From the very beginning, Lord Patrick Day had known this would be one of the worst, most traumatic days of his life. First, his mother had invited him out for tea. With her friends. In a pink tea salon! Then, they started chatting with him about his new girlfriend. Then, said girl had shown up, shown them all the middle finger, almost revealed she was a prostitute and told his mother all about how they'd slept together on multiple occasions and spent lots of time in sex dungeons.

Of course, he could have explained to his mother that while he had, indeed, slept with the lady in question, there had not been any lack of clothes involved. And while he had indeed been in a sex dungeon, it had been for purely altruistic, charitable reasons.

Or, alternatively, he could have jumped off the Big Ben tower. It would have probably had similar results for his continued health and status as a living being.

So, there was no doubt about it. This was the worst day of his life.

Or at least it would have been, if not for what happened next.

"Well! Girl, don't you worry!" His mother exclaimed, patting Amy on her head. "I won't let you be used and tossed aside. My son is going to have to take responsibility!"

Amy stared at her for a long, long moment—then he had the pleasure of seeing an utterly traumatized, horrified expression spreading over her face. He should probably feel offended that this expression was a reaction to the prospect of marrying him, but...

Screw it! That expression...it's just too much bloody fun!

That thought was probably unbefitting of a gentleman.

Oh, so what? Screw it!

Yes, screw it with an extra large screwdriver. This was marvellous. Especially since the expression on Amy's face was still shifting in horrifically adorable ways.

My oh my, Miss Amy. How do you like falling into the pit you dug yourself?

"He...he...and me?" she croaked. "Ye blithering idi—ehem, Yer Ladyship, ye can't be serious! I...I'm a wench from da streets, and 'e is, well..."

"Oh, don't worry, my dear." Taking one of Amy's hands between hers, the dowager duchess patted it gently. "With things the way they are, I know the two of you can never be together."

Again, Patrick found the audible sigh of relief from the devious young woman sitting opposite him almost insulting. Almost, since he actually felt a twinge of relief. For a moment, he'd actually thought his mother would make the two of them tie the kno—

"That's why you'll only be married after you, my dear, have been trained to act like a proper lady."

Oh fudge.

He'd misheard, right? She couldn't possibly just have said that!

Yes, definitely.

The expression on Amy's face, however—he was most definitely not mistaken about that. Goodness gracious! The expression on her face! It was hilarious, almost as if she really believed his mother would force them to...

She wouldn't, would she?

No. A working girl from the wrong side of town, marrying a peer of the realm? She would kill whomever dared to suggest such a scandal could be connected with the noble House of Day. As for facilitating it herself? Ha!

Never.

He knew his mother best, after all.

Feeling reassured, Lord Patrick had to work harder than ever not to smirk at the expression on Amy's face. Nothing might come of this in the end—but that was no reason to not let it continue for a while, as long as the joke was still amusing.

You've taken your teasing a step too far, girl. Let's see you pay the price for it. Have fun dealing with my mother.

Amy gulped. "T-trained, Yer Ladyship?"

"Yes, isn't it wonderful?" Lady Henrietta beamed. "You'll be learning all the fine arts a young lady needs to display her accomplishments. Music, singing, drawing, dancing, all the modern languages—"

Did his mother realize she was very nearly quoting Pride and Prejudice?

"—and, of course, I shall find someone to instruct you in proper manners, my dear. You are a pretty young woman, and I'm sure you have, ehem...talents of your own. With a bit of polishing, a little instruction on how to pace your steps and display elegance in every motion, you shall be the perfect lady!"

"Oh, um...err...how...wonderful."

Wonderful indeed! Simply splendid! The mere thought of watching Miss Amy Weston receiving lessons in proper manners... from his mother, of all people! And all due to the very hole she had dug for herself! She couldn't even protest against it! This was going to be so hilariously funny!

It was only when his mother's fanatical, delighted, baby-crazy make-me-a-grandma gaze landed on him that he remembered the purpose of those lessons was to prepare Amy for one thing:

Marriage to him.

On second thoughts, maybe she had been serious about that, after all.

Well...

Fiddlesticks.

***

In his office in another part of London, Arlen Red Hendrickson, Chief Editor, was muttering and cursing. Or at least it was probably him. It was hard to tell, seeing as he was hidden behind ginormous mountains of paper.

"Thrice-blasted Lord and his three-penny upright! Gallivanting off and leaving me with all the paperwork! Oh, it'll be easy, Arlen! Just sit down and interview a couple dozen kids, Arlen. What can be so difficult about that, Arlen? Of course, they didn't feel any need to mention how amazingly fascinating it would be to go through about a hundred wildly differing eye-witness accounts by traumatized pre-teens! Spiffing! Simply spiffi—"

The voice suddenly cut off.

For several seconds, silence pervaded the room, then—

"Gawblimey!"

The paper mountains shook from a table quake as a meaty fist collided with the desktop. The chief editor's fist slammed onto the wood once more, and again, the papers shook.

"Jenkins!"

About two and three-quarter seconds after the roar, a pale minion stuck his head into the office. "Y-yes, Sir?"

Hendrickson held up a slim stack of papers. "This interview transcript you cobbled together! Is it accurate?"

"A-as far as I'm aware, I believe—"

"Scrap your wishy-washy nonsense! Is it accurate or not?"

The minion chewed on his lower lip for a moment—then straightened and nodded. "Yes. Yes, Sir, it is."

Another moment of silence passed. Then, a big hand shoved aside one of the piles of paper, and Mr Hendrickson stared at his subordinate with an unusually calm and solemn expression.

"Get me a messenger boy! I've got a note to send to those two interfering busybodies!"

***

Amy was intensely aware of something. One single thing that blocked out anything else: the two of them were now alone together.

Amy stared at Lord Patrick.

Lord Patrick stared at Amy.

Amy glanced away.

Lord Patrick inspected his feet.

"So..." He cleared his throat. "About what just happened...what the dowager duchess said—"

"Aye?" Amy's head jerked around to face him.

Only then did she realize she might have overreacted just a tiny little bit for someone who definitely wasn't romantically interested in anyone. Absolutely not! She felt colour rushing to her face, almost as if she...blushed?

Crap! What da 'ell did I do dat for!

She couldn't look away from him! And yet, she couldn't look him straight in the eye, either. Dammit! This wasn't supposed to have happened!

She glanced at him again. Time to restart this conversation. In a calm and collected manner that demonstrated how completely unaffected by him she was.

"Aye? What about what she said?"

Their eyes met, for just a second.

Colour rose to his cheeks.

And to hers, dammit!

"The...ceremony she wants us to perform..."

By now, the blush on Amy's face was an out-of-control forest fire. "Y-yes? What about it?"

"Of course we will not go through with it."

"Of course, ye numbnuts!"

Turning towards her, he stared her down. Or at least attempted to. For some reason, he didn't seem quite able to meet her eyes. "I could never contemplate marriage to someone such as yourself!"

Defiantly, she raised her chin. "Right back at ye, ye cocky nob bastard!"

He leaned forward, down towards her. "Don't you think that, merely because of that...tactic I used during our spar, I am in any way interested in you beyond your role as a guide."

"Ha! As if I'd care!"

"I am merely going along with this temporarily for my mother's sake. I—"

"—am a mama's boy?"

His eyes narrowed even further. "—doubt you shall last long in any case. Although I hope you will last at least a few days under my mother's gentle ministrations. You should get the opportunity to enjoy at least a few of your...'lessons'."

Amy cocked an eyebrow. "Ye mean just as much as ye've enjoyed yers?"

One corner of Patrick's mouth quirked up. "Revenge is a dish best served hot."

"Ye...!" Amy speared him with a glare. "Ye are a petty, vengeful son of a—"

Just then the door opened and the duchess rushed inside.

"—wonderful lady," Amy finished. "Son of a wonderful lady."

Patrick smirked. Amy's hands twitched with the intense desire to strangle him.

"Why, thank you, dear!" the dowager duchess beamed at her. "I had no idea you thought so highly of me! This makes me all the more glad of the tidings I bring. I just managed to contact Mademoiselle Renoir! And she has actually agreed to teach you. Can you imagine?"

No, not really. 'cause I've got no bloody clue who mad muzzle Renoir is!

"Moidemoselle Renoir you say? How, um, wonderful! I'm lost for words!"

"I know, so am I! The best etiquette teacher in all of Europe, straight from the royal court of France, coming to teach you, isn't it wonderful?" The dowager duchess's smile widened. "Of course, she is as strict as the devil's private torturer and has left quite, ehem...deep impressions on her students, but that hardly matters if one can be privileged enough to receive such teaching, right?"

Amy's heart sank. About eight thousand miles, straight to the earth's core.

"R-right. I mean who wouldn't want something like that?"

Lord Patrick grinned—until his mother turned her gaze on him. "Especially with such a charming dancing partner, correct?"

Suddenly, it was Amy who was smiling. Especially once she meaningfully smashed her foot down onto his, a promise of things to come.

***

"Would you like me to hold your parasol, Miss?"

"Would you like me to help you into the coach, Miss?"

Well...this was certainly not something Amy had expected to happen. Not that she was complaining.

"Would you like some refreshment, Miss?"

"Anything else we can do for you, Miss?"

Amy grinned and leaned back in the coach seat, as if it were a royal throne. "I think I could get used ta dis."

The two young women in maid outfits that sat in the coach with the two of them giggled, and one of them opened a box full of tasty treats, offering it to Amy.

"I do not," Lord Patrick Day stated, his voice frosty, his eyes boring into the two unfortunate maids, "need chaperons."

"Oh, I disagree," Amy told him, picking out one of the delicious morsels and plopping it into her mouth. Then she gestured to the two maids. "Go on, ye two 'ave some as well."

"R-really, Miss?" The young women's eyes widened.

"Sure. After all..." I winked and nudged them in the ribs. "Us maids need ta stick together. One never knows when some stuck-up nobleman is gonna show up ta interfere in our lives."

The two girls giggled, and pointedly did not glance over at Lord Patrick. Smirking, each of them grabbed a piece of chocolate, then offered Amy another one.

Somehow, she had a feeling she was gonna get along great with these girls. Wasn't it kind of Her Ladyship to assign her two such lovely servants to protect her from the wicked, villainous lord that had besmirched her virtue? Especially since they apparently also had the job of catering to her every wish and whim.

That might take a while to get used to.

Humming contentedly, Amy savoured the delicious chocolate in her mouth. Yes, it was definitely going to take a while. A tremendously tasty, delicious while.

But before Amy could contemplate how long exactly she was going to need to truly appreciate her new company (and sweets), the coach started to slow down. She glanced outside, just in time to see them coming to a stop in front of Lord Patrick Day's town house.

Only...

They weren't the only ones there.

She frowned at the nervous young man loitering in front of the entrance. She could swear she had seen him somewhere before. Now, where...?

Then it hit her.

Before she knew it, Amy was out of the coach and up the porch steps. Behind her, Lord Patrick, who seemed to have noticed the very same thing she had, was right on her heels.

"Ye dere!"

The young man whirled towards her.

"Miss! My Lord!"

"You." Lord Patrick gazed intently at the man. "You're from the paper. From Hendrickson."

"Aye, Sir!" The young man nodded solemnly. Bending forward, he lowered his voice. "Da chief editor sent me. 'e wanted me ta tell ye dat da questioning of da witnesses is finished."

In an instant, any disagreement that might have existed between Amy and Patrick was now forgotten. At least it was for her. She didn't know how Patrick felt on the issue, but that didn't matter. To her, the moment children's lives were at stake, all stupid little games were off the table.

Patrick straightened, his eyes flashing.

Ah. So, apparently, he felt the same.

So maybe I won't beat 'im violently ta death for the stunt 'e pulled. I'll just beat 'im ta death a tiny little bit.

"And?" Patrick demanded, pulling her back to the here and now as he leaned towards the messenger. "Good God, man, tell us! The investigations...what's the result?"

The young man swallowed and, with trembling hands, held out a piece of paper. "I...dunno, Sir. Mr Hendrickson didn't say. All 'e did was give me dis."

Snatching the paper, Amy unfolded it and froze. There, in scraggly, misshapen handwriting stood one simple, but oh so significant sentence.

I've found what we're looking for.

Amy exchanged a look with His Lordship.

"We've gotta go."

"Go?" Chaperon #1 asked from behind her. "But we only just got here, Miss. We should help you freshen up, and then maybe help you take a relaxing bath. And then maybe we could prepare you a bite to eat?"

Drat, dat's tempting! So bloody tempting!

On the one hand, a warm, wonderful, relaxing bath and scrumptious food. On the other hand, venturing into the worst parts of the East End to face a gang of murderous, kidnapping thugs. Was there really any choice?

"Why don't da two of ye go inside and ready dat bath," Amy told her chaperons. "We'll be inside in a minute."

"All right." Chaperon #2 winked. "But no funny business, Miss, right? Or the dowager duchess will have our heads."

"Oh, of course not!" Amy told them, crossing her fingers behind her back. "I would never!"

Smiling and nodding, the two young women dashed into the house. Amy waited until the door had shut behind her, then...

"So...now we run?"

"Now, we run."

And, leaping back into the coach, they slammed the doors shut.

"Drive, Everstone!" Patrick thumped his cane against the coach roof. "Drive!"

The carriage jerked and raced off down the road. Out of the corner of her eye, Amy watched Patrick who grimly gazed out into the foggy alleys rushing by. What was he thinking about?

Probably da same as ye, Amy—what's awaiting us in the East End.

This might not have been the best moment to add weight on his shoulders, but Amy simply couldn't help but point it out.

"So..." She cleared her throat.

"Yes?" he asked, still gazing grimly out into the fog.

"What do ye think yer mother's gonna do when she finds out we've run away together?"

Lord Patrick gulped. Suddenly, he found there were worse things than the nightmares of the East End.

***

The door to the shop slammed open. Which was quite impressive, considering that, a moment ago, it had been locked and barred.

"Oy!" Two massive figures, one looking like a human hammerhead shark, the other like he was distantly related to a troll, marched into the store. "Whoever owns dis dump, get yer arse out 'ere!"

There was a momentary pause. Then, cautiously, a plump little figure emerged from between the many racks of clothing.

"Um...hello, gentlemen. Freddy is my name, Freddy Farthingale. But most people just call me Freddy the Fisher. Welcome to my humble establishment. Can I interest you in a nice tweed suit? A bowler hat? A nice set of women's underwear, perhaps?"

The answer he got was a fist that only barely missed his face, slamming hard into the wall beside him.

"Perv! Does dat mean anythin' ta ye?"

Freddy blinked up at the huge man. "Um...you are one?"

A massive, meaty hand grabbed the shopkeeper's lapels. "Are ye fuckin' with me?"

"Definitely not, sir. You may be one, but I am not. I'm not really into those kinds of...deviant practises."

A moment later, when the grip tightened on his lapels, strangling him, he regretted his words.

"I ain't not talkin' about a bloody perv, ye idiot! I'm talkin' about Perv! Willy Perv! And don't ye dare lie ta me and tell me ye don't know who I'm talkin' about! Dat old hunchback of a jeweller saw 'im walkin' in 'ere with some twat!"

"Well...now that you mention it, I do seem to remember the gentleman."

"Smart. Real smart." A knife snapped open in the troll-like thug's hand. "Now spill."

"GotoTheWhiteHeartInn!They'vebeenthere!AskRoytheowner! Hecantellyouallyouwanttoknow!"

"Now, dat wasn't so difficult, was it?" The knife snapped shut again, and, smirking, the thug stepped back. "I suggest ye forget we were ever 'ere. Unless ye want us ta pay ye another visit. A much bloodier one."

With those ominous words hanging in the air, the goon gave a last goodbye by pushing over a rack full of clothes, then followed his companion out onto the street.

Freddy, for his part, remained leaning against the wall for a moment or two, catching his breath. Then, a smile spreading over his face, he moved towards the toppled clothes rack, pulled it up and methodically began dusting off his wares. Once he was finished, he went to his desk in the back room, scribbled a note and stepped out into the back alley. Whistling, he got the attention of one of the urchins playing in the street.

"Oy! Brats!"

"What ye want, guv?"

"Here." He held the slip of paper out to the urchin. "Take this to Amy. And be quick about it."

"Take it yerself, old bugger!"

Freddy pulled something shiny out of his pocket. "Three shillings when you get back."

The kid was gone faster than a flash.

***

Even farther away than a certain second-hand clothing store, in a very beautiful private tea salon, which for some reason seemed reminiscent of an evil villain's lair, sat a middle-aged lady, chuckling maniacally.

From the door came the cautious knocking of a very, very brave maid.

"Um...Your Grace?"

"...mwhahahahaha—ehem. Yes?"

"You, um...wanted to me to bring you the latest wedding catalogue to—"

Before the maid could finish, she was nearly torn off her feet as the catalogue was ripped from her hands.

"Ohhhh! Oh yes, that's exactly what I need! Gimme! Gimme!"

"Um...Your Ladyship? Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes! Ooooh...those roses are gorgeous! Mwahahahah! It's going to be so wonderful! And the grandbabies—"

"Um, Your Ladyship?"

"But no, I can't get ahead of myself. The wedding comes first. Well...probably. Darn dat brat! Getting frisky with the help? And not just once, not twice, but three times in a row! But it can't be helped now. Marrying a maid would be a shame for the House of Day. But not marrying her, not taking responsibility—that would be a shame for any son of mine! I'll just have to get her ennobled somehow. Hm. Victoria hasn't done me a favour for two weeks now. Seems like I'm going to have to pay a visit to Buckingham and remind that girl who changed her nappies when she was younger. Yes....yes, that should work. It will take some time to indoctrina—ehem, educate the young lady, but with effort and elbow grease, it can be done. That boy is going to get his way. Which does not mean I won't beat him black and blue later! Hm...I wonder what colour of wedding dress would match that. Or perhaps I should look for something contrasting?"

The old servant felt that, judging by her employer's facial expression, it would be a very, very bad idea to say aloud what she thought about that statement. Yet, considering the fact that her brother ran a pawnbroker's shop in the East End right next to a certain brothel, there was something she simply could not help but point out.

"Ehem, My Lady...that girl...she is a pr...a pr..."

She swallowed. The words refused to pass her lips.

"Yes?" The dowager duchess enquired, her baby-blue eyes sparkling with innocent anticipation.

"She's a pr...a pro..."

"Oh, that?" Smiling, dowager duchess patted her loyal servant on the arm. "Oh, I know all about that, silly."

"What?"

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of "Dawn of the Duchess"! Let me know what you think of the cover design for the second volume :)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob