Trying to ignore the accusing stares he was sure his thirty-five generations of deceased ancestors were sending him from up above, or down below, in the case of Lord Wilbert Hibernius "Headsmasher" Day, Lord Patrick placed a gentle hand on Jo's shoulder. Though still a bit too boney for his liking, even after weeks of Mrs Morris's fattening, she was reassuringly solid. Very different from the little scarecrow with eyes too large for her face that he had first met weeks ago.

It still didn't make him feel better about what he had just heard.

He glanced over at Miss Amy Weston, who was watching him intensely, as if he were a tensed warbow about to snap. Well...in that, she was wrong. He was not about to snap. He was about to fire.

"Never?" he growled, low enough for only Amy to hear. "They've never been outside that hellhole? They've never been in the country? Breathed fresh air?"

Amy gave him a long look. "'ow would dey?"

He opened his mouth—and closed it again. How indeed? Was he just naïve by coincidence or was he actively trying? He definitely was doing one hell of a job!

Which, repeat, repeat, a noble personage such as himself was not supposed to have to do in the first place. Jobs were for plebeians!

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a second.

Focus. Pay attention to what matters. This is not about you, remember?

He glanced down at the girl sitting in his lap. She was still staring hungrily at the lambs out on the meadow, and not in a way that made him think she was contemplating dinner. She rather looked as if she had her nose pressed against the display window of a pet shop, staring at her future best and most furry friend.

Clearing his throat, he leaned down towards the girl. "Do you...like them?"

The little girl stiffened in his arms, quickly glancing away from the lambs as if they had burned her. "N-not really. I mean I wouldn't ever presume...presume ta..."

Drat! That was not what I was aiming for. How does one speak to children about pets again? How does one speak to children, period?

"I asked you" he said, taking hold of her tiny chin and stared straight into her eyes, like he would at one of his debating opponents in the House of Lords, "if you like them. Speak, Miss!"

All right...that probably is not the way to do it.

"Aye." Her voice was tinier than she was, and that was saying something. "Aye, I do."

What do you know? It worked.

He glanced over at the other children, and their faces spoke volumes. Volumes full of pretty animal pictures and horrifying spelling mistakes. It was as if he were ten again and staring down at a tiny Angeline, begging him with her puppy-dog eyes.

"Would you like to see more animals that are similarly..." For a moment, His Lordship searched for a word to describe sheep that wasn't "ovine". "...adorable?" he finally settled. "As part of the landed nobility, Lord Wetherston has a great number of farms, and I bet there are many more animals to look at. Don't you agree, Mr Karim?"

Karim struggled with himself for a long moment. He truly did. But in the end, the brave warrior was unable to resist the begging doe-eyes. "If my memory does not deceive me, there is a farm three miles north of here that breeds small, long-eared furry beasts," he conceded. "They should fit the requirements."

"Yay!"

Nearly leaping out of their seats, the five girls pounced on the unfortunate bodyguard, hounding him with questions. Patrick used this opportunity to strategically withdraw into a corner. Pounding his walking cane against the roof, he called out to the coachman. "Did you hear? We're changing directions!"

***

Amy sat and watched incredulously as Lord Patrick Patrick Day, Knight of the Order of the Garter, was used as a trampoline by nearly half a dozen children. Was this still the stiff, stuck-up Lord of the Realm who had looked down at East Enders with a mixture of pity and disdain? The way he was letting those brats run roughshod all over him...it sent a hint of warmth into Amy's heart that had been empty and cold for far too long. The look on Flo's face alone....

She looks so much like 'er mother looked, before—

Squashing down the painful thought mercilessly, Amy glanced out of the coach window—just in time to see a homely wooden hut with several rows of clean, orderly cages full of white blobs of fur.

"Yay! Bunanies!"

Squealing, the girls leapt out of the coach. Amy raised her eyebrow at Karim. "Did you tell them about bunnies or bananas?"

He gave a look. "They did not seem to know or be interested in the difference."

