Lord Patrick Day was woken by the sound of singing birds and...a banshee screaming in his ear?

"Wakey-wakey, Lord Bedshaky! Stop snorin' and get a bloody move on, or we'll throw ye out of da window! After we take ye up to da third floor!"

Wait...what? What was going on? Was he still sleeping? What a strange dream...

"All right, girls, 'e's bein' stubborn! One, two, three!"

Something grabbed his foot.

All right.

So...maybe not a dream.

"W-wait just a minute! What are you children doing? You shouldn't—umph!"

Thud!

"Oy! Ye were supposed to move da whole bed! Now dat 'e's on da floor, 'ow are we supposed ta get 'im up to da window?"

"'ow da 'ell should I know? I ain't in bloody charge around 'ere!"

They began squabbling and, using the opportunity, Lord Patrick scrambled up from the floor and fled behind a nearby screen. When he reemerged, he felt much more prepared to deal with the lot of them, mostly due to the pair of trousers he was now wearing. It was quite amazing what those did for a man's self-confidence.

"Ehem, now listen here, girls!" He gazed down at them with the stern authority of a noble peer of Britain who now was also wearing trousers now, thank you very much. "You are young ladies! You cannot simply storm into a gentleman's room and—"

"Yer fly's still open," Flo pointed out.

"Blazes! How the...!" Hurriedly, he glanced down—only to find everything in perfect order. Breathing heavily, he jerked his head up to send a glare at the five little hellions...

Who apparently had already left.

"Get yer arse dressed and downstairs!" a voice rang out that distinctly reminded Lord Patrick of his little sister. "We're gonna get dressed, and prepare ta leave! If ye ain't down 'ere in five minutes, we're comin' ta get ye!"

Lord Patrick blinked. Leave? Leave where? They—

Goodness! Those twirps were not planning to go after Arrendyle alone, were they? Surely they couldn't be rash and foolish enough to—

Then an image popped up in front of his inner eye. An image of Aggy grinning at him over the top of her shiny knife.

Oh fu—

...ngus!

No, he couldn't let this happen! Not to those adorable little bandits—ehem, children. He couldn't let them throw themselves into mortal danger! He had to go after them, and that on the double! Rushing over to the wardrobe, he ripped out a vest, tailcoat, and various other pieces of clothing. Tearing off his old clothes from yesterday, he quickly started to dress.

Tarnation! Why did he have to oversleep today of all days? He should have been up much earlier. But yesterday, he'd lain awake long into the night, trying to figure out what the blazes had just happened. The dance in the moonlight. The strange way he had felt, holding her tightly in his arms, unable to let go. Or was it just...unwilling?

How could this be? You are supposed to be a Knight of the Order of the Garter! A respectable gentleman! And now, here you are, paying a woman to accompany you to dungeons full of orgies, dance with you in the wild and share your bed at night? What in the name of the Queen's unmentionables do you think you are doing?

Normally, when facing insolvable questions such as these, he would do what his ancestors had always done: postpone his quandaries a few hundred years for his descendants to deal with. There was just one miniscule problem with that. To obtain descendants, he would first have to obtain a woman at his side.

A pair of bright green eyes flashed before his inner eye. His right hand clenched. The hand that, last night, had held Amy's hand, and—

"What are ye waitin' for, Lord Fancypants?" a voice from down below interrupted his thoughts. "Get down 'ere right now!"

All right. Shelve those thoughts for later.

Much later.

Tugging at his lapels to straighten his bow-tie, Lord Patrick threw on his tailcoat and pushed open the door. Rushing down the landing, he leaned over the railing, his gaze flitting from right to left in search of the five little hellions.

Let me be in time! Don't let them already be on their way! If they fall into Arrendyle's hands...

He didn't even want to imagine.

"Stop! Don't do it! You would regret it for the rest of your life, if—"

That was when he noticed them. The group standing around the door, which consisted not only of the five girls, but also of Amy, Titus, Karim, his weapons, Cora, Jenny, and her two weapons in diapers. They were all dressed in their most resplendent dresses, which, considering their recent trips to the dressmaker Lady Wetherston had chosen as her personal supplier, was quite resplendent indeed. They looked just like a happy gathering of friends and family in their Sunday best, preparing to go out for an afternoon on the town.

"Regret it for da rest of our lives?" Amy turned around, blinking up at him innocently. "I don't really think goin' on a little tour of da grounds is dat dangerous."

Lord Patrick Day stared down at the woman. The woman who had sent five little monsters to his room this morning. The woman who had held his hands under the moonlight last night. The woman who had dragged him into a deadly adventure and turned his life upside down.

He felt something in his chest squeeze.

Not dangerous? You are the most dangerous woman I have ever met in my life.

***

Amy watched as a kaleidoscope of emotions flitted over the man's beautiful, aristocratic visage. Finally, it settled on a fabulous mix of irritation and fascination. One corner of her mouth lifting, Amy half-turned and, over her shoulder, sent him a wave and a wink.

Aye, she would definitely have to pay a visit to his dear lady mother. Soon.

She was just about to ask him how he'd liked his sweet wake-up call, when...

"Out of my way, out of my way!"

The double doors of the entrance flew open and Lord John Weatherston stormed in, his face fierce. Behind him came a gaggle of servants. Between the bustling legs and jostling shoulders, Amy just managed to catch sight of a man lying on a stretcher, groaning.

"I'm afraid we'll have to postpone the tour, sweetling," he said, stopping to gently touch Cora's cheek in passing. "Harrison and Grant have more serious injuries on their legs than I thought, and the doctor hasn't arrived yet. If I were to leave..."

She shushed him with a finger on his lips. "Shh! No need to explain. I understand."

"I bloody well don't!" Tiny, big-eyed Jo stared up at the assembled adults, her lower lip jutting out. She seemed to be the very image of a spoilt, stubborn child—but Amy, who had long learned to look at the details, saw her lip tremble. During their entire lives, these girls had always come second. No...second? Most often, they didn't even come third! Now, for the first time, they were about to go out and do something that might, conceivably, actually be fun. And suddenly, everything was falling apart?

"Can't ye just chop 'is leg off?" Aggie suggested, giving Amy a hopeful smile over the top of her knife. "I could 'elp if ye—mmphmphmmph!"

Reaching around from behind, Amy put a firm hand over the girl's mouth. After she used her other one to pinch the knife, that is. She had experience.

"I'm sure da children don't mind. Dey're so kind and understandin'," Amy informed the lord of the manor.

"Thank you." He sent her a grateful look, then whirled towards his men. "Farley, take the injured men to the western guest rooms and send Eric to town to see why the doctor is taking so long. Take the curricle, it's the fastest!"

"As you command, My Lord! Move, men! You there, keep your hands pressed on the wound! You, fetch some boiled water and clean cloth!"

One last time, Wetherston turned towards Cora & Co. For an instant, his regretful gaze lingered on the children. Amy watched as he reached out and squeezed his wife's hand. "I'm truly sorry. I didn't want to disappoint the children, but—"

"I'll take them," a familiar, commanding voice came from above.

Amy turned, already knowing who it was. Lord Patrick Day was striding down the stairs, his gaze fixed on where Amy was standing among the children.

"You will?" Lord Wetherston cocked an eyebrow. "Well...thank you kindly, Lord Patrick. But, forgive me for enquiring—do you know your way around this place? If I'm not mistaken, this is the first time I have had the honour of receiving you as a guest in my home."

In answer, Patrick glanced at Karim. "You should have visited here before, Mr Karim, correct? May I ask, are you familiar with the grounds and the surroundings?"

The look on Karim's face made it very hard for Amy to suppress a laugh.

"Regrettably so," the bodyguard answered with the air of a man who had been forced to gaze into the deepest abyss of hell. "My employer's esteemed spouse saw fit to pay...extended and colourful visits to her friends in the vicinity."

"Well then." Patrick clapped his hands. "There should be no problem, should there?"

The brats cheered. Aggy smiled at her reflection in her knife that—wait a minute, knife? Amy cursed. When the hell had she gotten that back? And how?

"I see." Lord Wetherston nodded briskly. "If that's the case, Mr Karim, I shall entrust my wife's friends to your and Lord Patrick's capable hands. As for you..." Leaning forward, he gazed deeply into Cora's eyes, placing a gentle hand over her belly. "Be careful, sweetling."

"Oh, come on!" Rolling her eyes, Cora jabbed a finger into his ribs. "I ain't a blown-up balloon yet, ye know! Go, go! Ye're needed!"

A last quick kiss, a hug, and Lord John Wetherston dashed away after his injured men. Cora stood there, gazing after him longingly, her expression dazed.

"Oy! Sweetling!"

Jumping, Cora whirled around to face Amy. "Don't ye dare call me dat!"

Amy blinked innocently. "Call ye what?"

"Sw—crap, ye know what! And ye ain't gonna make me say it!"

A broad grin spread over Amy's face.

"Aww. Too bad."

If she'd known having your friends be married off was this much fun, she'd have kidnapped some respectable bridegrooms and dragged them to the brothel ages ago.

"Stop playin' around like children, ye two!" commanded Flo, the responsible adult. "Let's go, or else!"

Lord Patrick quirked an eyebrow, a muscle under his eye twitching. "I am terrified by your threat, absolutely terrified."

"Ha! Ye'd better!"

That muscle under his eye twitched again. Flexing his fingers, he stepped forward. Amy watched cautiously as he marched towards the child, an unreadable look on his face. Almost instinctively, she tried to step between the two.

"Now, Patrick...I'm sure she didn't mean ta—"

He stepped right past her and...and reached out, taking the little girl by the hand, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Seems like I'd better comply quickly, right? Otherwise, who knows what you might do to me."

"Right ye are!" Possessively, Flo grabbed his hand. Leona grabbed the other, and Jo hugged his leg, apparently firmly convinced he didn't need it for such pesky tasks as standing or walking. The others crowded around the unfortunate Karim. At the sight, Amy felt a tug in her chest. These children...ever since they had survived that nightmare, they had shied away from any man they'd encountered. Any. Yet now, in front of a fierce mountain of a man, and the lord of lords from the very class of people who had torn them from their homes, they were smiling and ready to go, their eyes sparkling.

Maybe Lord Patrick Day wasn't such a despicable, self-centred, aristocratic arse as she had originally thought.

Not that that would stop her from messing with him, of course.

Just then, the rattle of coach wheels came from outside.

"All right, everyone." Bending down, His Lordship, Knight of the Order of the Garter and Peer of the Realm, bent down to pick up a five-year-old thief and gutter-rat that no self-respecting nobleman would have touched with a ten-foot pole. But Lord Patrick didn't even hesitate before reaching out to tickle her under her chin, making her giggle, as he carried her to his personal carriage. Amy watched as he wrestled with Aggie to get her to let go of the knife, miserably lost, and heaved her into the coach along with her favorite toy.

And I definitely ain't about ta cry from watchin' dis! No, I definitely ain't!

"Amy?"

Amy jumped and wiped her sleeve across her eyes in a flash. He was looking at her, his brow slightly furrowed, his hand extended towards her. The very hand that had held her last night.

"Comin'!" Picking up her skirts, she dashed towards the coach. "I'm comin'!"

Grabbing the last remaining child, she placed her as a convenient shield in front of her so no one, especially not a certain lord, could see her face. Soon enough, though, nobody paid attention to her anymore, as they all got into the coach and, above them, the whip cracked and the coach started rolling down the driveway.

As they passed the low wall surrounding the manor house and slowly rolled out into the countryside, Flo, Jo and the others' eyes went wide, and Amy forgot all about her anxiety.

It...it's the first time time dey really get ta see da country. Plants, flowers, hills dat ain't covered by smoking factories...apart from our Grace, da country girl, none of dem 'ave ever seen any of dis.

The way they were staring at the meadows and trees outside...it was as if they were staring at a totally different world.

Which, to think about it, they actually were.

"Aah!" Aggie let out a startled gasp, bringing up her knife in a defensive stance. "What's dat?"

Amy followed the direction of her outstretched finger with her eyes—only for her gaze to land on one of the most ferocious beasts that the British countryside had to offer.

"Dat," she said, "is a squirrel."

Aggy raised her knife a little higher. "Is it dangerous?"

"Definitely," Titus said, his face solemn. "Don't provoke them. You will not survive the encounter."

Aggy's grip on her knife tightened. The others shuffled closer, seeking safety in numbers, shooting suspicious glances at the squirrel—until from behind a couple of bushes, something far larger and more horrendous emerged.

"Moooh!"

"W-what is that?"

"That..." Amy scratched her head, trying desperately to think of a way to explain it. "That, um...is what beef looks like before ye roast and eat it."

"Why did dey stick fur on it?" Jo demanded, horrified.

"And why da 'eck," Leona demanded, "did someone attach legs? 'ow are ye supposed ta eat it if it runs away?"

Amy watched Lord Patrick's face as he turned to stare at them as if the little girl had grown a second head. His expression would have been funny. It really would have—if not for the fact that Leona hadn't been trying to make a joke. Not in the least.

Amy's gaze met His Lordship's confused eyes, and she smiled a humourless smile. He really didn't understand, did he?

"Dey ain't never seen a cow before."

***

Lord Patrick blinked.

"What?"

"I said," she repeated, "dey ain't never seen a cow before."

"I heard every single word," he told her, anger building inside him. Not at her, though. Never at her. He might feel irritation at her, or annoyance, but this bone-freezing rage? Never. "I simply wanted to make certain I understood correctly. What in the world did you mean?" Lowering his voice, he leaned over towards her. "How could they never have seen a cow before? It's a cow, for heaven's sake! They're everywhere!"

"In a cesspool like Devil's Acre? Or some other rubbish dump like dat?" Amy raised an eyebrow, looking at him in a way only one other woman had ever looked at him before. Like an adult at a child who didn't know how the world worked yet. "With nothing but bricks, smoke and smog in sight, no schools, no books, and not a single animal?" She shrugged. "Ye're lucky dere are public parks in London, or else dey wouldn't even recognize a bloody tree."

Lord Patrick felt a strange tumult of...something rise inside him. Something he'd never felt before. What by King Henry VIII's wife collection was that? A strange mix of weakness, anger, and...and...

Was this helplessness?

Was this what it felt like to face something horrible, and have absolutely no idea how to fix it?

For a long moment, he gazed out of the window into nothingness. Then his eyes strayed towards the girls, who right now had spotted a walking mutton roast. With its big, soulful eyes, fluffy woollen coat and following of little lambs, it seemed to be considerably more popular with the little girls than the beef casserole on legs. A chorus of "oooh"s and "aww"s were rising from the little ones.

Lord Patrick stared at the lambs. He could not for the life of him determine what was supposed to be so special about these tiny balls of fluff. But then again—this was not about him. It had never been.

There were few things in Great Britain that Lord Patrick Day considered to be of greater importance than himself and his noble house. The Queen. The complete seventy-two volumes of the Oxford English Dictionary. Afternoon tea drunk punctually at 5 pm. Yet suddenly, these mighty ancestral institutions were not all he wished to protect anymore. Suddenly, there were the smiles on the faces of five little girls.

Was he touched in the head? Saving children from slavers was one thing, but making sure they smiled? That was not a man's job! Certainly not a nobleman's, for crying out loud! He did not have a job, nor would he ever, if he wished to keep his ancestors from rolling over in their graves in horror. He should leave such silly, mundane tasks to meddlesome women like his mother and sister and...and...

And he was totally going to do this, was he not?

Tarnation!