The ravishingly handsome young man's hand clutched Amy's tightly and his sky-blue eyes gazed deeply into hers.

"Gagaga!" he exclaimed. "Want Teddy!"

Amy took a deep breath. "Ye can't 'ave yer Teddy right now, little squirt. We left it at 'ome."

The young man, heartbroken by the rejection, released a fragrant cloud of protest. "Want Teddy now!"

Someone is going ta pay for dis. Someone is going ta pay dearly! And I 'ave a good idea who...

"Well?" Sidling up to her, Lord Patrick Day sent her a beaming smile, a benevolent lord showing his concern for the help. "How is the vicar's new nanny doing?"

Amy sent him a gaze that probably should be outlawed as a dangerous weapon.

"I'm gonna get ye for dis."

"No doubt, Miss Amy. But after I get to watch you change diapers for an entire blissful evening."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Aren't ye supposed ta be some high and mighty lord? Don't ye 'ave better things ta do?"

"Sometimes, the simplest pleasures in life are the best," he shared his wisdom.

Amy glanced down at the tiny children in her arms, then back up at him. For a moment, she considered stuffing some of the simple pleasures contained in the babies' diapers in his face to check if that might change his opinion. But before she could, the sound of horse's hooves outside the carriage they all sat in cut off, and the coach came to a sudden stop.

"My Lords and Ladies?" the driver called. "We have arrived."

His Lordship extended an arm towards her. "Shall we go...oh, excuse me. Looks like you've got your hands full."

Using babies as projectiles is bad! Amy reminded herself. Using babies as projectiles is bad!

Unfortunately, she didn't have anything else to hurl at the bugger's head. She could just watch as the door was opened by the dutiful coachman, and Lord Patrick Day stepped out into the outside world as if it belonged to him.

"Don't be upset." Titus patted her shoulder. "He can be such a devious devil. Sometimes, even I am so scared of him that—owowowow! My finger! You can't bend it backwards like that!"

"Actually, I can," Amy helpfully explained. "I think I can bend it another three inches before it breaks. Maybe four. Wanna give it a try?"

"No! Nooooowowow! I don't! I definitely don't! Please, gentle lady, release me!"

"Release ye?" Amy smiled the smile she normally reserved for her most severely masochistic clients. "And why would I do dat after what ye've done?"

"Done?" He blinked up at her, the image of injured purity. "I haven't done anything. I'm as innocent as a newborn babe!"

The "innocent babes" in Amy's arms chose this prime opportunity to deposit some more fragrant essence into their diapers.

"Do ye think I'm stupid? Do ye think I don't know who really came up with this?" She held up the two babies like two bombs that were going to go off any moment, glaring out from under her demure, and coincidentally horrendously ugly, white nanny headdress. "Dat bloody knight in shiny armor called Patrick would rather fall on 'is own damn sword dan think up something so devious!"

"Now, now, I've known him for quite a while, he has done quite a number of devious things..."

"Like what?" Amy challenged.

Titus scratched his chin. "Um...stealing a biscuit from a biscuit jar when he was five?"

"And what 'appened next day?"

"Ehem...he apologized to the cook and cleaned the entire kitchen in compensation."

"I thought so." Amy considered what kind of tortures were sufficient for him to atone for this crime. In the end, only one thing came to mind. Her eyes flickered with sinister intentions. "Ye're gonna pay for dis!"

Titus Irving had already spent quite some time with her and, apparently, he had been paying attention. "H-how much?" he squeezed out between clenched teeth.

"Oh...I don't know...about two 'undred pounds?"

"Two hundred...! Don't you think that's a bit too muchowowowow! My finger!"

"Now it's three 'undred!"

"All right, all right!"

"Cash?"

"Yes, yes, cash! Right away." It was amazing how fast The Honourable Titus Irving could move when he wanted to. A moment later, a stack of notes was deposited in Amy's hand, and she started to count. Over the top of the bills, she smiled at him.

"Now do ye believe I can 'elp ye infiltrate a group of gangsters?"