"Well then..." Rising to his feet, Lord Patrick Day offered his arm to Amy. "Let us inspect the bunanies, shall we?"

Amy felt another surge of warmth rush up inside her. Before she could think better of it, she accepted his outstretched arm. "Aye. Let's."

Outside, chaos reigned. The poor farm workers were frozen in the face of the infantile invaders that clambered over the cages, pulled open the doors and snuggled and squeezed helpless bunnies in all forms and sizes. The farm hands were just as helpless as the long-ears. Oh, they very much wanted to chase the brats off the grounds with broomsticks in hand. But the servants in the livery of Lord Wetherston, leaping down from Lord Wetherston's personal palace, which for some reason had delivered those mini-marauders straight to their doorstep, made them think twice about it. So they just stood there, baffled. Did their lord send these squirts? What for? To drive them and the other farmers off their land? To strangle their livestock? Or...a shudder went down their back at the worst of all possibilities....to be adopted?

The most helpless of all the farmers was a certain diminutive man with a red-stained apron and two butcher-knives in his hands. Amy saw him throw just one glance at the children hugging and snuggling the bunnies before he apparently decided retreat was the wisest policy and skedaddled.

Amy waved at him with a cheeky grin, and he sped up as if his arse was on fire. Which, if Flo got her hands on him, it most likely would be.

"Awww...look at dis one! It's got one blue eye and one black!"

"Oy! I saw dat one first! 'and it over, or I'll give ye a black eye!"

"Stop fightin' ye two! Look, dat one's so cute! Just look at dose fluffy ears!"

"And dat cute little nose!"

"And that cute, bushy beard!"

"I," Karim informed the girl tugging on his beard, his gaze centered upon a distant rock he seemed to find extraordinarily fascinating, "am not a bunny."

"Are ye sure?" Amy enquired, inspecting him with an innocent sideways glance. "Da resemblance is uncanny. Don't ye agree, Patrick?"

"I must say, I have profound admiration for the Swiss," Lord Patrick Day said, gazing at a cloud in the sky he apparently found even more interesting than Karim's rock. "They always stay neutral. Such smart people, they are."

Then he slid out of her grip and hurried over to help the children find the cutest bunny.

Slick, yer Lordship. Very slick.

For a moment, Amy gazed after him—then she went over to the girls for some quality bunny tickling. Time flew by. The sun rose into the sky as a lady of the night and a lord of the realm played with children on an open meadow, and Amy...had fun.

Fun.

For the first time in a long time, there were no worries, no pain, no fear of an uncertain future. Just the happy noises of playing children, and smiles under the sunlight.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Amy turned her head left and, through the tall stalks of grass among which she lay, met the deep, azure eyes of Lord Patrick Day.

An impish grin spread across Amy's face, and she held out a hand.

He stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. Inwardly, Amy started to count, interested how long it would take him to figure things out. One...two...three...

His Lordship's eyes narrowed. Reaching into his pocket, he removed his wallet, pulled out a penny and pressed it into her hand.

"Thank ye very much." Her grin widened, and she pocketed the coin. "As for me thoughts..." Glancing around at the giggling girls and hilariously helpless farmers, "I was thinkin' dis is what we're fightin' for."

An answering smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Putting innocent butchers out of work?"

"Ha! Maybe dat, too. But no, I was talkin' about dis." She gestured at the happy children chasing bunnies across the meadow. Biting her lower lip, she hugged herself instinctively. "It almost feels like..."

"A family?"

Amy's head jerked around to stare at Patrick, who only now seemed to notice what he had said. He froze—then, after a moment, his eyes softened. Amy felt colour rise to her cheeks.

What was dat again about dere never bein' a possibility of anythin' serious between ye two?

Shut up, inner voice! You're ruining the mood!

"Yes." Reaching out seemingly without even being aware of it, Patrick gently touched the back of Amy's hand. "Family is something wonderful."

Then, after a moment...

"Don't let my mother know you heard me say that."

Amy chuckled.

"What would ye pay ta buy me silence?"

Patrick leaned forward, his eyes intent on her, until his face was only inches away from hers. "What do you wish for?"

Breathe, Amy. Breathe!

What did she wish for?

That question opened up a whole pit full of secret desires she had never dared to voice. Desires that a girl from the slums ought not to have! Mustn't have! Things that only happened in the romance novels she definitely didn't hide underneath her bed. And suddenly she saw these things reflected in Lord Patrick's eyes.

And he stared right back at her.

"Pray, what are you thinking about now?"

You.

She shivered at the single, solitary word whispered in the depths of her mind, quickly banishing it. Banishing it as far away as it would go.

She couldn't admit that! She could never admit that!

Especially not to herself.

Desperately, she searched for an answer. Something to say, to distract him, until her eyes fell on...

"Bunny poo," she told him.

"Interesting. I—wait, what?"

Amy indicated the fragrant little brown pellets in the grass between them with an innocent smile, causing His Most Esteemed Lordship to yelp and scramble to his feet with admirable alacrity.

So much for the romantic meadow scene. I wonder why dis never 'appens in romance novels? Poo is everywhere! Not ta speak of bugs and ants, dose bitey little buggers.

Although this kind of scene also had its advantages, she admitted, grinning up from the ground at a frantic Lord Patrick hopping around, flapping his clothes, trying to clean off the dastardly dirt that dared to attach itself to his august self.

"Oy, are ye gonna strip?" she enquired. "Not dat I object to a little show, mind ye, but dere are children present. Maybe we should get away from da brats first. Dere's a nice shed over dere, and—"

If she thought he'd moved fast before, it was nothing to what he did now. In an instant, he knelt above her, a hand pressing down on her mouth.

"Don't you dare!" His voice was implacable. Unassailable. Like a mighty fortress none but a madman would dare to challenge.

Luckily, Amy had never claimed to be particularly sane.

"Are you grinning, Miss Amy Weston?" He enquired, eyes narrowing. "What, pray, do you find so amusing?"

"'ow about da fact dat ye look like ye're about ta mount me in front of witnesses?" She suggested, blinking up at him as innocently as a dove with a criminal record on several dozen rooftops. Wasn't life fun? "Da five brats are probably too busy bunnycuddling ta notice, but da farm workers seem ta be very interested in Yer Lordship's activities..."

He was up again so fast Amy hardly had time to blink. Couldn't he make his mind up? Up, down, up, down...

It was really hard for Amy not to get naughty thoughts. Especially when his finely chiselled cheeks were flaming in a most regal (and not at all embarrassed) royal red.

"What," he demanded, giving the farm staff a look that could have sent Napoleon running, "are you standing around there for, staring? Get back to work!"

"Err..." One of the farm hands swallowed, his gaze flicking from Lord Patrick, to the bunnies currently being cuddled by five fervent children, to the abandoned butcher knives lying on the ground.

Lord Patrick cleared his throat. "Nevermind. Do not get back to work. In fact, get away from here as far as possible, as fast as possible."

"Aye, My Lord! Right away, My Lord!"

Looking delighted, the three of them raced off like a sprinter towards a pay raise. Amy was just pondering how best to continue her little game of Tease the Lord, when she noticed the man didn't seem to be paying attention to her anymore. Instead, he was staring at the knives on the ground.

"Amy?"

"What's up, Pea?"

He didn't even react. All right, something was definitely up.

Glancing up from the ground, he gazed at the girls and the bunnies, who looked like they had already been adopted. A thoughtful look entered his eyes.

"I suddenly remembered one of my farms in Wostershire is in need of fresh breeding stock. I wonder...would your friend's husband likely object to my purchasing some small farm animals?"

Right then, Amy felt she could fall in love with this man.

***

Roughly half an hour later, Miss Amy, Lady Wetherston, Miss Jenny, a bulky bodyguard, a dubious best friend named Titus, and a Lord of the Realm who was asking himself how he had ever thought this was a good idea, sat in the coach together with five giggling girls who were clutching their brand-new bunnies.

"Oy, look!" A furry bundle was thrust into His Lordship's face, ears twitching, eying him as if trying to figure out whether he was a lettuce leaf. "Ain't 'e cute? So adorable!"

Hurriedly he nodded, assuring her that the creature did indeed fulfil the requirements for adorableness. Quickly, the girl moved on to the next victim.

"'ere, what do ye think?" Eyes shining like a pyromaniac's match collection, Flo held up the fluffy furball. "Ain't 'e cute?"

Karim looked at the representative of the species oryctolagus cuniculus, or at least attempted to. Looking at something that is approximately half an inch from your face was not, apparently, a skill that Karim had mastered. It also made it rather difficult for the man to realize what the rabbit was doing until it was too late.

"Ika gadhē dā putara! What is that beast doing?"

Instinctively, Karim's hand shot to his saber. Flo, Patrick, and nearly everyone else, however, were focused on the bunny nibbling on his beard.

"Oh, look!" Flo exclaimed. "She likes ye!"

For a moment, Lord Patrick closed his eyes. Oh dear. Maybe this was not such a good idea after all.

Leaning over, Aggy, who had somehow managed to acquire a pair of scissors from somewhere, batted her eyes up at the bodyguard. In her arms, her bunny batted its eyelashes as well.

"I think she likes it, too. Can I 'ave some?"

She raised her scissors.

"If you dare," Karim said, somehow managing to give both the girl and bunny a death-glare at the same time, "I shall contact a butcher acquaintance of mine. And I shall leave it up to him which of you he shall turn into shish kebab."

"Please? Pretty please? Just a little bit? I think he's hungry." She lifted her scissors hopefully.

Where exactly had she gotten those scissors? Was the girl starting a blade collection? Lord Patrick filed those questions away for later, when he had access to protective clothing and more than just one bodyguard.

"No. No, no, and once more, no." Karim's face was implacable, and Lord Patrick Day, for his part, was thoroughly glad that he had never decided to grow a beard.

"Well, den maybe..." Aggie's eyes slid over to him, hopefully, at which point His Lordship remembered that, in spite of the lack of a beard, he still had plenty of hair. And eyebrows. "'ow about ye? Ye're inta charity, ain't ye? 'ow about givin' a little donation?"

Lord Patrick Day opened his mouth—and it remained open, waiting for suitable words to appear. They seemed unwilling to schedule an appointment with a mere Peer of the Realm.

"Ye know," an angelic voice from his left cut in just then, "I do believe bunnies' main food ain't actually 'air, from a beard or otherwise."

Turning to the side, Lord Patrick gazed at Miss Amy Weston, who had never seemed to be as beautiful as she looked in this moment.

"Hmm..." Aggie glanced around, inspecting the upholstery, Titus's bowler hat, the metal luggage rack and anything else that looked mildly edible. "What kind of food do dey eat, exactly?"

"Not that," Lord Patrick informed her. He was about as knowledgeable on the subject of animal feeds as Henry VIII had been regarding celibacy, but he was fairly certain rabbits did not like to bite brass.

"Den what?"

His Lordship glanced around. By the looks of it, not just Aggie was interested in that question. Five pairs of pleading eyes, ten if you counted the animalistic ones, gazed up at him entreatingly.

He cleared his throat. "Say...Mr Karim, are you perchance aware whether Lord Wetherston happens to own a farm where lettuce is grown?"

Karim gazed at the five pairs of hopeful eyes eyeing him—and in particular his beard.

"Definitely!" he stated. "In fact, I am certain there are many, with a great supply of lettuce sufficient for hundreds of animals."

"Wonderful!" Lord Patrick struck the roof of the coach with his cane, alerting the driver. "Onward! Let us get going!"