"Well?" Amy cocked her head. "Do you have a ring?"

He swallowed. "Would the sealing ring from the sink do?"

"As a wedding ring? No."

"Then...no. Not as such."

Amy couldn't help but smirk again. "You're not really well prepared."

Lord Patrick's noble eyebrows twitched in the most adorable manner. "This isn't exactly the thing you get to be experienced in through repeated practice!"

Amy snickered. "You could have practiced with Titus. I would have been happy to watch and give constructive criticism."

His eyebrow twitched again. Turning around, he grabbed the nearby bellpull without getting up from his kneeling position and tugged. In the distance, a bell rang. Moments later, Griffiths stuck his head into the room.

"You rang, My Lord?"

"Send a carriage over to the closest jeweler immediately and buy the most beautiful and expensive wedding ring available."

"It is Sunday, My Lord. All jewelers are closed."

He took a deep breath. Amy did her very best not to snicker again. Her success was mediocre, at best.

"Then go buy the jeweler, and tell him to open!"

"Yes, My Lord."

Ten minutes later, Griffiths was back. Amy might have been more annoyed about the wait if, for the entire duration, Lord Patrick Day had not remained kneeling in front of her, his eyes firmly fixed on hers. Finally, the butler entered the room once more, carrying a single ring on a silver salver.

It was beautiful. There simply wasn't any other word for it. Beautiful and elegant and...completely unsuitable for a lady of the night.

But it might just be perfect for Lady Amelia Day

Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and took hold of the ring. A small thing it was, delicate and fragile. Intricate lines twisted around the band, coming together in a Celticknot around the diamond at the top. A knot that Patrick and she would tie together.

Suddenly, a familiar, masculine hand picked the ring from her grasp. She met Patrick's eyes and he gazed at her, all his emotions shining in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he held the ring out to her.

"Lady Amelia Weston," Lord Patrick's voice rose from where he knelt in front of her, "will you do me the slightly delayed honour of becoming my wife?"

Amy smiled as the memory faded. It had been the most awkward, sweet and amazing proposal ever. A memory Amy would cherish for the rest of her life. As she would the mental image of Lord Patrick practicing proposals with Titus. But as amazing as it had all been...

"Welcome, dearly beloved!"

...it wasn't nearly as amazing as what was about to happen right here, right now.

"We are gathered together here," the vicar's voice echoed through the church, "in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

The two of them had arrived in front of the altar. The vicar—who was blissfully unaware of Amy's former occupation—beamed at both of them and swept his gaze over the congregation.

"Matrimony," he resumed, still smiling from one ear to another, "which is an honourable estate, instituted by God in the time of man's innocency—"

Amy had to work very hard to keep a straight face right then. Whenever that "time of man's innocency" had been, it most certainly had been long before she had started working.

"—signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church, and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites—"

Nodding wisely, Amy turned to Patrick.

"'e's totally right, ye know?" she whispered. "Marriage is dere ta satisfy women's carnal lusts, not men's."

She easily dodged the kick he aimed at her shin.

Ha! Ye see? I've still got it! I'm still da master!

"—like brute beasts that have no understanding; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained. First, it was ordained for the procreation of children—"

At this came an evil snicker from behind. Turning around, Amy sent a glare at her half dozen flower girls. Her daughters. It would take a while to get used to that thought.

"I want a little brother!" Flo mouthed. "Pronto!"

But apparently, she didn't have a while.

All the other little misfits nodded, one after another, holding up a finger in a me-too-please gesture. Amy's eyebrow twitched. Demanding little buggers, weren't they?

Well, one thing's for sure. My life at home won't get boring.

"—to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of His Holy Name. Secondly, it was ordained as a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication—"

Amy quirked an eyebrow.

Really? It was?

Well, so much for those plans.

"—that such persons as have not the gift of continency might marry, and keep themselves undefiled members of Christ's body. Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity. Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

On Amy's left, Jenny and Cora opened their mouths.

Amy had never moved so fast before. In a blink, she had both her best friends by the ears, squeezing painfully.

"Don't ye dare!" she hissed. "Don't ye dare say anythin' about scandalous reputations and lost virginities!"

Jenny pouted. "Dere go me plans to make dis a memorable day."

"Oh, trust me, it'll be very memorable." Amy squeezed a little harder. "If ye insist, I'll make sure ye'll never forget it."

"—and also, speaking unto the persons that shall be married, I say: I require and charge you..."

What followed was a long list of conditions for marriage. Amy didn't particularly listen. She was fairly certain she had violated two or three of the conditions at some point or another. Not that that was going to stop her.

Finally, the vicar ended his long list of requirements. Turning to Lord Patrick, he fixed him with a stern but gentle gaze.

"Wilt thou have this woman as thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

He nodded without a second's hesitation. "I will."

Amy felt her heart swell. She could hardly keep her smile from splitting her face apart as the vicar turned to her.

"Wilt thou have this man as thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

Forsaking all others, eh? What a novel experience.

For some reason, Amy couldn't keep the beaming smile on her face from widening even farther.

"I will."

The vicar gave a happy nod.

"Who," he called out, "giveth this woman to be married to this..."

He trailed off as his eyes fell on the spot where, usually, the father of the bride stood—and instead was confronted with the serial killer gaze of Throatripper the rabbit.

"Um...who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"

"Nobody," Lord Patrick said with finality. "Nobody at all. She decides her fate herself."

"Err..." The vicar opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to point out that this wasn't how things were done—then met Lord Patrick's gaze and quickly closed his mouth again.

Feeling warmth blossom in her chest, Amy shared a glance with him, then cocked an eyebrow at the vicar. That evaporated the last hint of hesitation from the clergyman. Taking Amy's left hand in his, he placed it in Patrick's right. To Amy, nothing had ever felt so right before, pun most definitely intended.

The vicar gave an encouraging nod, and Patrick straightened his back, his eyes coming to rest on her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I, Patrick Day, take thee, Amelia Weston, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth."

Amy swallowed. The words she had read so many times, in romance after romance after romance, nearly stuck in her throat. But when she looked into his eyes and saw nothing but love there, her lips moved on their own.

"I, Amelia Weston, take thee, Patrick Day, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance, and thereto I give thee my troth."

From within his pocket, he pulled out something small, shiny, and very familiar. Amy had to fight to keep her eyes dry when she recognized the ring. Tightening his grip on her hand, he slid the slim band onto her finger, where it belonged.

"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Once again, Patrick joined hands with hers. Turning, they faced the crowd.

"Those whom God hath joined together," the vicar called out from behind, "let no man put asunder!"

The church exploded in cheers. Everyone was clapping and throwing flowers, except...except for the bloody flower girls, who were throwing matches! Amy sent a glare at Flo, who just smirked in response and turned to some of the wedding guests to sell them packages of matches—at a special reduced wedding price, of course.

Amy decided she was going to strangle the little squirt. She was going to—

That was when Lord Patrick Day captured her face between his hands, and her thoughts fizzled out into nothingness. She looked into his brilliantly blue, iridescent eyes, and the background noise of the people in the church seemed to drain away until she didn't hear any of them anymore. Any of them, except...

"You may kiss the bride!"

Yep, that.

A pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped around her. In a blink, she was whirled around, ending up face-to-face with the most handsome man she had ever seen. Although the feeling of joy rising in her pounding heart might be making her just the tiniest bit biased.

"May I?" His voice was soft. Deep. Determined.

He'd asked?

He'd asked!

Amy felt her heart pound. Everyone expected him to just do it. By law he had the right to do it. Heck, he practically had divine permission by proxy! And yet...he had asked for permission.

"Yes," Amy whispered. "Yes, you ma—"

Before she could finish the word, his lips sealed hers in a heated kiss. It felt as if phoenix fire were searing her lips, hotter than anything she'd ever felt before, yet somehow soothing, soft and silken. The kiss continued. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen—oh, why the hell bother counting, anyway?

"Ehem?"

Some annoying bastard in the audience, apparently. Some people were so picky! What was a measly little five-minute French kiss? Reluctantly, they broke the kiss, and Amy gazed into his brilliant blue eyes.

"Later?" she mouthed.

He smiled, and nodded. "Later."

Beaming, Amy turned towards the crowd. Wasn't it amazing to have an agreeable husband? Now all she needed to do was to find and eviscerate whoever had been stupid enough to interrupt her first kiss as a married woman. But before she managed to spot him—

"Ye...come 'ere, ye!" Suddenly, Cora was in front of her. A familiar female set of arms engulfed her, squeezing the life out of her. "Aw, Amy! I can't believe it! Ye got through it all and got yer 'appy end! Ye did it! Ye really did it!"

"Aye." Swallowing, Amy nodded. She was not about to cry. She was not! "Aye, I did."

"But..." Cora abruptly switched a tone that was much less overjoyed, and much more apocalyptically threatening. "Da next time ye go after a gang, don't ye dare do it while I'm as big as a balloon, understood? Next time, I'm coming with!"

Amy grinned. That was her friend!

"Next time?" a possessive male growl came from right behind her. "Are you insinuating that I will take my wife on a honeymoon into the East End to hunt down gangs?"

Amy's grin only widened. She couldn't help it.

"Oh no, of course not!" Cora assured him.

"Good."

"I just think it's gonna 'appen anyway." She winked. "Ye're married now. With 'alf a dozen daughters. Da ladies are in charge."

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw Lord Patrick's eyes narrow. He stepped forward—and was promptly shouldered aside by a smirking Jenny.

"Amy! Come give me a 'ug!"

Half a second later, Amy was enfolded in another throttling hug. The other girls from the bawdy house followed fast, piling on in a group hug that nearly squeezed the breath out of her.

"Congratulations!"

"I 'ope ye're gonna be so 'appy!"

"I 'ope ye're gonna throw lots of fancy parties ta invite us to!"

"By da way...does yer 'ubby 'ave any cousins?"

"Hm..." Amy tapped her chin. "I do believe 'e does."

"Really?" Beaming smiles appeared all around.

"Oh aye." Amy nodded, smirking. "Should I let 'er know ye wanna meet and get ta know 'er?"

The glares that remark received warmed Amy's heart. Wasn't having friends wonderful?

Amy reconsidered that idea when Titus Irving approached, a massive grin on his face.

"Patrick, my friend!" He spread his arms. "So you finally decided to get lai—"

Ruthlessly, Lord Patrick Day's foot slammed down on Titus' foot.

Isn't my hubby amazing?

"—nnnng! ...married," Titus wheezed, his face twitching. "Decided to get married."

Lord Patrick gave his friend a stern look and nodded. "That's what I thought you said."

Next in the line of well-wishers came Patrick's doctor friend. He gave the both of them a smile and first shook Patrick's hand, then extended it to Amy. "Congratulations, Patrick. Congratulations, Lady Day."

Amy eyed the extended hand suspiciously. "That's yours, right? Not from your, ehem...supply?"

The smile on the doctor's face froze. "Correct. That is my own, original, non-morgue-supply hand."

"Too bad." Grabbing the hand, Amy shook it. "Having a husband with a zombie doctor friend would have been spiffing!"

"Um...I see?"

"By the way," Amy added, suddenly struck by a brilliant idea to simultaneously make her single friends happy and doom an unfortunate bachelor to eternal torment, "I'm throwing a little get-together for some of my friends at our town house soon. Would you like to come? I'm sure my friends would be delighted to meet you."

His face brightened. "Really? Well, then I'd be delighted to come. I'm sure it'll be an enjoyable change from the stress of the hospital."

Amy gave the man an enthusiastic nod. "Yes, I'm sure!"

Ye poor, deluded fool.

Man after man, woman after woman, stepped forward to bow, shake hands and give congratulations. Oh, and to bootlick! Don't forget the bootlicking! Amy found herself being incredibly impressed at how much bootlicking they managed to do, considering she wasn't actually wearing boots.

"Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Ladyship!"

"You look marvellous, Your Ladyship! Was that dress imported from France?"

"Do tell me who did your hair, Your Ladyship. It looks simply divine!"

"You know," Amy whispered once the latest well-wisher had bowed and retreated, "I may be wrong about this, but I think most of those ladies who are trying to get into my good graces just now are the same who tried to murder me with their eyes at your mother's ball the other day."

"Of course they are."

"How do you think they'd react if I told them I got my beautiful hairdo at my friends', ehem...place of work?"

"By all means, do tell them, My Lady. But please wait till our wedding is over and my mother isn't in hearing range."