"I—ow!—have no doubt you would be excellent at playing the role. Now could you please let go of my dear digit?"

"Sure." She sent him an innocent smile. "Den, once we're in the East End, ye can rely on me ta take care of ye, just like ye've bin takin' care of me 'ere." Meaningfully, she glanced down at her nanny costume, then looked up at him again. "Ye can look forward ta our adventures tagether. I'll be sure ta make dem...interestin'."

And, with a graceful nod, she stepped out of the carriage, leaving behind an increasingly regretful Titus Irving.

Amy had just reached the bottom of the coach stairs when Jenny and the vicar emerged from a second carriage, Karim and Cora not too far behind them. It had taken quite a bit of convincing to make Karim leave his three dozen heavily armed colleagues behind, and he had only given in because Amy had pointed out that, if all armed and bloodthirsty people were allowed to come, that would include Aggy, too.

"I still think we should have brought some of the men," Karim growled.

"And then what?" she shot back. "Alert da bloody duke dat something's up da moment we step through da door? We're supposed ta be in disguise, remember?"

The bodyguard cast a sideways glance at the pink shitcannons in Amy's arms. "It is rather hard to forget."

"Ye...!" Huffing, Amy aimed a kick at his shin—which he neatly dodged, darn him!—then marched past him to walk beside Jenny. Together, they all walked down the gravel pathway until they reached the top of the crest of the hill and looked down at the terrifying sight below.

"So..." Amy whispered. "Dat's it."

Ahead, at the end of the driveway cloaked in the darkness of the night, towered a castle. A freaking castle! With a mote! And turrets! And...and...oh, heck, she didn't even know the names of half the stuff! Yet one thing she knew. Everything was meant for one single purpose: keeping people out! As, most certainly, were the guards on the walls and around the perimeter. There was no disguise here, like at DeLacy's. The armed men in livery almost looked like soldiers—except for the look in their eyes. A look that no soldier should have, unless they fought for the king of hell.

And I should know. I live in Devil's Acre.

People in elegant clothes were walking down the driveway, completely uncaring of the heavily armed guards all around. After all, they were surely here to guard them and provide security at this auspicious occasion, were they not? Moreover, those nice people in pretty uniforms were so polite and helpful, seeing them to the door and making sure they didn't accidentally wander down the wrong corridor...

"Let's go, shall we?" Amy's eyes flicked to the one who had spoken, just in time to see Lord Patrick reach into his tailcoat to check his pistol. "Time to pay our respects to His Grace the Duke."

"Oh yes!" the vicar exclaimed. "Come on, Jenny, dear. Let's go. I have never been inside the Duke's castle. I must admit, I'm quite looking forward to seeing what it's like inside."

"As am I," his wife answered, her eyes fixed on the distant castle. "As am I. me dear."

"Is..." Sidling up to her friend from behind, Amy lowered her voice. "Is it a good idea ta bring along dese two?" And she nodded down at the two babies in her arms.

A frown flickered over Jenny's face. "I've thought about it. Dat bastard values nothing more dan 'is reputation. 'e'd never never do anything in public, in front of 'undreds of fancy guests. Besides..." Her face darkened. "I'd rather 'ave dem with me dan leave dem 'ome alone."

"Good point."

She sent me a pleading look. "Take care of dem, will ye?"

For a single moment, Amy forgot all about her aggravation and her plans for revenge against Lord Pea. Her face expressionless, she said, "No matter who comes close, I'll turn them inta mincemeat!"

"What are ye two talking about, darling?" the vicar asked, stepping closer.

"Um...dinner, honey. I think we'll be 'aving minced beef with onions tonight!"

"Really? Wonderful! My favorite! You always look after me so well, darling!"

Giving her husband a sweet and innocent smile, she patted his arm. "Ye're welcome. Come, let's go." Then they strode off, exuding happy marriedity. Or was it marriedness? Amy didn't know, and right now, she didn't care. All she paid attention to was the nod and the wink Jenny sent her over her shoulder.

"May I offer you my arm, Your Ladyship?" Bowing, Titus extended his arm to Cora.

The former night flower raised an eyebrow. "Ye know dat I'm not particularly ladylike, right?"

"My favorite kind of lady. It will be a pleasure accompanying you tonight. Besides..." He glanced at the daunting figure of Karim, who was standing several yards away, both arms crossed in front of his chest, clearly not in a mood to offer them to anyone. "Regarding arms, I don't think you have many options."

"Ha! Right ye are! Come on, let's go!" And together, they strode off towards the castle. Karim checked his weapons, which took him quite a bit longer than Patrick, and then stalked after them, his eyes glowing like dying embers.

Only one solitary figure remained behind.

"Oh, don't ye all wait for me. After all, I'm just da darn nanny. Nobody 'round 'ere won't need ta give me any attention."

"Waaaaaah! Waawaawaaah!"

"Shut up! I wasn't talkin' about ye!"

"Waah wah? Want blanky!"

"Join da club," Amy sighed. "But I don't think we'll be getting' any."

"Waaaah!"

"Ye know what? I completely agree. Let's go."

With her two literal brothers-in-arms, Amy strode forward, following behind the others at the back of the group, where the good little nanny belonged. As they approached the castle, the energetic chatter from the crowd at the entrance slowly subsided, and heads began to turn in their direction.

Or, to be more precise, in his direction.

"Oh my God, is that...?"

"I think it is! It's him!"

The moment the chatter began, a change came over Patrick. In fact...he was no longer Patrick. Or Pea. Or anyone Amy knew. He ceased to be all of that, and became Lord Patrick Day, the uncrowned king of Britain's high society. An arrogant, indomitable expression on his face, he strode through the crowd, not even glancing left or right.

At the sight, despite herself, Amy felt a tug at her heart.

Is...is dis da kind of man 'e is?

She didn't like it. Not one bit. But she couldn't deny it. The fact which she seemed to have forgotten for a long, long time now was hammered home again with merciless force: he was a lord. An existence high above her.

As were the people here.

"Holy...It's him! It's really him!" a someone fake-whispered.

"Who?"

"Fool! Are you blind and mindless? Get out of his way! Ehem...good evening, Your Lordship, I wish you a most pleasant evening!"

Patrick simply strode past the bootlicker-in-training, not even giving him a glance. Only when he was already long past, did Amy hear a whisper:

"Lordship? What Lordship? I've never seen that fellow around he—ow!"

"Idiot! Do you think someone like you has the qualifications to see him? That's the heir to the House of Day!"

"The...the...!"

The last thing Amy heard before she moved on was a choked gurgle, as if from a dying man. Anything else was drowned out by the chatter of the ladies who had just realized who was approaching.

"Oh my goodness! Lord Day! It's Lord Patrick Day!"

An excited shriek rose over the crowd, and was quickly muffled. But giggles and squeals still came from the background.

"Heavens! I saw him at a charity in London once! Out of the way, I must say hello to my good friend—"

"Good friend? If seeing him once makes you his good friend, what does that make me? Your venerable grandmother? Let me through, I have something to chat about with His Lordship..."

But they didn't even get two steps closer before the guards and servants swooped in. The armed guards formed two lines, shielding His Lordship from prying gazes of mere mortals. The servants flocked around him, bowing and scraping.

"Lord Patrick! Welcome to the Duke's ancestral home. This way, please, this way."

"We've been informed of your arrival." Bowing repeatedly, the head butler rushed forward. "His Grace has instructed us to make all the necessary preparations. Men!" He snapped his fingers. "Attend to Lord Patrick!"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Would you like some refreshments, Your Lordship?"

"Would you like to rest after your long trip, Your Lordship?"

"Please allow me go take your coat, Your Lordship."

Shrugging out of his expensive leather coat, Lord Patrick flung it at a nearby lackey without looking.

"These are acquaintances of mine." Raising his hand, he waved over his shoulder, toward Jenny, the vicar and the others. "I assume they will be treated accordingly?"

"Assuredly! Everyone, attend to Lord Patrick's guests!"

"May I take your coat, Sir?

"May I take your coat, Reverend?"

"I see you are in the family way, Ma'am. Would you like to take a seat? There is a very comfortable chaise longue right over there."

"Please let us know if you have any wishes, Ma'am."

The swarm of lackeys surrounded the lot of them, starting to escort them into the castle and down the hallway. It was truly amazing how kind and considerate they were being—to the invited guests, that is.

Not so much to the insignificant extras.

Somehow managing to slip out of her coat while balancing two giggling babies, Amy held it out to the few remaining servants.

Nothing happened.

Well, nothing except the servants striding past her to attend to the next batch of honoured guests.

"Oh, please, don't come 'elp me all at once," Amy told the empty air. "I'm feelin' swarmed."

"Waaawaah?"

"Oh, shut it, little rugrat!"

Flinging her coat over a nearby antique statue of the goddess Venus, whose assets weren't nearly as impressive as her own, incidentally, Amy strode after the others, her eyes fixed on the broad back of Lord Patrick Damn-His-Dratted-Bollocks Day with a tumultuous mix of emotions roiling inside her.

She'd known, of course. Deep down, she had known. But still, this was the first time since they had met that she had seen this. Seen his true self: the powerful aristocrat who could command obedience with a snap of his finger. Whenever they had met before, it had been alone, or with his friends and closest confidants. Whenever they had met before, he had fought with her, laughed with her, held her, or, her personal favorite, been tied to a four-poster with a dirty rag stuffed into his mouth.

He had been like a lion out of the savannah. Now he was back on his home turf, and everyone was bowing to the king. He was handsome. He was elegant. He was rich, and powerful and majestic. And...and Amy wanted to kick his uptight arse! Or, preferably, the arses of all those hussies that were giggling and making googly-eyes at him!

Unfortunately, there were way too many fawning lackeys' arses in the way.

Plus, dere's da little problem dat street fighting while juggling two babies ain't da smartest of ideas!

Just then, the group ahead reached the end of the corridor. The double-doors were swept open. A servant dashed in to whisper and hand a card to the announcer, who paled and hurriedly pounded the floor with his staff.

"L-Lord Patrick Day, Knight of the Order of the Garter!"

Instantly, the chatter and music that had drifted into the corridor from inside the ballroom came to a halt. Somewhere, the bow of a violist clattered to the ground. Several young ladies—witches, the lot of them!—let out a gasp and hid their darn fake blushing faces behind their fans.

"Lord Patrick!" A tall man with a mane of burnished copper hair strode forward, a charming smile on his face. He looked just like a hero from a romance novel.

Or one of dose people who'll do anythin' ta keep da world from seeing deir real face.

"Welcome to my humble home." Performing an elegant bow, he extended a hand to Patrick. "I've heard of your family's achievements for children's charity. I've long been wanting to meet you."

"Likewise, Duke Arrendyle." Lord Patrick responded with an equally broad, friendly, innocent smile. "Your activities with children have piqued my interest. How could I not come to visit and take a closer look at your beautiful home?"

Something flickered in the depths of Duke Arrendyle's eyes, and his smile widened. "Oh yes. I just love children."

"I brought some friends." Patrick gestured behind him. "I hope you don't mind?"

"Of course not! Your friends are my friends, Lord Patrick. Besides, how could I ever not show hospitality to our dear vicar, his lady wife and their social circle? Please, all of you, enter and be welcome!"

The company moved forward and into the hall. Again and again, the announcer's staff slammed onto the polished stone floor.

"The Reverend Thomas Marvin Inglethorp, and his lady wife, Mrs. Jennifer Inglethorp."

"Lady Cora Wetherston, and the Honorable Titus Irving, OBE."

"The...oh my God, that beard is big!"

Casting the man a dismissive look, Karim strode past him. Amy followed in his footsteps, and waited for the man to announce her.

And waited.

And waited.

"Waawah?"

That wasn't exactly the introduction she had been hoping for.

Well...maybe the poor announcer didn't know who she was. She should probably be helpful and inform him.

"The Dishonorable Amy Weston, STFU and GTFO," she told him with a broad smile.

"Piss off! I don't have time to waste on a bloody nanny. "

"Why, thank ye for da kind welcome, Si—"

That was all she could get out before she was shoved aside and into the ballroom. Her smile turning hard, she looked from the two babies in her arms to the damn announcer, and back to the children. He dared...!

"Time ta change, don't ye think?"

"Waawaah?"

Swiftly, Amy moved into an alcove next to the announcer, placed the first child down on Duke Arrendyle's hopefully very expensive whiskey cabinet, and started to get to work. Moments later, she emerged with a much happier pair of babies and two particular...objects, held between two fingertips. In passing, she casually dropped her burden behind the announcer. Just when she was vanishing into the crowd, she heard a voice:

"The Duke and Duchess of—what the heck! What is that stench?"

Slap!

"How dare you! Insolent cur, you dare insinuate my wife stinks?"

Amy decided to hasten her steps. She had spotted some tasty snacks ahead, and it had totally nothing to do with the chaos swiftly spreading behind her.

Yet, all fun aside, there was work to do.

Amy's gaze flicked from left to right, taking in the entire ballroom as she walked. The massive stone room, walls decorated with colourful ancient tapestries, the gigantic chandelier lighting up the room, the musicians, numbering almost enough to make up an orchestra, the crowd of elegant lords and ladies who wore clothes that probably cost more than Amy could earn in a lifetime...

Don't think about dat, Amy! Concentrate on what's important! Concentrate!

Because, behind the elegant veneer, there were clear signs of something darker. Amy's sharp eyes, used to seeing things in the shadow, quickly noticed the figures up on the gallery, and in alcoves beside the doors leading out of the hall. Figures in uniforms, with broad shoulders and hard fists. Something smelled fishy here. And she wasn't talking about the tortured announcer behind her.

Time ta 'ave a look around. After all, I'm just a 'armless little nanny...

She glanced down at her two accomplices. "Would ye like somethin' sweet, ye two?"

"Waah!"

"Ye know, ye're really great ta talk ta." She winked, then sent a glare over at the tall, golden-haired figure on the dancefloor, surrounded by beauties of all ages and sizes. "Much better dan a certain someone I could mention."

Lord Patrick was currently standing among a group of ladies, somehow managing to charmingly smile at all of them simultaneously. The girls were practically glued to him. And they weren't the only ones.

"Lord Patrick? How wonderful to meet an old friend here!" A middle-aged woman dragging several girls behind her sidled up to him. "You might not remember me, but I met your aunt's second cousin twice removed at a ball in Cheshire three years ago. Why don't we renew our acquaintance?" Amy's fists clenched. Bloody 'ell, da balls of 'er! Is she a 'ermaphrodite? "Here, please let me introduce you to my seven charming daughters, all of whom happen to be unmarried..."

"—and ugly as an unwashed gorgon's head!" Another middle aged lady shouldered her aside. "Why don't you let me introduce you to my daughters instead? They're the most beautiful young ladies in the entire county and very accommodating, I assure you."

What the...! Despite herself, Amy was rather impressed. Those two older ladies would make amazing brothel madams. Perhaps Amy should introduce the mother and daughters to some of her own connections. Then, middle-aged lady could find the right place to express her extraordinary talent, and wouldn't stand right there before Amy, making a bloody eyesore of herself!

"Attention, everyone!" Just then, a familiar, detestable figure stepped into the center of the floor. Everyone's eyes immediately zeroed in on him, and Amy's were no exception. From underneath her ugly white servant's cap, she glared at the widely smiling Duke of Arrendyle. "Attention, please. The time for the opening dance has arrived. Please, everyone, clear the dance floor for the special couple to perform the first dance of the evening."

"And who will it be?" asked an eager girl from the side as people began to clear the center of the room, gowns rustling and voices whispering.

"Yes, tell us, Your Grace!" exclaimed another one. "Who shall be the lucky ones?"

The Duke's eyes swept across the crowd, girls blushing and men straightening as they did. In the end, the aristocrat's gaze landed firmly on one man.

"Lord Patrick." He extended an elegant hand towards the tall blond man whose gaze was boring into him from the other end of the ballroom. "As the man who initiated this entire event, you can be considered the guest of honour. I think it's only right that you open the dance, and get to choose the lucky lady."

Instantly, sounds of agreement came from all around. Far too many for Amy's taste.

"Yes, quite right! His Lordship should decide."

"What a wonderful idea!"

"Lord Patrick is definitely the right choice for the first dance! And if he should happen to pick me—"

That particular young lady was quickly silenced by her peers. They were all like hungry wolves in front of a pile of meat. All wanted to dash forward—but if one did, all others would fall upon her and devour her.

"Very well."

Lord Patrick strode forward, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like a domineering conqueror, preparing to choose his spoils. Amy listened to young ladies giggling and flapping their fans as his eyes met theirs, and she felt her fists clench.

Wait a minute—why? Hell, why? What the bloody hell was going on? She had listened to more tempting giggles than clucking pigeons in her lifetime. Thousands! Tens of thousands! Hell, she was a professional giggler, and moaner and groaner! So how come these few inane little giggles were suddenly getting on her nerves?

Before she could find an answer to that question, the sources of the aforementioned shouldered her aside and pushed her back towards the wall, like the piece of common dirt she was.

Ah. Dat's why!

More and more ladies pushed their way to the front trying desperately to get in the line of sight of the legendary Lord Patrick, may his dick rot and fall off! One gave her a particularly hard shove. Amy glared at her back. People here just didn't learn, did they? Shoving her was one thing. But doing it while she had those two delightful little shit bombs in her arms?

Do ye wanna die, bitch?

Reaching out with the speed of a professional, Amy tugged on a very strategic string at the back of the lady's gown. Then she started to count.

One...

Two...

Three...

"Aaah!"

The figure of the young lady raced by, heading for the exit, her hands desperately clutching the back of her dress. Amy watched her go, enjoying the sight.

"Shall we go sit down?" she asked the only sensible people in the room.

"Gaagaaah!"

"All rightey, let's go."

She strode to one of the chairs and tables for ladies waiting for dancing partners that lined the walls, smiling, her gaze still on the fleeing female. When she sat down and turned back to the crowd, a significantly less pleasant sight greeted her eyes. Ladies were swarming forward, smiling, batting their eyelashes, hiding behind their fans to pinch their cheeks and conjure an alluring blush on their faces.

Pathetic! They didn't even know how to sway their hips properly, let alone how to apply makeup! And they wanted to seduce men? Ha!

Says da lady in da ugly-arse nanny outfit?

Shut up, inner voice!

Ignorant of the scornful gazes on their backs, the ladies advanced further—but not too far. Nobody dared to come too close to Lord Patrick Day, the same way even a master thief would not dare approach a king's vault. His Lordship's intense azure eyes moved over the preening young ladies in the room, one by one, moving ever closer to Amy. Her heart started beating faster and faster.

What da 'ell? I'm sittin' on me butt! What da 'ell is me 'eart gallopin' for?

Those blasted dark blue eyes continued to sweep the crowd. The pounding of her heart picked up its pace, and his eyes, seeming to radiate power and arrogance, moved closer and closer, until they met hers, and...

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Today, I have to read through some legal documents from my bank. Why does it seem that legal language hasn't been updated since the nineteenth century?

Perhaps all lawyers are secretly time-travelling Victorians? Keep your fingers crossed for me that I'll come through this with my brain unmelted ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Night flower—Victorian word for prostitute.

OBE—Order of the British Empire.