The waiter looked at Amy, squirming, his eyes flitting over their little group. He cleared his throat.

"Miss, I'm afraid this is...not in accordance with restaurant policies."

"It ain't?" the young woman innocently enquired. "But dis is a restaurant, ain't it? A place for eatin'?"

"Yes, but..." Once again, the waiter threw a glance towards the children and, in particular, the bunnies they were holding, who were quite happily munching on lettuce leaves. "Not like that!"

That was the moment when Lord Patrick Day decided to make his presence known. Clearing his throat, he stepped up behind the waiter.

"May I ask, is there anything the matter?" His Lordship enquired, cocking an eyebrow. "If you have any objections to my dinner guests, by all means, go ahead and voice them."

"Objections?" The waiter whirled around to face him. "Of course I have objections! You cannot simply—"

That was when he first truly took in Lord Patrick Day. Golden hair. A face that could make angels cry. A meticulously handcrafted suit straight from Savile Row, that probably cost more than this entire restaurant.

"Gmfdmph," the waiter said.

"You were saying there is something I cannot do?"

"N-no! Of course not!"

"That's what I thought."

"Please come this way, Mister..."

"No. Not Mister." Lord Patrick nodded, picking the stack of menus from the waiter's hands. Fishing a chequebook out of his pocket, one that just happened to have his personal crest emblazoned upon it, he jotted down a number with numerous zeroes in it and, with a flick of the pen, added his signature. Tearing off the cheque, he held it out towards the waiter with the coat of arms clearly displayed.

"This should be sufficient, I believe. You may consider the remainder your tip for the day."

The waiter's eyes zeroed in on the cheque and, in particular, the number and the name.

And title.

"Y-yes, My Lord! Definitely, My Lord!"

"Oh, and have some of your best wines brought to the table. And fruit juice for the children."

"Right away, My Lord! I'll be back in a moment!"

He dashed off into the kitchen and, to judge by the look on his face, as far away from the farm animals invading his restaurant as he could possibly get.

Lord Patrick turned towards where Amy and the beaming children sat, one corner of his mouth curling up into a smile.

Sometimes, he thought to himself, it is marvellous to be a lord.

Then his eyes fell on the adults sitting at one end on the table, clearly discussing something not meant for the ears of the children—or rabbits—on the other end.

And sometimes, it is a heavy responsibility.

"So...what are you plotting, if I may enquire?"

The five looked up at him guiltily—well, except Amy, who was eyeing his chequebook, and Titus, who had never felt guilt for anything in his life.

"Is it dat obvious?" the vicar's wife raised an eyebrow.

"Well..." He glanced over at the five children who were quite happily hugging their munching bunnies, completely oblivious to what was happening. Then his gaze flicked to the adult group sitting at the opposite end of the table, out of hearing range of even the largest, most acute bunny ears, huddled together like a bunch of conspirators. "The setup is not particularly well-disguised. Besides..." Lowering her voice, he added, "Do you think I was not expecting this? Why do you think I came up with this idea in the first place?"

A light flared in Amy's eyes, and her gaze abruptly flicked back and forth between His Lordship and the children with their brand-new pets.

"You mean..."

"Yes. They do look rather preoccupied, do they not? Far too preoccupied to follow around a couple of boring adults and get involved in their plans, no matter how...interesting they might be."

Titus whistled. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...you sneaky little bastard! I admire you."

But Lord Patrick didn't pay nearly as much attention to his old friend as to Miss Amy Weston, whose deep emerald eyes were gazing straight at him. "I second dat," she said softly.

"They also," Lord Patrick added, holding her gaze for a moment, then glancing over at the children, his voice suddenly sounding far too soft for a proper peer of the realm, "look very happy."

"Let's keep it dat way, shall we?" the vicar's wife suggested.

"Agreed." Karim growled, caressing his sabre with one finger, which reminded Lord Patrick eerily of the way the children were stroking their bunnies. "By separating that duke's head from his neck, I would suggest."

"Splendid plan," Titus agreed, miming applause. "There's just one tiny little problem: the bloody freaking castle wall that's in the way."

"We will talk about that tonight," Lord Patrick said with finality, "when we don't have an...audience. But before that," he added with a solemn face, "we need to take care of something very important."

"Which is what?" Amy enquired, cocking an eyebrow.

"Purchasing bunny supplies," he said with a solemn face. "Does anyone know if there is a pet store in this village?"