Amy stiffened. "Mother? Wha—"

"Amy, dear! Patrick, my son! Come here and let your mother give you a hug!"

A pastel-coloured blurr shot towards her and, a moment later, Amy was enfolded in a crushing hug. Her new husband was in there with her, too, barely managing to keep from being turned into newlywed-puree.

"I simply can't believe it, Patrick!" Lady Henrietta sniffled. "You've found someone! You've finally found someone!"

"Yes, I've noticed, mother. She is currently being squashed against my collarbone."

"Oh, pish-posh! Don't take that tone with me, young man! And don't bother trying to pretend this isn't the happiest day of your life!"

He opened his mouth—then closed again, clearly not planning to argue the point. Amy couldn't help it. She felt warmth spread through her chest.

"Oy! We wanna join in, too!"

At the shout, Lady Henrietta loosened her hug, enough for Amy to look past her and catch sight of the six tiny malcontents who were rapidly approaching.

"Oh!" The dowager duchess clapped her hands in delight. "Those must be the girls you've told me about? Aww, they're so cute! Come here you little cuddle-cookies!"

And then they were all in a group hug, and the warmth in Amy's chest blossomed. Deep inside, something rose up in her. A feeling? A memory? No. It was something ephemeral, something in between the two, and infinitely better than either.

Family.

This was what family felt like. How long had it been? Had she ever...?

"There, there, dear." Giving another squeeze, Lady Henrietta wiped the lone tear from Amy's cheek. "No need for that."

"It...it's all right," she sniffled. "They're happy tears."

"Well, in that case, go right ahead." The older woman held out a hand to offer up her handkerchief, and, taking it, Amy used it to wipe away the moisture. When she extended her arm to hand it back, Lady Henrietta shook her head. "Keep it. Maybe one day, when you have a daughter, she may need to dry her tears at her wedding."

Amy smiled—then abruptly felt her face flush as she realized the bloody woman had implied Amy had better give her not not just grandkids, but great-grandkids, and pronto!

"You're rather ambitious today, Mother, aren't you?" Lord Patrick enquired, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Amy noted in a distant part of her mind, however, that he did not seem at all displeased. And...was that a smile playing around his lips?

"If not today, then when?" The dowager duchess winked. Winked! "Come on, you two! Time for wedding presents!"

Unable (and unwilling) to resist the force of nature that was Lady Henrietta Day, Amy let herself be pulled towards the door. To the cheers of the entire crowd, she stepped out of the church, arm in arm with her brand new husband.

Yes, my 'usband! 'ho's walkin' arm in arm with me, while people are cheerin' for me.

More importantly, people who cared for her. Friends. Family.

Who would have thought?

"Amy, look!"

Abruptly, Amy was pulled from her thoughts. There, right in front of the church, a table with snacks had been set up for the guests. In the center, a massive display of wedding presents was placed for all to see. And most of the presents didn't even fit on the table! A long line of people was waiting to present their gifts to the newlyweds. One after another, they all stepped forward, presenting their offerings. From the doctor, Amy received a book on prenatal care that sent the dowager duchess oohing and awing. From the dowager duchess, they got a crib. Amy mentally applauded. Very subtle. Very subtle indeed. From Titus—

"No!" Patrick cut in, placing a firm hand on the package before Amy could even think of opening it. "No. Not here. Not now. Most likely not ever. And most certainly not in front of children."

"Come now, Patrick!" Titus gave his friend the most innocent smile he was capable of. Honestly, Amy was kind of impressed he managed one at all. "Would I play a prank on you? On your wedding day?"

"Yes!"

"Ah..." Titus wiped a fake tear away. "It's heartwarming when friends know you this well."

"Here." Cautiously, as if handling a bomb, Lord Patrick handed the package over to his driver who was hovering nearby. "Take this, Everstone. Find some nice, large, open space, put on some thick protective clothing, and only then open it."

"Aww..." Titus sighed. "You're no fun."

"On the contrary," Amy shot back, a grin spreading over his face, "he's lots of fun. Or at least I plan for him to be, tonight."

"Eeew! I did not need that mental image!"

"I could tell you more about what I plan to do with his tight, muscled, male—"

"Eeew!" Clamping his hands over his ears, Titus scampered away.

Amy smirked. A moment later, a familiar, strong arm slid around her shoulder.

"You're amazing, you know that?"

Smirk widening, she nodded. "Aye."

He jabbed a finger at Titus' rapidly receding back. "Can you teach me how to do that? Could be useful."

"Nah. Special talent." Reaching up, she gently caressed his cheek. "But that's what you have me for, right?"

He smiled, seeming unable to help himself. "Yes. Yes, guess I do."

"Ehem."

At the sound of a throat being cleared, Amy looked away from her bootyliscious husband, her eyes falling instead on a much more beardyliscious Karim.

"I sent a telegram to Ambrose Sahib," he informed her, stiffly. "He tells me that Mrs Ambrose regrets very much to not be able to be present at the festivities. He also instructed me to deliver a suitable wedding gift on his behalf."

He reached into his pocket and, withdrawing his hand, offered her a paperclip.

Amy picked up reverently. "I am floored by his generosity."

Karim inclined his head. "I was, as well."

"Remind me to repay him with a safety needle some day."

"I shall."

"Stabbed into his butt."

"Or maybe not."

Karim hurriedly said his goodbyes, probably planning to set up defences around Empire House, and was quickly replaced by more gift givers. After half an hour or so, the stream of guests turned into a trickle, then finally ceased. Amy heard the rattle of wheels approaching and, a moment later, an open carriage drawn by four white horses and decorated in flowers in all colours of the rainbow came to a halt in front of her. A scene straight out of Cinderella.

"Come here, love." Strong arms wrapped around her and, a moment later, she felt herself lifted into the air, held against a comfortingly solid chest. Glancing up, she met a pair of iridescent blue eyes. It felt so warm. So safe. So wonderful. "This is where our happily-ever-after starts."

Amy felt her heart swell with warmth. Dammit! How dare he know exactly what to say? How did he know what she had secretly always dreamed of?

Then he bent down, kissed her, and she stopped caring. All she cared about were his lips on hers, and his strong arms around her. She didn't even bother paying any attention to the horse whistles in the background.

Was this what it felt like to be happy?

Breaking the kiss, he gazed deeply into her eyes. As easily as if he were carrying a feather instead of a full-grown woman, he started forward and climbed into the coach, gently settling her down onto the plush seat.

"Let's head home, shall we?" he enquired. "I'm very eager to get you into my bedroom."

"Oh, aye! Let's!" Came a chipper voice from right next to Amy. Only then did she notice the broadly smirking figure of Flo, who had somehow climbed into the carriage without either of them noticing. "We'll 'ave such a fantastic time together! We can 'ave a sleepover, and tell ghost stories, and roast sausages over the fireplace, and—"

The elegant hand of the dowager duchess of Exeter clamped down on her by the scruff of the neck and lifted her bodily out of the coach. "Oh no. You and your new sisters will be coming with me."

"Oy! Let go of me! Let go of m—"

"I have cookies and hot chocolate."

"—why yes, thank ye, Ma'am! I'd be 'appy ta come along."

Chuckling, Amy watched the girls trailing after Lady Henrietta like doves after a particularly tasty trail of breadcrumbs. Then she turned towards Patrick with a smirk on her face. "You know...I rather feel she has a point. Wouldn't it be wonderful to spend the night telling stories and just relaxing? You know, not indulging in any...strenuous activities?"

She had expected many things as an answer—but not what she actually received. His eyes softened and, touching her cheek, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "If that's what you want."

Amy felt moisture pricking at the corner of her eyes. Dammit! He did it again!

"I love you," she told him.

Capturing her face in his hands, he kissed her again, on the lips this time. Deep, heated and hard. "Not nearly as much as I love you."

"And you're not getting out of getting rogered tonight!"

"Far be it from me to object, My Lady."

Amy felt one corner of her mouth quirk. "Of the night?"

A fierce light entered his eyes. "No. Of the Day."

And for the fourth and final time, Lord Patrick Day kissed his bride, and they drove off down the road, towards their future.

THE END

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There you have it, my dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen! The last chapter of this little spin-off series! How did you like it, on the whole? Do you think it is worth to be published?

If so, do tell me what kind of material you would like for the extra chapters for the published version! Any suggestions are welcome :)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob