I am an innkeeper. And, rather unlike so many others, it would seem, I am not the daughter of a musketeer. My father was an innkeeper, just like his father before him. But just because my father was not a musketeer, that does not mean my story has any less depth or excitement. Though he was but a simple innkeeper, my father was proud and noble just the same. I wish I could say he died of old age, though perhaps it was partly old age that did it. He was killed in a duel a few months ago. But that is getting ahead of things.

Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Jacqueleen d'Ancanto. I come from a long line of innkeepers, stretching back to my great-great-grandfather, Henri d'Ancanto, who came to Meung as a rich traveling merchant and bought the inn from a struggling family of farmers who were quite down on their luck. Henri was not one to take charity from anyone, and therefore never gave it. But in his own way he liked to help people. So he let the family stay on as employees until they were able to stand on their own feet again. I believe they moved to some smaller town farther south after that. The inn has been in my family's possession ever since.

My father, Marc d'Ancanto, had always hoped for a son to carry on the family business. Instead, he was stuck with me. Not that he ever complained or otherwise belittled me. For that reason, I suppose, I made it my mission to be as tough and strong as any boy might have been. I grew up working the inn's tavern. It was here my father taught me – or let me learn – everything I would need to know to take care of myself, from avoiding the leering glances of the more unsavory patrons to the proper, delicate etiquette required in dealing with the more respected – if less respectable – of our customers.

When I was quite old enough, I fell in love and was married to a handsome young man, Alexandre Laroche, who was a soldier in the French army. We had two beautiful daughters, and while he was away I often took over management of the inn due to my father's failing health. Sometime close to a year ago, my husband was killed in battle. For some time I was devastated, but I knew, with my father's health and my two young girls, I needed to be strong. I reclaimed my maiden name then and took over full management of the inn.

At this point I feel inclined to inform you that I despise swordplay above all else. I always have been rather opposed to violence of any sort, but more so recently, and specifically to dueling. Shortly after my husband's death, there was a drunken man at the tavern who thought to prove himself his comrade's better. Not wishing them to disturb the other guests, I stepped in and insisted they take their outlandish quarrel outside. This, unfortunately, drew the unsolicited… attentions of the inebriated dolt. He later cornered me in the alleyway behind the inn and… Well, I can only assume he was attempting to woo me, though his speech was quite difficult to fully comprehend. His intentions, however, were not so difficult. I must say I gave him a stern lashing he did not soon forget.

However, my father, despite it being quite clear that I could take care of myself, feared some violation of my honor and promptly challenged the man to a duel. Unfortunately my father was never very good with a weapon of any kind. Add that to his poor health and rather advanced years, and… Well, to be quite blunt about it, he was killed the next day. I vowed that day that I would never allow another duel to take place within a league of my inn. I am proud to say that, to this day, I have successfully kept it.