I stared down at the paper in my hand. The paper that pretty much spelled Adaira's doom.

A gentleman must possess many skills. Above all, the duty of an English gentleman and a husband is to protect and provide for his family. As such, during the third challenge, the contestants will provide a detailed accounting of their income.

Great. Splendid. Stupendous. Because I, the secretary who got her "generous salary" from Mr Rikkard Tightfist Ambrose, would naturally be able to compete in wealth with one of the richest men of the French Empire. And if that wasn't enough...

However, money is not everything. More than anything else, a gentleman must know how to fend for himself and defend his and his family's honour. After having their incomes and possessions assessed, the competitors will therefore be tested on their shooting skills with the duelling pistol, the weapon of a man on the field of honour. Whoever emerges victorious in both disciplines shall win the contest in its entirety.

"Well," I stated, eyes narrowed at the missive before me, "your father really is a bastard."

"Indeed."

Money and marksmanship. Two areas where a humble little city secretary could not hope to compete with a rich nobleman who had received a gentleman's education. Clearly, the marquess was the very soul of impartiality. (Note the sarcasm.) He probably also didn't believe the dozens of pheasants I got a hold of during the hunting contest were entirely due to my stellar shooting kills.

And he isn't completely wrong, is he?

However...

A smirk flashed across my face.

He was completely wrong about one thing: me being an average secretary. As various dead bandits and desperados across the world could attest, I was anything but. The Marquess Ambrose wanted to challenge my shooting skills?

Bring it on!

The other part about the wealth, though...

I turned to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, my face solemn.

"You know what that means, don't you?"

"Indeed. We will have to exercise your marksmanship skills."

"Oh, not just that." Grimly, I shook my head and tapped on the first point on the piece of paper. "I'm talking about this. Do you know what this means?"

"What?"

I tried my very best to keep my solemn expression on my face. Somehow, I managed despite my urge to cackle. "You will have to increase my salary. Massively."

It was impressive how, even after all those years of constant ice exposure, he could still give me the shivers with his arctic glare.

***

The rest of the day was mostly spent in ceaseless, unrelenting training of my marksmanship. Not that I minded working my butt off, really. Once I had painted a picture of the marquess's face onto the target, my time at the shooting range actually turned out to be quite enjoyable. And as for my skills? I was still as good a shot as ever.

Still...

I was under no delusions that this would be enough. It isn't really simple to win a contest if the one organising and judging it wants you to lose.

Doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for him, though, I thought grimly as I took another shot at the bastard's mug. After all, if you can't win the game, just circumvent the rules.

So, with that in mind, I finally put an end to my practise and made my way to the library, where I found Ella and some of the others pouring over books on British nobility.

"Please tell me you've found something," I demanded more than asked. "You've found something, right?"

My friends exchanged glances. The looks on their faces told me the answer before Ella turned towards me and, with slumped shoulders, shook her head. "No. No, we didn't."

In reply to that, I uttered some very imaginative words that made my little sister blush and cover her ears.

"Language, Lilly!"

"English," I answered, my lips twitching despite the gravity of the situation. "Though I can do Spanish and Portuguese, too, if you prefer." My face darkened, the smile slipping away. "Not French, though. Don't ask me why, but something put me off that language, recently."

"Understandable." The look on Eve's face wasn't very pretty. Partly because there were dark bags under her eyes, but, even so, she clearly was not happy with anything French either. "I've met him, you know? That vicomte. Smug bastard. Was prancing around, practically bragging he had things in the bag, and was going...was going to..." A scowl flickered over her face. "Well, I won't go into detail regarding what he said about himself and Adaira. Suffice it to say I've been here ever since, trying to find a way out of this."

"Now I suddenly feel the urge to go back to the shooting range," I commented, eyes narrowed. "Not to practise for a contest, though. Do any of you know where to get a hold of a portrait of the vicomte?"

Adaira beamed. "I think he sent me one as a present, the arrogant git. Want me to fetch it? I'd love to accompany you! Can I? Can I?"

I sighed. "No. Because I'm not going either. There's a difference between what I want to do, and what I should do." I held out a hand. "Hand me that book, will you? We've got research to do."

She gave me a long-suffering look. But she did hand me the book.

For the rest of the day, I spent most of my time in the library pouring over asinine books, except for the brief moments of relief when I had to hurry upstairs and wipe Berty's bottom free of—

Nevermind. The books weren't so bad after all.

Thus, out of pure sisterly love (read: fear of diapers), I spent the rest of the day doing research, trying to find any solution to help my dear, dear sister-in-law. Yet by the time the sun had set and said sister-in-law emerged from between the shelves of the library with a depressed expression on her face, I hadn't exactly been successful.

"Anything?" Adaira pleaded, not needing to explain what she meant. "Do you have anything?"

With a deep sigh, I shook my head.

"And the rest of you? Anything?"

I glanced over at the others, who were hunkered over their books in the lamplight, the sun long having disappeared behind the horizon. They also gave a wordless shake of the head, and Adaira's shoulders slumped.

"I...I knew there wasn't much of a chance, but...I just couldn't help but hope that...that..."

"It's all right." Rising to her feet, Ella moved over to her and pulled the other girl into a hug. "Everything is going to be all right."

"No it isn't!" Adaira trembled, but notably didn't push her away. "Tomorrow, my father is going to finish staging his little 'contest', and then he'll hand me over to that smarmy frog!"

"That's only if he wins." My eyes flicking up to meet hers, I put aside my book and stood up, a faux-innocent smile on my face. "Don't count out your darling Victor just yet. After all, there's a reason you fell in love at first sight with that amazing man, right?"

I ducked just in time to avoid the cushion she chucked at me.

"And besides," Amy added, cracking her knuckles, "if things don't go our way, we can always just shoot da bastard."

"Who?" Sniffing, she managed a tremulous smile. "The vicomte or my father?"

"Take yer pick."

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't think I would prefer prison to marriage." She thought about it for a moment. "No, scratch it, with that man as a husband, I probably would prefer it. But that still doesn't mean I would do something like that."

An expression of horrified disgust spread over Amy's face. "Oh God! Ye're a...law-abiding citizen!"

I nodded earnestly. "I only just noticed, too. We'll have to cure her of that."

"You...!" Ears reddening, Adaira sent us a glare. "You're impossible!"

"Probably," I agreed without hesitation. "But we've managed to stop you from crying, right?"

She blinked—then nodded. "Huh. You're right."

"Don't worry." Stepping towards her, I patted her shoulder. "We'll get through this together."

I really hoped I sounded more convincing than I felt.

***

For a final time before the big event, I headed back upstairs to mine and Mr Ambrose's bedroom. He still wasn't there and, for a moment, I wondered where he was—until, through the window, I spotted a tall, dark figure silhouetted against the light of the sinking sun, stalking back and forth on the lawn.

Seems I'm not the only one anxious about tomorrow.

I wish he were here. I wish he could hold me and tell me everything would be all right. But then again...I didn't really want my husband to have to lie to me. So instead, I went for the single person in this world who gave better hugs than my husband.

"Waah waah?"

"Come here, will you?" Swallowing hard and trying to banish all thoughts of tomorrow, I pulled the cuddly little piece of perfection that was my son into my arms. "Mama needs you."

"Waa waa?"

"No. Mama. Ma-ma."

Berty giggled happily. "Waa waa!"

That little...!

And I already had a smile on my face, didn't I?

Seems like I was right to come here.

"Come here," I murmured, hugging Berty more closely against me as I climbed into bed. "It's been a long day. Time to get some shut-eye."

"Waa waah?"

"No, I'm not reading you a story tonight. I've spent the whole day pouring over books, I have no plans to torture my eyes any further, thank you very much."

"Waah!"

"No, I can not use my nostrils to read, you smartass little bugger."

In answer to that, Berty lovingly drooled on me. He was such a precious boy, wasn't he?

Smiling despite myself, I snuggled deeper into the comfortable nest of cushions around me and, for just a moment, forgot about what I would have to face tomorrow. There was just something amazingly soothing about holding a warm bundle of joy in your arms. Even though the little bugger stubbornly refused to say "mama", I still couldn't help but love him. Love holding him close, knowing that he was safe and happy.

It's funny...

I had always wanted freedom, wanted to be free of chains. But now, I could feel the indestructible connection linking me with him, and I didn't mind in the least. With a smile still on my face, my eyelids slowly started sliding shut, and I drifted off into dreamland.

That night, I had a funny dream. I dreamed that Mr Rikkard Ambrose came into the room and, picking up a blanket, gently draped it over me. And on his face, half-hidden in the shadows...was that the hint of a smile I saw? Plus, I could swear I spotted something sparkle at the corner of his eye. A moment later, I felt something wet touch my face. Rain? It had to be rain. Because, even in dream, it couldn't be that Mr Rikkard Ambrose was actually sad and happy enough to show both at the same time, right?

