"There it is! Saint Catherine's orphanage. That big, brick building just ahead. We're nearly there!"

"How utterly wonderful," Lord Patrick Day stated, his face as happy as the average Briton on Napoleon's birthday. "I can hardly contain my excitement."

"Oh, tut, tut. Really now." His cousin shook his head in reprimand. "You'll thank me for this one day."

"I shall, shall I?"

"Of course!" His cousin gave him a bright, shiny, far-too-white smile. It flickered somewhat when he redirected his gaze towards the dirty children playing outside the orphanage. "As noblemen, it is our duty to help those, um..." With extreme reluctance, he let his eyes travel over the children again, trying to find sufficiently plebeian words to describe them. "...to help those less fortunate than ourselves. They might be dirty and smell like unwashed stables, but that does not mean they could not be turned into human beings, with effort, guidance and sufficient discipline. Besides, we won't have to actually touch them. That's what the nurses are for."

"Cousin Brandon?"

"Yes?"

"I am truly awed by your desire to help your fellow man."

The Honourable Gilbert Theodore Brandon puffed out his chest. "Yes, I'm rather wonderful, aren't I?"

"I can hardly find words for it."

"So glad you recognize the truth of my words. And I hope I can count on you to donate generously. This place is vital in my plans to get included in the New Year's Honours List. I have built up quite a reputation through throwing money at them, and I would like it to stay that way."

Beside Lord Patrick, his best friend, Titus, coughed, then tugged gently at Patrick's sleeve and pulled him a few steps back.

"I wonder," he whispered, "what would His Holier-than-thouness say if he knew you've been donating to this place for years, providing roughly fifty per cent of their entire funding?"

"Be quiet!" Lord Patrick hissed. "If he finds out about that, he won't stop pestering me, and the number of times he'll try to drag me out to his inane events will quadruple!"

"Oh no, definitely not." Titus assured him. "It'll quintuple, at least."

"I am really glad I have a friend like you, dear Titus."

"Glad to be of service, Your Lordship."

Not long afterwards, they reached the gate of the orphanage. The place seemed to be quite crowded, and not by orphans.

"Is it just my imagination," Titus said innocently, "or are there more warm-hearted female volunteers here today than usual? I wonder what could have attracted them?"

The corner of Lord Patrick's mouth twitched derisively. "Now you know why I did not wish to come."

"And now you know why I wanted to accompany you!" Titus clapped his friend on the back, grinning. "Lucky bastard!"

"An erroneous statement, I assure you." Lord Patrick cast the young women a disparaging gaze—whereupon they giggled and stuck their heads together.

"Is...isn't that Lord Patrick Day?"

"So the rumors were true! He really was coming!"

"Oh, just look at him! He's even more handsome than in the papers!"

"And he's here for the poor little children. That's so sweet!"

"I wonder if he's planning to start a family of his own soon? He's still single, I hear..."

More giggles.

"Need I further explain myself?" His Lordship raised an aristocratic eyebrow.

"So, they're not sufficiently swanlike, well-bred, elegant and aristocratic to make 'the list'?" Titus waggled his eyebrows. "How many are on there again? Two hundred? Three hundred?"

"Three," Lord Patrick said, looking straight ahead.

"I sincerely pity you."

"And I sincerely regret ever telling you about the list."

Cackling, Titus patted Lord Patrick on the shoulder. "Life is full of regrets, my friend. As I'm sure you'll find out if you don't turn around and talk with those lovely ladies. Are you sure you don't want to?"

Lord Patrick cast a glance in the direction of the giggling women. "If I wish to battle with ruthless, hungry predators, I can travel to the African interior in a zebra costume."

"But Saint Catherine's is so much closer and more convenient." Titus smirked. "Do you mind if I go hunting in your stead?"

Lord Patrick gave his friend a look. "Truly, Titus, I do not understand you. These creatures have no class, no breeding, let alone a title. They're beneath us in every possible way. Especially beneath me."

"Well..." Titus shrugged, and his grin widened. "I wouldn't mind them being beneath me instead. Sounds fun."

"Be my guest. They are all yours."

Patrick turned away from the vapid females. He did not often come to a place like this himself—but that did not mean he didn't know how important they were. This house was a lifeline! People who only came here to go husband-hunting held less than zero interest to him.

Face grim, he glanced up at the towering iron gate with spikes on top. He did not know much about the raising of children, but his layman's mind had always wondered why a place that should provide children a home had more security measures than most prisons. Still...there were far worse places than this. Also, the lady who ran this place was the very best friend of his mother. This was the least he could do.

"Matron?" The iron gate still remained closed, and Brandon had apparently had enough of waiting. Grabbing the wrought iron bars, he shook them. "Matron! Damn and blast, where is that dratted woman?"

Reaching up, Brandon grabbed the knocker and banged it against the gate. One of the children who had been playing in the yard came running up to the gate. The little girl cocked her head.

"Ye ain't supposed ta use naughty words, ye know. If ye do, Matron'll pull down yer breeches and spank ye good!"

A sound came from behind The Honourable Gilbert Theodore Brandon. When he turned, he found Lord Patrick holding a hand tightly across Titus' mouth.

"Did you say something, cousin?"

Lord Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Not a word. Why do you ask?"

Snorting, Brandon turned back towards the iron gate. "Now, listen here, you little squirt—ow!" He jerked back as a flying rubber band hit him on the nose. The little girl stuck out her tongue and dashed away across the courtyard, pulling faces.

"Get back here, you bloody little devil! I'll...I'll—oh. Ehem. Matron." He cleared his throat. "Good morning."

The middle-aged woman who had just appeared at the gate cocked her head at him, her piercing eyes boring into the English aristocrat, laying bare his sins up to and including the time he'd snuck into the kitchen when he was five and stolen cookies from the jar. "You were saying, Sir?"

"I, um...nothing really. I was just asking this lovely little girl to open the gate for me."

"Hm...you were, were you?" The matron smiled, like Beelzebub would smile before opening the gates to a hell of punishment. "Well, then, enter by all means. You've come just at the right time! The diapers need to be changed. We could use a helping hand or two."

Brandon took an abrupt step backward.

"Um...well now, I wouldn't want to get in your way, Madam. I don't know what you've been told about me, but my reason for coming here is merely to present a check to the institution and be photographed for publication in the social pages of the London Weekly—"

The iron gates opened with a creak, and a firm hand grabbed hold of Brandon's arm. "I'm sure that photograph would be received much better if it showed you with a couple of smiling, freshly swaddled children, now, wouldn't it?"

"Um...well, yes, but—"

"Excellent!" Before he could escape, the matron pulled him inside. "Then let's go, shall we?"

Watching Brandon be dragged away, Titus grinned as if he'd just stuffed a horizontal banana in his mouth. Even Lord Patrick Day raised his hand to conveniently cover the lower half of his face. Maybe coming today had been worth it, after all. Brandon had had it coming for a long time.

"You two, too!" Suddenly, Lord Patrick felt his sleeve being grabbed, and his smile abruptly disappeared. "There can never be too many diaper-changers!"

"Excuse me, Ma'am?" Lord Patrick straightened to his full height. "I most certainly do not intend to—agh!"

***

"You know..." Titus squeezed out around a couple of safety pins stuck in his mouth, "Thif ifn't really what I ekfpected when you invited me out for a little trip into town."

"Which death is preferable to every other?" Lord Patrick intoned in a solemn voice. "The unexpected one."

"You and your bloody quotes! If I need advice on changing diapers from Julius Caesar, I'll let you know!" Securing the diaper at the back, Titus turned the child on the table in front of him around—and promptly, a glorious fountain of gold sprang up to moisturize his heated face. "Gah!" He leapt out of the way. "Don't you dare, you little fart factory!"

"Here, let me." Beaming, a young woman sidled up to Titus—then spotted Patrick, forgot about Titus and sidled a bit farther, taking the child he was holding out of his arms. "You do it like this, you see? You hold them, and then you pat the bottom—"

"Excuse me?" Patrick stiffened. "I am a gentleman, Miss!"

"I believe she means the baby's, not hers," Titus whispered, leaning over. "But you're welcome to test my theory."

With a dubious expression on his face, Patrick grabbed a nearby infant, held it at arm's length, the vomit muzzle pointed carefully away, as with all dangerous weapons, and began to pound the tiny creature's rear end. Various young ladies surrounded him, making various ooh and aww noises. The first lady approached, smiling at him.

"You are so good with children!"

"And you, My Lady," he said, inclining his head politely, "are a shameless liar."

After that, for some reason, the ladies didn't haunt him quite as ardently as before. Honesty and truth truly brought wondrous benefits.

He spent the rest of the day attempting to avoid his cousin Brandon, any females, as well as any children of either gender. As one might imagine, this presented quite a few difficulties in an orphanage run by nurses and matrons. In the end, by the time Brandon was done with his photo opportunity, had gulped down a lunch together with the orphans, and the sun was sinking behind the horizon, Lord Patrick found himself in the orphanage's back yard. In the distance, a few children were playing. Luckily, they hadn't noticed him so far. Remembering that time earlier today when he had been cornered by a pack of pre-teens and coerced into telling them stories, he shuddered. There were good reasons why he threw humongous amounts of money at this place and never visited himself.

Around him, the world was growing dark, and stars began to sparkle in the sky. In the distance, some children were still playing. God, did they have stamina! He sat on a bench, watching as the three of them ran and tumbled across the courtyard, laughing and yelling as if they didn't have a care in the world. Two of them looked like brother and sister. You could tell from the way they were rolling around on the ground and wrestling with each other for control of a football. An unbidden smile tugged at the corner of Lord Patrick's mouth.

Maybe coming here wasn't a waste of time after all.

His money certainly seemed to be well-invested.

He was just about to stand up and go find Titus when he noticed a shadowy figure moving beyond the wrought iron fence. He frowned. What was that? A cat? A dog? No reasonable human being would be around and about at this hour. But the shadow was too large to be a small animal. Suddenly, it rose to its feet and leapt up the fence! What the—!

"Patrick, there you are!" Brandon's voice suddenly came from behind him, and his footsteps approached. "Finally! I've been searching for you everywhere. We're long since finished. Let's go! We—"

"Be quiet!" Rising to his feet abruptly, Lord Patrick cut his cousin off with a jerk of his hand. Just then, the dark figure in the distance swung itself over the fence, and two more followed in quick succession. Without stopping, they dashed towards the children, who were too focused on their football game to notice.

"Hey there, Patrick, are you listening? I—"

"Quiet!" Patrick stepped forward and opened his mouth to shout a warning—but before he could get a word out, one of the men lunged forward, grabbing hold of the young girl. A scream pierced the air.

"No! You...!" Grabbing Brandon by the arm, Lord Patrick lunged forward. "Come! Move!"

"What the heck do you think you're doing, Patrick! Let go of me, or—"

But Lord Patrick didn't bother to listen to his cousin's threats. As far as threats went, he could see some rather more significant ones ahead.

"Hey! You bastard!" Whirling around, the young boy hurled the football at the intruder. It bounced off the assailant ineffectually, and the thug growled.

"Piss off, kid!"

"You piss off! Let go of my sister!"

Ignoring the boy, the man lifted the girl into the air and slung her over his shoulder, clamping a hand over her mouth to silence her screams.

"Aaaah!" With an ear-splitting scream, the little boy hurled himself at the man, who was three times as big as he was, his teeth sinking into the kidnapper's trouser leg. Hissing a curse, the man kicked out, and the boy sailed through the air, slamming headfirst into a wall.

"Come on, fellas!" the man bellowed. "Grab 'em and let's go!"

Smirking, he spat on the boy lying sprawled on the ground and turned to leave.

Something in Patrick cracked. He was racing towards the men before even knowing how his feet had started moving.

"You there! Let go of them, now!"

"Oh shit! Boss, someone's comin' dis way! Let's run!"

"Don't be a fool!" Turning, the so-called "boss" sneered, "Dey've seen our bloody faces! We can't let 'em raise da alarm! Damn!" His face twisted into an ugly mask as he stared at Lord Patrick. "I'm gonna make ye regret gettin' in me way!"

His Lordship gazed back at the man as if he were nothing but a cockroach beneath his noble boot. Although, honestly, that would be an insult to cockroaches around the world.

"Let the children go, and surrender! We are men of honour! We are not afraid of a couple of thugs like you! Correct, Brandon?"

"Well...ehem..." The Honourable Gilbert Theodore Brandon cleared his throat.

"Oh, a couple of fancy toffs, are ye?" Sneering, the man reached into his pocket. When his hand came out again, the blade of a knife glinted in the moonlight. "Well, let's see how brave ye are once I've cut up yer pretty face!"

Suddenly, Patrick heard the rapid sounds of footsteps behind him. He had an ominous feeling that it wasn't because reinforcements were coming.

All too soon, the footsteps had faded into the distance.

A bitter smile played around Patrick's lips. So much for the duty to help those less fortunate than ourselves.

"Well?" the man with the knife sneered. "Running, too? What are ye waitin' for?"

"I am waiting," Patrick said clearly, his eyes cold as steel, "for you to let go of those children. Now!"