Lord Patrick Day had long been renowned for his linguistic skills. Back in his university days, he had been the star of the debating association, and whenever he made a speech in the House of Lords, it never failed to be met with roaring applause. His talent for rhetoric was legendary. Thus, when he lowered his paper to meet his mother's gaze, he spoke with the eloquence truly befitting a man of his noble lineage.

"Err...what?"

Tarnation! That didn't come out as planned!

He should probably have come up with a better rebuttal.

Why?

Well...he might be a champion debater, but he was not the only formidable one present. His mother, God bless her and all who fell into her clutches, was a most noble, upstanding and devout lady—particularly when it came to the divine command "be fruitful and multiply." She was so determined to get a grandson to plaster on her knee that she'd even had the gall to suggest that he include ladies in his search for a prospective bride who were not able to trace their noble lineage for more than fifteen generations. Ha! The mere thought of it...ludicrous! And yet, she had very nearly succeeded in convincing him. Compared to her mastery in matchmaking, all the match factories in Britain paled into insignificance.

And now, her stern gaze was fixed upon him.

"Here, girl." Marching forward, Her Ladyship Henrietta Valentina Day, Dowager-Duchess of Exeter, dumped her elegant fur coat on the insignificant girl in maid uniform standing beside the sofa, and turned towards her son to get down to the important business. "So, now tell me, who is this mystery woman I've been hearing so much about? Tell me all about her!"

"Ehem..." Lord Patrick Day cleared his throat regally, a delaying tactic that had been perfected throughout many sessions in parliament, and many many motherly confrontations. Cautiously, he sent a glance sideways at the swaying Mt Amyfurr. "Well, err...she...she is..."

"Is she one of the three from your list?"

Oh blast.

Lord Patrick stiffened.

A strange noise, like the rumble of a volcano before the big explosion, came from behind Mt Amyfurr, followed by the pelts shifting and a familiar face emerging the expression of which Lord Patrick did not wish to study too closely. "List? What list?"

"Ehem. Well, about that..."

"Oh, so your staff doesn't know about 'the list'?" The dowager duchess lifted an eyebrow. "How many candidates in the whole of the British Empire are there by now who are considered worthy?"

Patrick mumbled something that was perfectly audible. Perfectly audible! Just maybe not to female ears.

"Pardon, son? What was that?"

"Three," he stated coolly.

"Three! Honestly, Patrick! Only three candidates in the whole of Britain?"

"England," he corrected. "I would never condescend to consider candidates from what they call nobility in the hinterlands of Wales or Scotland."

At the mention of the word "candidates", Mt Amyfurr began to make a slow, threatening tectonic movement towards him. "Candidates?" a hiss reached his ear. "Candidates for what exactly?"

"Really, Patrick? Do you have to be so particular? I'm sure that every well-bred girl would leap at the chance to become the wife of the Lord Patrick Day."

"No doubt they would leap," His Lordship responded frostily. "The question is whether I would step out of the way."

"Why don't you approach one of them and invite them for tea?"

Straightening his spine, he gave her his most distinguished and British manner. "Mother! Really? I've known none of those young women for longer than six years. It's hardly proper to take such action towards a lady after such a brief time."

"Really?" Her Ladyship the dowager duchess of motherhood smiled the warm smile of a hunter who had just steered their happless prey into its trap. "That doesn't seem to apply to all ladies, though. Or was what I heard about you spending time with a certain young lady wrong?"

Oh, fiddlesticks!

"I wonder," he enquired, sending a glare over his mother's shoulders, to where Griffiths and Mrs Morris were huddled together at the door, "how you could possibly have heard about that?"

Wisely, the two villainous informants decided to duck through the doorway and vanish into the corridor. Could treason still be punished by hanging, drawing and quartering?

"Ah, so there is a young lady!" the Dowager Duchess triumphed, completely ignoring the question and focusing on the important bits. On her face, she had a smile that made him regret the day he was not switched in the hospital with another baby.

"Who is she? What does she look like? Where does she live?" His mother started to rattle off an endless list of questions.

He contemplated how best to answer.

A prostitute I met after she hit me over the head and tied me to my bed.

Look to your left, mother dear.

In a charming little east-end brothel. Would you like me to show you? I'm sure she would love to give us a tour.

Lord Patrick Day was a brave man. He would join the charge of the light brigade any day of the week. But speaking those sentences aloud in the presence of his mother? Thank you, but he was rather fond of the way his head was firmly attached to his neck.

"She..."

How to answer, how to answer how to answer?

"She's a female. She looks...female. And she lives in..."

The Dowager Duchess raised an eyebrow. "Femaletown?"

"England," Lord Patrick responded with the dignity he could squeeze out of his noble rank. "She comes from England."

"Is that so...?" Eyes slightly narrowed, the Dowager Duchess strode over to an elegant armchair right opposite him and, without bothering to wait for an invitation, settled down. Reaching out, she poured herself a cup of tea, dumped in five lumps of sugar and snatched the platter full of biscuits.

"Please do sit down, Mother," he offered, raising an eyebrow. "And by all means, help yourself to some refreshments."

"Thank you very much, dear." His mother beamed. "You're always so courteous. I've really done a marvellous job bringing you up, haven't I?"

Before Patrick could find a diplomatic answer to that particular question, he felt the aura of an ax-murderer approaching from behind.

"About that list..." came Amy's silky, deadly voice from behind.

The Dowager Duchess beamed at her.

"You truly have excellent staff, Patrick, dear! They seem to know the chit-chat from the important subject: prospective brides. I can't help but notice that you're being unusually reticent with information about this mysterious new young lady." Eyes sparkling like a hawk's, she leaned forward. "She must be something quite special."

Oh, Mother dear, you have no idea!

"Ah, I knew it!" Leaning forward, she nearly spilled her tea in her excitement. "I can tell she's special from that look on your face!"

Lord Patrick made a mental note to urgently schedule a tutoring session with a physiognomist for his mother.

"So tell me about her. It can only be good news, right? Your taste has always been very particular. I assume she is a nice, polite and well-behaved girl from good family?"

"I, um, well..." His eyes strayed towards Mt Amyfurr, who was slowly but surely approaching eruption.

What now?

If he said yes, he would suffer a fate worse than death.

If he said no...well, that would be even worse. He...he would have to tell a lie.

His gentlemanly soul shuddered at the mere idea.

Only then did he become conscious of the piercing gazes drilling into him both from the front and behind, reminding him of the fact that he still had not spoken a single word. And, while sometimes silence might be golden, that was most definitely not the case in this instance. He felt the hair on the back of his neck slowly catching fire from the gaze of a certain lady of the night.

"Why don't ye answer yer mother, My Lord?" With a big smile, Amy stepped around the sofa. She had apparently rid herself of the fur mantle and instead was carrying the most threatening teapot he had ever seen in his life. Boiling hot steam issued from the spout as she brought it close to the tea cup in front of him, which just so happened to be in the vicinity of his unprotected crotch. "Hot tea, Yer Lordship?"

"What a sweet lass you are!" The traitor that called herself his mother exclaimed. She held out her empty cup. "Some more tea for me, please, dear."

"Right away, Yer Ladyship." Sidling up to the dowager duchess, the dutiful maid, curse her all the way to the ninth circle of hell and back, poured a cup of tea and then took up a position behind the armchair.

He was being assaulted by two allied armies.

"So," Her Ladyship enquired, leaning forward, "why don't you answer me? I must say, I'm getting more and more intrigued. Why don't you tell me a little about this mysterious young lady's background?"

Because that background is straight from an illustration in a gothic horror novel!

He couldn't give an answer. He couldn't not give an answer. So he did what politicians and lords had always done since the dawn of time: prevaricate.

"She, ehem..."

"Yes? Yes?"

"She comes from a very exclusive background. I dare say few noble ladies and gentlemen in Britain have had the opportunity to visit her home." Nobility of Britain, forgive me! "In fact, not even the Queen of England has had the honor of visiting her so far. And..."

His mother was leaning forward eagerly. "And?"

"And that is it."

"Pardon? What?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't see what else there is to tell."

At least if I wish to avoid being dragged back to the ancestral manor and put in the stocks after the truth comes out.

"You must be joking, son! Tell me more! What is her name? How did the two of you meet? Where—"

A flood of questions rushed over him. But this time, Lord Patrick remained stalwart and strong! Taking long, repeated gulps from a completely empty teacup, he did not say so much as a single word, no matter how much his mother probed and prodded. The Dowager Duchess used all the various techniques she had used throughout his childhood. The only problem was—unlike back when he was five, none of them seemed to be working!

As time passed and he did not give a single piece of information, the Dowager Duchess cocked her head like a graceful bird. The kind that devours cute rabbits.

She smiled.

"You are not going to tell me anything, are you? Hm...well, never mind."

Lord Patrick blinked. Never mind?

"Aren't you angry?"

"Why would I be angry?" Her smile widened. "You're my beloved son. How could I be angry at you simply because you refuse to tell your dear mother anything about the single most important thing in your life?"

This...this didn't sound quite right. But the smile on the dowager duchess's face was so motherly, so innocent, it couldn't possibly be fake, could it?

"Oh, I just remembered I have something to do today. Well, I'll see you later. Young miss, come outside with me and help me put on my coat, will you? Goodbye, Patrick, I'll come by again another time."

And in an instant, she was out of the room, leaving a regal trail of perfume in her wake. Amy followed her out of the room and closed the door.

Patrick blinked.

She was gone. He...he'd actually managed to deceive his mother? He had won!

But...

Then why did something feel off?

***

Amy was just stepping out into the corridor with the fur mantle in her arms when her arm was grabbed and she was pulled down the hallway and into another room. The door slammed shut behind her.

"Oy! What the—"

This was the town house of Lord Patrick Day! Where the hell had a mugger come from? In an instant, Amy was divested of the fur mantle and pinned against the wall by the motherly gaze of the Dowager Duchess of Exeter.

"Listen, my dear..." The noble lady gave her a broad, beaming smile. "You seem to be such a lovely young girl. So sympathetic. So full of understanding for a poor mother's heart."

And with that, the poor mother pulled out a stack of banknotes, offering her twenty shiny brand-new pounds.

Answering the lady's smile with one of her own, Amy took it. "Of course! I'm so full of understandin' I'm about ta burst."

This was getting better and better. Now mother and son were both paying her for her services at the same time. Hm...how many more relatives did he have? This warranted investigation!

"So, tell me, dear..." The middle-aged woman sidled up to her in a way that, for a tall, elegant lady in a brocade dress, was uncannily reminiscent of a street hustler. "Are you well-informed about the goings-on in this house? How long have you been a maid here?"

"So long ye wouldn't believe it."

"That's marvellous!" Leaning closer, she batted her eyelashes like a sweet old lady worried for her darling while she fished another stack of cash out of her purse and stuffed it into Amy's hand without missing a beat.

Oh boy! Dis lady lady really speaks me favorite language!

"Having been around my son for so long, you haven't by any chance come across some morsels of information about this mysterious lady, have you? Can you tell me anything about her?"

'ow about she's standin' right in front of ye?

Amy felt her face flush, flustered. "Well...ehem..."

"Please." The lady's smile grew, and so did the stack of banknotes. Hell! She should be flustered more often! "Just tell me a little bit. Assuage a mother's concerns. Do you know how the two met? What she is like?"

Amy hesitated. What should she answer? After all, she couldn't very well praise herself, could she?

Wait a minute...

Why da bloody hell not? I'm even getting' paid for it! And oh boy, is it going to be fun!

Besides, it wasn't as if she was ever really going to marry that beautiful bastard. Ha! Not in a million years! She would never even make it onto that list of his.

Oh yes...the list.

Her hands twitched, itching to close around a certain someone's noble neck.

But then again...why would she waste time on strangling him? She was above that! Trying to murder him was completely unreasonable, when there was a so much more effective method right in front of her to spell his doom: sic his mother on him.

She grinned inwardly.

Revenge time!

"I'm at yer service, Yer Grace!" Beaming, Amy curtsied to the lady, pocketing the latest stack of notes. "I'd be only too 'appy ta tell ye anythin' ye wanna know."

"What a nice, helpful girl you are! Have you seen the lady? Have you met her yourself?"

"Oh, aye. Ye could say I know 'er better dan just about anyone."

The lady's eyes started sparkling like gemstones. "Splendid! Tell me everything you know! Do you know anything about her background? Where does she come from?"

Amy smiled, her face suffused with admiration for the mysterious lady whose beauty and brilliance had lit up her dull little life. "She...well, it's quite amazing, My Lady. Ye know, dese days, most young ladies fritter away deir time with flirtin' with men and playin' around."

"Oh, I know what you mean." The Dowager Duchess shook her beautiful golden head. "Deplorable. So deplorable. So...this young lady is different?"

Amy sighed, her eyes glittering with admiration. "Ye couldn't imagine anyone more different from da average young lady. She ain't like dose wordly young women dese days. Did ye know she grew up under da care of an abbess?"

The excited middle-aged lady's eyes went wide, shining with a motherly joy. "Truly? So she grew up in a nunnery? So she's devout? She had a good upbringing?"

Amy inclined her head with solemnity.

"I know for a fact she spent a lot of time on 'er knees worshippin'."

The Dowager Duchess clapped her hands. "Oh, what a good boy! So he has finally found himself a respectable woman, has he? Wonderful! So wonderful!"

Amy almost felt sorry. Almost.

"Tell me more, tell me more! What does she do in her spare time?"

Amy's admiring smile widened to banana scale. "Well, she's always out on da streets, trying ta bring a little joy inta da lives of dose unfortunate people livin' a meaningless life. Whenever someone's met with 'er, dey leave with a 'appy, satisfied smile."

"How splendid!"

"Together with some other ladies, she regularly goes inta da dark and poor places of London. Why, dey even go into da darkest alleys to bring 'appiness ta da poor people no one else would take care of."

"Admirable! Such heart-warming charity! But, say..." As the lady sidled closer, Amy saw the Dowager Duchess's eyes glitter. Ah. Now they were going to get to the nitty-gritty! "...is she pretty?"

Amy looked straight into her eyes. "She's da most beautiful lady in da entire world," she said with the conviction of an experienced bullshitter.

"Th-the most beautiful..."

"If I could get a wish from a fairy godmother, I'd wanna look just like her."

"Aww! Really?"

Amy nodded solemnly. "I swear."

"Oh, my son, my son, you've done well this time! I always thought you'd never settle down, but you've finally become sensible! How splendid, how absolutely splendid!" Lady Henrietta was pretty much doing a happy dance at this time. Her eyes were shining like two little ponds in the starlight. Grabbing hold of Amy, she pulled her close. "Tell me more! More!"

And Amy did. After all, why not? She was very familiar with that devout, mysterious young lady. Who better than her to relate all the marvellous details and magnanimous deeds of the young woman to whom Lord Patrick had lost his heart? After all, she was only a little maid, and maids loved to gossip.

By the time Amy was finished, Patrick's mother was just about ready to post the banns for the wedding.

"Thank you! Thank you for telling me all this!" The Dowager Duchess beamed, actually taking Amy's hand and shaking it. A lady! Shaking her hand! "Thank you so much!"

"Ehem." Amy felt her face heat. "Ye...don't really 'ave ta thank me."

"Aww, such a sweet girl! Of course I do!"

"No. No, trust me, ye really, really don't."

"So modest! You're wonderful! Here, take this." And, without hesitation, the Dowager Duchess pressed some more money into Amy's hand.

Dang, this job was turning out to be lucrative! Who knew making up stories about relationships between men and women could pay better than actually engaging in them?

"Just make sure," the lady added with a whisper and a wink, "to keep me apprised of the latest developments, all right?"

A devious grin spread over Amy's face. Hm...maybe her romance novels would be good for something after all. Inspiration was such a wonderful thing. "Absolutely!"

***

Inside the room, Lord Patrick Day was sitting on the sofa, sipping tea and secretly breathing a sigh of relief. All things considered, it had gone fairly well. His mother had not found out anything about what he was truly doing. If she had...

He swallowed.

His mother in matchmaking mode was one thing. Her thinking he was pursuing some mysterious lady was bad enough. But if she found out what was actually going on...

Things would quickly reach a whole new level.