After the meal, and after Amy had emptied Jo's pocket of several golden salt shakers, they stepped out of the restaurant. Aggie was somewhat reluctant to let go of the steak knife, but in the end, she relented and let herself be led towards the exit.

"Spoilsport," the little girl grumbled as she was dragged out of the restaurant into the busy, open street.

"It belongs to the restaurant. And in any case, you cannot go around carrying it in public," Patrick told her, sternly.

"Fine!" A smile appeared on her face, and she pulled out her trusty old pigsticker, starting to clean her fingernails. "After all, I still have dis one."

"You!" Hurriedly, Lord Patrick leapt in front of the girl, shielding the preadolescent and her ginormous murder-instrument from the view of the passers-by. A middle-aged woman cast him a suspicious glance, and he returned her a beaming smile.

What was that about it being wonderful to be a lord?

"Put that away!" he hissed. "You cannot keep it like that!"

Aggie took a step back, holding her bunny protectively in front of her knife. Patrick made a mental note to have a long talk with the girl about priorities.

"Ye can't 'ave it! I won't let go!"

Patrick stared at her for a long moment—then he turned abruptly, marched over to a nearby stand selling handmade dolls for children, grabbed a doll and pressed fifty pounds into the shocked owner's hand. Whirling around, he strode back to Aggie and, in the most age-inappropriate enema in the history of the world, rammed the doll onto the knife.

"Now you can keep it."

Aggie grinned, hugging her dolly close. "Dis is gonna be my favorite toy!" Holding her up the doll face to face with her bunny, she beamed down and the both of them. "Throatripper, meet Stabby!"

"You...named your rabbit Throatripper?" The honourable Titus Irving enquired.

"Aye, I did." The little girl raised Stabby, pointing the smiling doll face threateningly at the gentleman. "Do ye 'ave any problems with dat?"

Titus retreated swiftly, both hands raised. "None whatsoever."

"I agree." Karim nodded. "An excellent name."

"Spiffin'!" Beaming, the little girl snuggled her two treasures, who seemed to be getting along swimmingly. At least one hadn't yet killed the other. Then Aggie hurried over to the other girls, and they all huddled together, giggling and comparing their new treasures. Patrick watched the scene, and for some reason, was unable to look away.

"Aye." Smirking, Amy stepped up beside him. "Ye definitely got dem dose furry little beasts ta distract dem from our plans. I bet dat was da only reason."

"Miss Amy?"

"Aye?"

"There are many beautiful gorges, canyons and chasms in nature. But sarcasm isn't one of them."

"Ye don't say, Pea."

"Ehem, well." Tugging at his lapels, Lord Patrick stepped forward, gesturing down the busy village street. "The girls still haven't gotten a good look at the town. Let's go shopping, shall we?"

"Show Ping?" Flo cocking her head, Jo frowned up at him over the ears of her bunny. "What's a Show Ping?"

Lord Patrick felt a tug at his heart as he gazed down at the guileless face of the little girl. She...she didn't even know what the word meant. Granted, it probably was because she'd been shoplifting all her life, but...heck! Who cares? "Well, let's show you then, shall we?" And, taking her hand, he led her and the others down the street towards the nearest sweet shop.

***

It turned out to be the wildest, weirdest shopping tour Amy had ever been on in her entire life. For one, Amy had never seen shop owners who were so worshipfully grateful that orphaned street brats with bunnies on their shoulders wanted to browse their stores. Somehow, it seemed that the local lord—cough cough, Ambrose, cough cough—didn't spend particularly much money in the area. Then there was the way the girls themselves behaved. Those tough-as-nails, nimble little street rats, who were just about as likely to bite your hand as shake it, were suddenly acting like shy little daisies in the morning dew. Whenever one of the shop assistants approached, or Patrick asked whether they'd like this or that, they hid behind the closest shelf, suddenly seeming to find their feet very interesting.

No one 'as ever bought anythin' for dem, Amy suddenly realized. No one 'as ever taken dem shoppin'. Dey always 'ad ta beg or steal.

"How about this?" Lord Patrick enquired, offering a fiery red and, by the looks of it, wonderfully warm Kashmir shawl to Leona. Cocking an eyebrow, he gazed at the bunny snuggled around her bare neck. "It matches your hair. And I'm sure it'll do just as good a job of warming you as your furry little stole."

"I..." The lanky girl shifted her feet. The bunny on her neck fiercely glared at Patrick for daring to want to take its place. Amy decided to give the plucky bunny some lettuce later. "I don't know...It looks so expensive, and...and..."

Lord Patrick knelt, until he was on eye-level with the red-headed hellion. "And you are worth it," he told her. "Every single penny."

Amy watched as Lord Patrick gathered the miffed bunny up in his arms, and Leona turned towards the nearest mirror, gazing at her new shawl with wide, awe-filled eyes. The rabbit took the chance to start chewing on his bow-tie. It looked so...

No! Don't think "cute"! Don't ye dare! Men are vile, despicable piles of shit who only think about layin' without payin'! Dere ain't no such thing as a...a...

What?

A good man?

She had seen quite a few despicable villains in her life—most often on Mondays and Tuesdays. Many despicable perverts who'd found it enjoyable to..."play dressup" with girls.

But not like this. Never like this.

She watched the chiselled face of the man kneeling in front of the little girl. His piercing, earnest blue eyes. His strong back. His bloody honourable ears! His honourable everything! He didn't look like a bad man. He looked like a handsome king with his little princess.

Aye...'e definitely bought dem dose bunnies as a mere distraction. It wasn't at all 'cause 'e's a goody-six-shoes! Two for him, and four for 'is beautiful white steed 'e rides on ta rescue damsels in distress by da dozen!

In the past, whenever she'd seen such a man, all she wanted to do was punch the lying bastard in the bollocks. But now...now, all she felt was a yearning in her chest.

And she definitely wasn't interested in his bollocks! Not in any way, shape or form!

"Here." Pulling a cute little bonnet off a nearby mannequin, she held it out to Leona. "Try dat on. I think it'll suit ye fabulously!"

And, without him noticing, she placed a second cute bonnet on the head of Lord Patrick Day. What was the use of a shopping trip without a little fun, after all?

The rest of the day, they toured the village, visiting every single store and stall, leaving money and store owners filled with happiness in their wake. Not as much happiness as Amy saw shining in the eyes of the girls, though. The whole day was a blast—especially the part where Flo set fire to a barrel of flour at the general store. The store owner didn't buy any matches from her, but he did sell them a pile of wood splinters, a scorched carpet, and half a ton of assorted, flour-covered foodstuffs. All in all, it was the most amazing shopping trip Amy had ever been on. And if she got nibbled on by various bunnies at some point during the afternoon, she didn't mind at all.

That night, when all five children had been put to bed—God bless ginormous mansions with more bedrooms than hairs on an alpaca—Amy stood at the door of Flo's room, gazing at the little girl who lay there in the bed, hugging her sister. Patrick and the others were already outside, waiting for her. Waiting to start the planning session that had been long in coming. She had just wanted to check on the hoard of miniature mischief-maker—ehem, children. Aggie, Leona and Grace were already fast asleep, as were their long-eared companions. So was Jo. Only Flo still lay awake with half-open eyes, snuggled into her pillow.

Smiling, Amy wandered over and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"'ello dere. Still awake?"

"Aye." An answering smile flitted over Flo's half-asleep face. "Lots ta think about. Lots 'appening."

"Yep." Turning her head, Amy glanced over at the corner, where two bunnies, one smaller and one bigger, were slumbering right beside each other in their comfy cage. "Ye can say dat again."

"Amy?"

"Aye?" Amy turned back towards the girl, meeting her heavy-lidded gaze.

"Thank ye for today," the sleepy little girl mumbled, clutching her new toy bunny, an almost exact replica of the one slumbering peacefully in the cage in the corner. "It was...it was...well, just thank ye."

"Ye're welcome," Amy whispered, stroking the head of the little girl who could hardly keep her eyes open.

"And..."

"Aye?"

Suddenly, the little girl's oh-so-sleepy eyes snapped open, zeroing in on Amy with intense focus. "And if ye think dat's enough ta pull one over on me, think again!"

Oh, crap!

Amy tried her very best to look innocent for a moment—then gave up when Flo pinched her butt, and sent the girl a glare.

"Since when did ye know?"

"Ye mean dat Lord Goldilocks tried ta pa-trick us into forgettin' what we're really 'ere for? From da very start, of course!"

"Why didn't ye say anything?"

"Hm...let me think...why didn't I tell da stinkin' rich nob with too much cash ta fit in Loch Ness dat 'e should stop feedin' us tasty stuff and givin' us big fat loads of presents? I wonder..."

Amy looked down at the little girl with the angelic expression on her face.

"Tell me—why did I ever think I could bamboozle ye inta doin' anythin'?"

Flo nodded wisely. "Very good question."

"But, look 'ere!" Crossing her arms in her best impression of a responsible adult, Amy stared the little girl down. "Goldilo-um, I mean Patrick might 'ave tried ta trick ye, but 'e 'ad a bloody good reason! Ye really can't come with us! It's much too dangerous for children, and—"

Just then, she felt a painful prick. Looking down, she saw, in the exact same spot she had been pinched earlier, the tip of a very sharp, very dangerous knife.

"All right, point taken! Ye're big, bad street brats and ye want in on da action. But talkin' about dis whole thing is pointless anyway. So far, we 'aven't bin even able ta come up with a way ta get into da castle."

"Well..." Flo's smile widened, and suddenly it didn't look quite so innocent and angelic anymore. Unless you counted certain fallen angels whose names rhymed with Juicy Fur. "Ain't ye lucky dat at least one of us got brains and looks?"

***

About five very enlightening minutes later, Amy strode out into the gardens and towards a familiar tree stump, where the other four were already waiting.

"Where were ye?" Cora demanded.

"Waylaid by a miniature devil," Amy informed her in passing, then cocked an eyebrow at Jenny. "Remind me ta ask yer 'usband for 'elp."

She nodded somberly. "I'll tell 'im ta dust off da exorcism manual."

"Interesting though your banter may no doubt be," Karim told them, his face about as interested as a tiger in vegetarianism, "but can we turn to the matter at hand? It is not as if those juveniles could interfere in our plans now."

"Ehem, quite right." Amy cleared her throat, trying her best to look innocent. Luckily, thanks to the fifty-seven times she'd lost her virginity, she had a lot of practise. "Let's get down ta business."

Reaching out, she pointed down. Everyone's gaze followed her hand towards a certain hand-drawn map atop the tree stump.

"Da kids are in dere," Amy spoke, grimly. "Dey're definitely in dere. We just ain't got no idea exactly where."

"What?" the bodyguard demanded. "Then what good was the whole charade we just performed?"

"We ain't got no idea where da children are," Amy repeated, exchanging a dark glance with Patrick, their little trip through the castle still firmly in their mind. "But we know where Arrendyle keeps 'is castoffs."

"Castoffs?" The sound that escaped Jenny was like the growl of a mama bear. Emphasis on "bear". The kind with big, sharp teeth. Amy didn't blame her.

"It seems," Patrick took over, his face darkening, "that when they get a little too old for his tastes, His Grace generously shares them with his loyal men. The women are being held in the place that used to be the castle infirmary. Right—" Leaning forward, he tapped a spot on the map. "—here."

"So...we came here to get children, and now we'll be getting mature ladies instead?" Titus brightened. "I vote yes! When do we go and—"

"Feckless idiot!" Patrick gave his best friend a solid thump, cutting him off. "Do you have a brain made of brandy or something?"

He brightened. "No, but that's an excellent idea—ummph!"

"Ye've gotten better at under'anded fighting," Amy nodded approvingly. "Go on like dat, and soon ye'll be quite passable."

"Thank you kindly." Patrick inclined his head and, for good measure, gave Titus a jab in the ribs.

With an approving nod, Amy stepped up to the map and tapped it in the same place Patrick had. "Da women in dat place may not be Arrendyle's playthings anymore, but dey sure as 'ell 'ave bin for quite a while! Some of dem, I bet, 'ave bin with 'im quite recently. Don't ye think dat, once we get dem out of dat 'ell'ole, dey might be more dan willing ta point us in da right direction?"

"Somehow," Patrick said, "I have a feeling they will be very eager to do the polite thing and show the lost strangers the way. Well-mannered people are easy to find if you look in the right place."

"That's all well and good, but there's one little problem." Leaning forward, still clutching his ribs, Titus pointed at the paper, encircling most of it with one gesture. "Not that I want to play the devil's advocate here..."

"Good," Patrick said. "Because no sane devil would hire you. You never finished your legal studies."

Amy fought hard. She fought very, very hard. I ain't gonna smile at what dat son of a bachelor said! I ain't gonna smile! I ain't gonna—