Like I said, a really weird dream.

That was my last thought before I felt a set of strong arms wrap around me and the darkness welcomed me.

***

When the morning came, I didn't need the birds to wake me. I was up with the sun, pacing up and down in my room. Mr Ambrose was already gone. He had muttered something about "contingencies" and set off with a look in his eyes that sent a shiver down my spine.

As for me...

"Be good, Berty, all right?" Placing a gentle kiss on top of the little fellow's head, I settled him in his cradle. "Mama has something important to do today."

"Waa waah?"

"No, Berty. It's mama, not wawa. Mama."

"Wawa!"

One corner of my mouth twitched. Still a work in progress, eh?

"Well, it doesn't really matter," I muttered to myself. "I'll have plenty of time for that later, right?"

In retrospect, I probably should have known better than to tempt fate like that.

Making my way downstairs, I headed straight to the library. I didn't doubt for a moment that His Lordship the Marquess and His Viciousness the Vicomte were still snoring in their beds. If there was still time, I wouldn't waste a second of it. Maybe, just maybe, I would find a solution in the form of an obscure cousin. Even if it happened just a minute before the start of the contest, it would still be soon enough.

With determined strides, I headed towards the library. Pushing open the door, I gave a nod to the half-awake librarian and stepped between the shelves, my eyes landing on—

Oh my.

Frozen in mid-stride, I gazed down at the figures of my friends, some squatting on the ground, some leaning against shelves, yet all clutching books in their hands.

I swallowed. "Have you...have you been here all night?"

A groan rose from the ground. "What do you think?" Glancing up, Eve gave me a bleary-eyed stare. Her eyes had enough bags under them for an extended shopping trip.

"I miss the brothel," Amy added nostalgically. "Nights were so much less exhaustin' there."

I felt warmth surge in my chest. My friends really were the best, weren't they?

"And did you find anything?"

Eve's head slumped down onto her book face-first.

"What do ye think?" Amy enquired.

Flora slumped against a nearby shelf and started snoring.

My shoulders sagged. "I see."

"D-don't worry, Lilly," Ella yawned. "W-we still have time, right? We won't stop looking till the very last moment!"

"You're right." I nodded, reaching for one of the books detailing the history of the Ambrose family during the Middle Ages. Surely, if I went back before 1300 AD, I'd find some distant relative willing to take over for my husband and inherit, right? "Not till the last moment."

That moment came all too soon.

Our frenzied reading came to an abrupt end when we heard quick, harsh footsteps approaching from between the shelves. I turned my head just in time to see Mr Rikkard Ambrose appear. He came to a stop a few feet away, a hard set to his jaw.

"It's time," he announced.

Never had he looked more interested in procrastinating.

Unfortunately, I didn't think we could get away with it. Rising to my feet, I exchanged a last glance with my friends.

"We'll keep looking," my little sister Ella promised, looking more determined than I had ever seen her.

Eve nodded and, leaning over to me, whispered, "You go kick his posterior, Lilly!"

"Arse," Amy corrected, popping up behind her. "Kick 'is bloody arse!"

Nodding, I clenched my fists. "I will." Then I whirled around and strode towards my husband. "Let's go."

He gave a curt nod as we marched out of the library. "This way. I've prepared a room where you can change your clothes."

At any other time, I might have made some quip about him wanting to see me strip—but right now wasn't any other time. Right now, I felt less like making jokes than Mr Ambrose on tax collection day.

"Just so you know..." Taking my hand in his, I glanced sideways and up at him. "I'm proud of you."

"For what?" He scoffed. "Abandoning my sister to her fate?"

"No." I shook my head firmly. "For standing up for what you believe in. For defending what is yours." One corner of my mouth couldn't help but twitch. "We'll make a feminist out of you yet."

"Unlikely."

"But not impossible." Stopping in front of the room he indicated, I leaned over to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. "And we will save Adaira, no matter what. Even if we have to implement...extreme solutions."

I looked into his eyes and saw there the same determination that I knew was mirrored in my own. With a curt nod, he held open the door for me. Not wasting a moment, I headed inside. Ten minutes later, I re-emerged with a glint in my eye and determination in my stride.

My eyes met those of Mr Rikkard Ambrose head-on.

"Let's go and show them who's boss, shall we?"

"Indeed." My husband's gaze flashed with an arctic glint that could have made people piss themselves, if their urine hadn't been already frozen. "Let's."

----------------------------------

My dear Readers,

The big finale is fast approaching! I hope you are looking forward to it :-)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob