Amy watched with amusement as Lord Patrick Day quickly pulled his head back into the coach like a turtle who had decided the inside of the shell was so much better. "Drive, Everstone!" he hissed. "Drive!"

"Pardon, My Lord?" the coachman, who suddenly seemed to be suffering from deafness, enquired. "What was that?"

"I said dri—"

"Patrick, dear?" Suddenly, a knock came from the other side of the door. If Amy hadn't been so dead tired, she would have keeled over from laughter. "Son, is that you?"

"Um...no?"

Amy snorted, unable to contain herself any longer. Patrick stared at her, the message very clear in his eyes: traitor!

Oh well...in for a penny, in for a pound.

"'e's in 'ere, Yer Ladyship," Amy did what she did best and threw him ruthlessly under the bus. "'e's just a little shy!"

The "shy" man sent her a stare that suggested he wanted to roast her slowly over a small flame. However, before he could call his private chef to heat up the grill, the door was ripped open, revealing a beaming dowager duchess of Exeter.

"Patrick, dear! It's really you! You came to surprise your old mother?" The duchess's smile widened, threatening to split her face apart. "That's so sweet of you!"

Patrick cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "Err...yes. Surprise you. That's exactly what I meant to do."

"We even brought a special surprise for ye," Amy added, judging this to be the perfect moment to insert herself into the conversation.

"Really? What kind of surprise, Amy, dear?"

"This." And, before Patrick could lift a finger to stop her, Amy picked up the sleeping form of the girl in the corner of the coach and deposited her in the dowager duchess's arms. She certainly seemed surprised by it. Success!

"Um...this...how...where..." Amy watched as Her Ladyship Henrietta Valentina Day stared between the sleeping child in her arms, her son, and—not to toot her own horn—the quite attractive young lady sitting next to him. "She isn't...you didn't..."

"Mother!" Lord Patrick growled.

The dowager duchess took another look, and only this time seemed to notice the girl's age. Then she did some mental calculations. A look of relief spread over her face—followed by puzzlement.

"But...where did she come from?"

Inwardly, Amy smirked. "We found dis poor dear on da way back south from our trip. She was all alone in a 'aunted forest." Putting on a sad expression, she stroked the little girl's hair. "Dere were traps all over the place and even a landslide dat nearly squashed some unfortunate passers-by. Da poor girl must 'ave bin scared out of 'er wits."

"Yes," Lord Patrick confirmed, massaging his noble buttocks. "The poor dear. So...helpless."

"Griffiths! Griffiths, come here, quickly!" Completely ignoring her son, Lady Henrietta gestured to the entrance of the townhouse, where Amy noticed Patrick's butler had appeared and was watching the whole proceedings with a raised eyebrow. Having heard Her Ladyship's summons, he promptly approached and bowed.

"Yes, Your Ladyship?"

"Call some maids and have them bring this poor girl upstairs to a guest room. Oh, and have them prepare some cold snacks for when she wakes up."

"Right away, Your Ladyship. Grace! Melody! Come over here, girls!"

Two maids bustled out of the house, ooing and awwing over the little girl. All too soon, they dashed off back towards the house—which, unfortunately, left Lady Henrietta's attention free to focus on Amy & Co. While it, so far, had been rather amusing, particularly while using Lord Patrick as a sacrificial lamb for his dear mother, Amy realized that staying out of this herself wouldn't be an option anymore.

Why?

Well...

"Let's get the both of you inside!" Beaming, the dowager duchess grabbed both Amy and Patrick by the arm and pulled them out of the coach. "Oh, everyone will be so thrilled that you made it! And just in time, too! The ball is just about to start!"

Yep, that was why.

Amy gulped. She was about to be dragged into a ball. And not the kind you kicked with your feet. A formal ball. With Lords. And Ladies. And dancing between men and women which didn't involve tables and poles! Holy hell, what was she going to do?

"Come! Come with me!"

Come with her, apparently. Or at least that's what Amy deduced from the way she was currently being dragged towards the house, in tow behind an enthusiastic dowager duchess. And she wasn't the only one. Somehow, the four-foot-seven-inches, middle-aged lady managed to drag both Amy and Patrick after her towards the entrance.

"Oh, this is going to be so amazing! We'll have to find some decent clothes for you first, of course, Amy dear. Oh, if only I hadn't sent the seamstress away so early! Now I only have two dozen dresses for you! Hm...I suppose it'll have to do!"

Amy blinked. "Err...two dozen?"

"Don't worry!" The dowager duchess patted her hand. "I'll have a decent wardrobe ready for you by the end of the month."

"So...glad...to hear it."

Oh God, what had she unleashed?

"And as for you..." Lady Henrietta sent her son a look, the corner of her mouth quirking up as she inspected his dishevelled form. "What on earth have you been doing? Running around in the forest and playing with hedgehogs in the dirt?"

A mother's intuition was a scary thing.

"No! Nothing of the kind!" Lord Patrick protested. Luckily, unlike Amy, Her Grace the dowager duchess didn't notice the way the tips of his ears reddened slightly. She was far too busy dragging them up the stairs and into the house.

"Come on! We don't have much time, you two!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw Lord Patrick swallow. "Time before what?"

In answer, Lady Henrietta only sent them an innocent smile.

That was not a good sign.

"Um..." Clearing her throat, Amy glanced over at Patrick and lowered her voice. "Is it too late ta regret gettin' the two of us into dis?"

He raised one of his aristocratic eyebrows. "What do you think?"

Amy swallowed. Surely it couldn't be that bad, could it?

That was when Lady Henrietta pushed open a door and pointed at the room beyond with a sweeping gesture.

"Well?" Her Ladyship demanded with a broad smile. "What do you think?"

Oh crap.

In front of Amy spread the grandest, most extravagant room she had ever seen. The fantasy of every young girl who dreamed of fancy dresses and glass slippers. The entire room was filled to the brim with ball gowns, shoes, necklaces, armbands and other jewelry. Amy could do nothing but stare at the opulence, open-mouthed. Even Lord Patrick seemed to feel the same, staring at the room wide-eyed. Was even he tempted by all the goodies?

Not that she was, of course! Definitely not!

But was he?

Well, that may be the reason for his reaction. Or perhaps...

"Mother?" he enquired out of the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, dear?"

"This is my house. How did all of these things end up here?"

"Oh, don't worry, Patrick, dear." Reaching out, Her Ladyship patted his shoulder. "I didn't strain my back or anything. I had help."

Slowly, very slowly, Lord Patrick turned around to stare at his butler who stood in the doorway.

"Griffiths! You..."

"I think I had better go up and check on the poor little girl, My Lord," Griffiths said dutifully. "I just realized that my services might be urgently required there."

"Especially if it means you will no longer be here?"

"You take the words out of my mouth, My Lord. Your Grace? Miss Amy?" And, with a bow in Amy's and the dowager duchess's direction, he swept out of the room. Amy nodded to herself. What a lovely man. So nice of him to care so much about children. Patrick should give him a raise.

"Now then!" Clapping her hands, Lady Henrietta abruptly pulled Amy from her thoughts. Beaming, she let her gaze flick between her son and her prospective pseudo-daughter-in-law, an unholy glee sparkling in her eyes. Amy suddenly got a feeling it would really have been better if Griffiths had stayed. After all, there was just a two-letter difference between butler and buffer, right?

Maybe she should just go upstairs to check on the poor girl herself.

"Come on, girl!" Before Amy could turn around and flee, the dowager duchess grabbed hold of her and started dragging her to the multitude of racks and wardrobes that filled the room. "Mademoiselle? Mademoiselle, come out! Your client is here!"

A figure reluctantly stepped out from where she had been hidden between the racks. Amy blinked. Mademoiselle? Could it be...?

Despite the situation, she couldn't help but grin.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Ball Sack!" A faux-smile spread over Amy's face. "So nice ta see ye again!"

The seamstress's hands twitched. She was probably eager to start her work, Amy concluded. It surely wasn't at all because she was longing to plunge her scissors into her client's chest.

"Clothes off!" the seamstress growled, waving around her glinting needle and scissors. "Now!"

Amy swallowed. Why had she thought making fun of this lady was a good idea again?

"Well, you seem to be in good hands, dear," the dowager duchess stated, making Amy seriously question whether the lady's eyes were working properly. "And as for you..." Striding over to her son, who was just about to sneak after Griffiths out of the room, Lady Henrietta grabbed him by the upper arm and shoved him behind a floral-patterned folding screen. "I've ordered Griffiths to have some of your clothes laid out for you. Go dress! And if you aren't out there in five minutes..."

"You'll what?" he shot back. "Drag me out by my ear? I'm a British gentleman. You know I wouldn't let a chambermaid enter my room while dressing, let alone my own mother! And I know you wouldn't enter, either."

"No, of course I wouldn't. That would be so very improper for a proper British lady such as myself," Her Ladyship the dowager duchess answered demurely. "But..." Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw her smile. "...I can send your betrothed to look in on you. After all, the only thing that will happen is that the two of you will have to move forward the wedding date, right?"

There was a pause—then, a split second later, the sounds of tearing clothes and flying buttons came from behind Lord Patrick's screen. Amy shook her head sadly. What an amateur. No appreciation for the art of the strip tease. Well...she would just have to lead by example, wouldn't she?

Wiggling her eyebrows, Amy stepped behind her own screen and, turning towards Mademoiselle Balzac, leisurely undid the top button of her dress. "Well, mad muzzle, shall we start?"

The seamstress's face twitched.

"Merde! Clothes off, immédiatement!"

Apparently, Lord Patrick wasn't the only one who didn't appreciate the fine art of the striptease. Ten wild minutes filled with silk, satin and a whirlwind of colours later, Amy stood in the center of the room wearing an ocean-blue dress, shiny shoes and a sparkling emerald necklace that, as the dowager duchess had insisted, "matched her beautiful eyes". Reaching up, she cautiously touched the necklace that any lady would dream of wearing.

Any lady.

Not her.

Friggin' bloody pile of horse crap! Dis can't really be 'appening, can it? Not ta me of all people!

She wasn't meant to wear such beautiful clothes or jewelry. She wasn't meant to dance at balls and be swept off her feet by a handsome prince.

Why? A voice in her mind whispered. 'cause such things only 'appen in stories? In case ye forgot, dere's a 'andsome lord stripping naked just about five feet away from ye.

No. She shook her head. That wasn't the reason. Such things didn't just occur in stories. They happened in reality, too. Rarely, incredibly rarely, but they did happen. Only...not to her kind. The used. The low-lifes. The ones who were bought and paid for, and then thrown away.

Suddenly, Amy's corset felt too tight. She needed to breathe. She needed to get out of here! She needed—

"You....you look beautiful."

Amy whirled around. And there he stood: Lord Patrick Day, in all his glory. After spending so much time with him covered in dirt and dressed in rags, she had almost forgotten what he really looked like. But here he was again: the tall, elegant man with the aristocratic face full of strength and determination. Except...right now, he didn't look quite so determined. Instead, he looked as if he'd just been struck by thunder.

Amy swallowed.

"What's up?" Amy cocked an eyebrow, pretending to be unperturbed by the way he looked at her. "You look like you've never seen a real woman before."

His stunned expression shifted, turning into something much more difficult to read, and altogether more frightening. For some reason, it made her heart pound faster and goose bumps spread over her skin.

"Maybe I haven't," he murmured, his eyes still fixed on her. "Maybe I haven't."

Amy felt her cheeks flush—that is, until she spotted the dowager duchess in the corner, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Grabbing a fan from a nearby table, Amy snapped it open and started to fan herself. Only because it was hot in here, of course! The fact that she was also hiding her face was completely coincidental.

"Now, as entertaining as this is, I'm afraid we don't have any time to waste." The clap from the dowager duchess's hands woke Amy from her daze and alerted her to the fact that she had been in a bloody daze in the first place, while staring at the Prince Charming standing a few feet away, goddammit! The Prince Charming who was still staring at her.

"Certainly, Yer Ladyship!" Straightening, Amy forced herself to turn away from Patrick. "What next?"

Her Ladyship's smile widened. The look in her eyes made Amy regret that question.

"Why, now it's time for your debut, dear."

Oh crap!

Before Amy could turn tail and run, Lady Henrietta had clapped her hands, and two servants pushed open the door. Distant music drifted in through the doorway, accompanied by laughter and chatter. As if in a dream, Amy felt someone linking arms with her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Patrick Day right beside her, leading her towards the distant sounds of the ball.

"What da 'eck are ye doin'?" she hissed. "I thought ye were tryin' ta get out of dis as much as I was?"

His sky-blue eyes bored into her own, unable or unwilling to look away.

"Well...let's just say I might have changed my mind."

"What the...! Den change it back!"

He didn't take his eyes away from her. And as for his hand...it was currently intertwining with hers.

"What if I don't want to?"

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

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

In case the etymologists among you noticed my use of the expression "throwing someone under the bus" in an  era when busses didn't actually exist due to a lack of engines - there is a reason. Before there were motorized busses, there existed large wooden wagons drawn by horses which were also referred to as "bus". Thus, the expression might still be appropriate.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob