lady Renee. You have attempted to force entry into my house without invitation, and moreover, you have wrongly accused my footman.” The duke came to stand in front of her, his eyes as icy as his tone. “Let this be a final warning. I have not the slightest interest in you, and I never will. Your behavior, to put it plain, has been repulsive.”

A clap of thunder happened to boom in the sky at the moment, adding a dramatic touch to the dramatic scene. Renee felt her ears were buzzing. No, this couldn’t be true. She must have heard wrong.

“Montfort! You…you can’t be serious…”

“Perhaps this will convince you that I am.” He grabbed her arm, dragged her to the door, and flung her outside, into the pelting rain and squelching mud. “If you ever darken my door way again, I’ll give leave to my footman to toss you out, and if there are people around to witness it? Even better.”

Renee looked up. The duke, standing under the awning, was staring down at her with unmistakable contempt. It was a look she had never seen before, and it pierced her soul like a sharp knife. No one had ever looked at her with disgust in their eyes, as if she were no better than a street rat.

Impossible. She couldn’t believe the duke would treat her like this.

“Lady!” Her maids hurried towards her, wrapped shawls around her, and hustled her into the carriage. The chilly, wet rain and the shock of being rejected in such a humiliating way made her especially vulnerable to viruses, and Renee didn’t have a robust constitution to begin with, since she ate little to preserve her slender figure and rarely exercised. Pneumonia set in, and for days she was delirious with a high fever, the duke’s word “repulsive” echoing in her mind over and over again.

But if she thought the duke’s rejection was the worst thing that could happen to her, it was nothing compared to what happened during her days of being seriously ill.

A few days after she recovered, Renee came downstairs and found her mother weeping at the foot of the staircase, a few faithful servants gathered around, her father lying on the floor. Dead.

Lord Borgia had spent insane amounts of money on gambling. He had been obsessed with horse racing, and for years he had been squandering the family fortune, placing bets that mostly were unsuccessful, and the debt snowballed to the extent that he could no longer pay up. They had been in a tight spot for some time—this was partly why Renee grew desperate to snag Duke Montfort—but now things had gone from an impending crisis to full-blown disaster.

To make things worse, Lord Borgia went drinking with the king’s cousin, Maxwell. He tried to get Maxwell to lend him an astronomical sum, the latter refused, and in a fit of drunken rage, Lord Borgia attacked him with a glass bottle and thunk! Maxwell went down, hit his already bleeding head on the stone floor, and died. Borgia didn’t even believe Maxwell was dead—he was slurring and waving his bloodied hand when the tavern owner found him. Once he regained consciousness, the news of Maxwell’s passing was such a crushing blow that he chose to end his life.

Renee instantly plummeted from the highest pinnacle of society to earth. Impoverished and disgraced, nearly all of her friends abandoned her. They had to sell the house, the furniture, the jewels. Renee, her mother, and her young sister were cast into poverty. With no one to wait on her, she was useless. She did not know how to work for coin. To add insult to injury, the lady she had once scorned at became friends with the duke. Once, when she was begging in the streets, the sound of bells jingling made her look up, and she saw two horses cantering down the street, the duke astride on one, the lady on the other. They looked perfect together.

If Renee had thought life couldn’t get more tragic, she was wrong. Her sister, Lisette, who possessed a delicate constitution, fell ill. The only treatment was a medicine so pricey that Renee could wash laundry for ten years and still couldn’t afford it. She tried, going down to her knees in front of aristocratic daughters, and finally, when she borrowed the amount and rushed home, it was too late. Lisette died in her arms—she was only eight years of age.

After that, Renee’s own health deteriorated as well. She threw herself at manual labor like a maniac, worked until she got feverish, and one day, when she staggered to the well to fetch some water, she lost her balance and fell in. Her head hit the bottom, her ribs cracked. As life ebbed away from her body, she was filled with regret. If only, if only she was given a second chance, she would live differently.

Her wish was granted.