'There they are! There they are!'

Adaira was jumping up and down as if she were standing on a trampoline instead of the front steps of her brother's manor. Her hand was waving wildly in the air, pointing at the distant cloud of dust approaching up the road. The cloud that announced the arrival of the first round of guests.

'Calm down, will you?' I patted her shoulder.

'Is he here already?' Standing on her tiptoes, she glanced around.

'I can't! I can't!' She stared at the coach one more time, then turned to glance back over her shoulder. 'Where is he? Isn't he coming?'

'Isn't who coming?' Ella asked, pushing through the assembled crowd of females around Adaira and myself.

'We're waiting for my prospective groom,' I explained.

'Oh, you want to share this precious moment with him?' She clutched her hands to her chest. 'That's so sweet!'

Adaira coughed.

'Yes,' I confirmed, giving her shin a firm kick. 'That's why. Precious-moment-sharing.'

'There they come!' Lady Samantha called, clapping her hands. 'I wonder who'll be first?'

The cloud of dust slowly resolved into a line of three coaches. The first was a postal coach, the two behind it private carriages with crests shining on their doors. The coach in the front rolled to a stop. Slowly, the door swung open, and out of it stepped...

I blinked.

'Lieutenant Ellingham?'

The lieutenant jumped when his name passed my lips. And I really mean jumped, almost back into the coach. His eyes darted anxiously from left to right, as if expecting a dark, towering figure to appear out of the shadows and attack him at any moment.

Right then, the front door of the manor opened and a dark, towering figure appeared out of the shadows. The lieutenant gave a squeak and leapt backwards.

'I told the Sahib that you were waiting for him, Sahiba,' Karim informed me as he strode out of the manor. 'He said he would come as soon as—'

Then he caught sight of the lieutenant. His face hardened, while the poor lieutenant looked as if he'd like to find the nearest rabbit hole to disappear into.

'What is he doing here?'

'Good question!' I hissed leaning over to Adaira.

She shrugged. 'He was on your list.'

'I...well, I guess I put him on there. He was technically one of the people who stepped on my feet, after all. But Mr Ambrose shipped him off to China years ago! How on earth...'

She wiggled her fingers. 'Never underestimate the power of a devious sister.'

'M-miss Linton.' Cautiously, Lieutenant Ellingham stepped forward again and tried to bow while simultaneously trying to keep Karim in his sights. The result nearly broke his neck and toppled him over. 'My felicitations for your forthcoming marriage. I'm so delighted to hear the good news! Overjoyed! Elated! Please convey to Mr Ambrose how very, very elated I am!'

'Err...all right. I will.'

'Thank you! Thank you! I really appreciate it.'

And he scuttled away to find a hole to hide in—hopefully a deep, deep hole, where Mr Rikkard Ambrose wouldn't find him. Before I could turn to Adaira and give her a piece of my mind, the next guest stepped out of the postal coach. The moment I saw who it was, I shoved a big smile onto my face.

'Ah, Miss Hamilton. So lovely to see you again after all this time. You're radiant. May I say that your eyes are looking particularly ocular this morning?'

Inviting one's enemy to one's wedding really was a fabulous experience!

More and more visitors climbed out of the various coaches. I greeted every single one with a smile and, handing them off to Benson, sent them up into the manor to their assigned rooms. I had just welcomed my old childhood governess, also known as Miss Rosalind You'll-never-find-a-husband-if-you-continue-to-misbehave Bleckwith, when, behind me, the door of the manor opened and someone stepped out into the sunlight.

Abruptly, the chatter all around ceased. The eyes of every single person swivelled to face the door of the manor.

'Ah.' I smiled without turning around. 'So nice of you to join us, Mr Ambrose.'

'"Nice" has nothing to do with it, Miss Linton. Karim informed me you requested my presence. I assume there is a reason?'

'Oh yes, indeed, Sir.' I turned back to the old governess with a beaming smile. 'Miss Bleckwith? May I introduce Lord Rikkard Ambrose, heir to the Marquess Ambrose, and my future husband?'

'Ffmbldmbl,' said the governess and sank into a curtsey.

Mr Ambrose inclined his head about half a millimetre. 'The same to you, madam.'

He turned towards me, his head cocked. 'So, why was it that you called me down from my important business?'

'Important business?' I raised an innocent eyebrow. 'That's funny. Last time I checked in on you, you seemed to be double-checking an order for barrels of dried cod.'

'As I said—important business.' His eyes sparkled as coolly as frozen cod. 'Now...what did you want me for?'

This was it. The moment I had been waiting for.

'Why, for welcoming our guests, of course.' Sliding an arm around his waist, I held him in place, just in case he'd make a run for it.

'Guests?' His eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he glanced up at the three coaches. 'And how many of these individuals are my "guests"?'

'All of them of course!' I beamed up at him. 'Isn't that spiffing?'

The arctic glitter in Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes told me exactly how 'spiffing' he considered this fact to be.

'Just look at all those people!' Lady Samantha whisper-rejoiced. 'Oh Rick, my boy, I should never have thought ill of you! I thought you'd make this wedding into a pitiful little affair, but here you are, inviting half of London's high society to your manor. It's going to be fabulous! Isn't this exciting?'

A muscle in his jaw twitched. I had to restrain myself from reaching out and tickling the spot. It twitched again.

'Indeed. I can hardly contain my enthusiasm.'

And then, with truly epic timing, the voice of a woman with a colossal cockney accent drifted over the crowd from behind the hindmost coach.

'Oy, ye dere, guv! Get yer fancy coach out of da way!'

Beside me, my aunt stiffened.

'Is that more of London's "high society"?' Mr Ambrose enquired, his voice deadly.

I shrugged, trying to keep my face expressionless. It was a truly hard battle. 'Depends on what you consider high.'

I'm sure she's brought quite a few people to interesting heights.

A few most definitely non-high-society curses issued from behind the hindmost coach. The assembled ladies and gentlemen turned around to stare, horrified. The assembled coachmen and Adaira turned around to stare, impressed. Swiftly, the coachmen started to move their vehicles out of the way of whoever was coming. They recognized the tone of a woman who was not to be messed with.

From behind the three coaches emerged a fourth vehicle. Where the fancy coaches had made only a mild impression on the already assembled crowd, the newest arrival elicited a far more impressive reaction. And why not? It was a truly magnificent vehicle!

The dilapidated old hay wagon slowly creaked up the driveway. It moved at a glacial pace which, in part, was probably due to the grumpy-looking oxen that pulled the thing, and in part to the fact that the farmer on the box had long ago fallen asleep. The assembled aristocrats stared in horror at the pleb and his deplorable vehicle.

My eyes, however, weren't on the farmer, nor on the darling oxen who might be the only beings in this world who could resist Mr Rikkard Ambrose's work ethic. Instead, my gaze rested on the young lady who was lounging atop the pile of hay on the back of the wagon, a piece of straw in the corner of her mouth and a parasol above her head, shielding her from the brilliant noon sun.

'Amy!'

'Lilly!' Grinning wider than her madam's hips—and that was saying something—Amy slid down the hay pile, jumped off the wagon and rushed towards me. I met her half-way, throwing my arms around the girl and hugging her close.

'I'm so 'appy to see ye!' she gushed.

'So am I.' I winked, and tilted my head towards Mr Ambrose. 'As long as we're clear that he is off limits.'

'Lilly! How could ye suspect me? I'm yer friend!'

I gave her a look and raised an eyebrow.

'Plus,' she added, 'It ain't as if I'd ever get a single penny out of 'im.'

I smiled.

'But...' Amy's eyes slid away from Mr Ambrose, across the other assembled gentlemen, like a lioness eying prospective prey, as she lowered her voice. 'Does the same "'ands off"-rule apply for da rest of dem?'

My smile widened into a wicked grin.

'Not in the least.'

'Hm.' Her gaze slid over the crowd once more—then halted. On Karim. 'Interestin'.'

'Hello there, my dear! Welcome!'

We turned around to see Lady Samantha rushing towards us, light shining in her eyes. Behind her stalked Mr Rikkard Ambrose. There was definitely something shining in his eyes, but it most certainly wasn't light.

'Who,' he demanded, his voice at sub-zero temperature, 'is that?'

'Rick!' the marchioness admonished him. 'Is that any way to greet a guest?'

'Yes,' he told her, without even blinking. 'Mine.'

'Please excuse my son, Miss.' The marchioness turned towards Amy with a warm smile. Her eyes flickered over Amy's mended, and clearly cheap, dress—yet not an iota of friendliness fled from her face. In that moment, I really, really loved Lady Samantha Genevieve Ambrose. 'I'm afraid he has no manners. He disposed of them at a pawn shop years ago.'

Amy curtsied and gifted the marchioness with a smile that had won, if not the hearts, then definitely the wallets of hundreds of men. 'Think nothing of it, Yer Ladyship. It'd take a lot worse than 'im to scare me off.'

'A lady with spirit!' The marchioness beamed. 'Wonderful! Won't you introduce your friend, Miss Linton?'

'Certainly. Your Ladyship, may I introduce Miss Amy Weston? Amy, this is the Lady Samantha Genevieve Ambrose, The Marchioness Ambrose and my future mother-in-law.'

'Really? Spiffin'!' Amy threw her arms around a startled marchioness and hugged her close to her risky décolletage. 'Lilly's told me so much about ye!'

'I-is that so?' The swaying marchioness readjusted her hat. 'How very kind of her.'

'And let's not forget my beloved fiancée, shall we?' I turned to smile at him. 'Mr Ambrose, may I introduce...oh, I completely forgot!' I smacked my forehead. 'You already met Amy, didn't you?'

'Pardon?' I had the distinct pleasure of seeing Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyebrows shooting up zero dot zero zero one millimetre. 'I don't think so. I believe I would remember.'

'Well...I guess you didn't actually meet.' I gave him a cheerful smile. 'I suppose you just missed each other. Do you remember that night we met that charming Mr Cox?'

The instant that name was out of my mouth, Mr Ambrose's entire figure stiffened. His eyes frosted over and his left little finger started telegraphing Morse code. Probably SOS.

'You sent me upstairs to keep myself entertained with the ladies while the two of you discussed business, remember?' Reaching up, I patted his cheek, fondly. 'Amy was the one who was kind enough to entertain me that day and...my goodness, did she entertain me! We had so much fun together that I started visiting her on a regular basis, and the two of us have become very, very close friends.'

'Oh, you have, have you?' There was murder blazing in Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes. Cold-blooded, ravenous murder.

'Oh yes.' I winked. 'She could give you a tip or two about how to treat a lady.'

'She could, could she?'

'Honoured to meet ye, guv.' Grinning with more cheek than a misspelled check, Amy performed another curtsy. 'And I'd be 'appy to give ye tips any time ye like. Sometimes, men just can't do as well as they'd like to. It's nothing to be ashamed of.'

Mr Rikkard Ambrose had just opened his mouth to reply—or to devour me alive in vengeance, who could be sure?—when a curse issued from the hay pile. We glanced over, but the driver of the wagon was still fast asleep.

''ey! Why 'ave we stopped? What's the matter, Amy? Do ye finally 'ave enough of dis wild goose chase?'

'Goose chase my high-priced arse!' Amy exclaimed, marching back to the wagon. She rummaged around in the hay for a moment or two—then came across a foot and grabbed hold.

''ey! Let go!'

'Fat chance! Get yer butt over 'ere! I've got somethin' to show you!'

And she tugged.

'Err...brought some friends?' I enquired, cautiously stepping up to her side.

Looking up at me, she grinned. 'I 'ope ye don't mind. When I told me friends I was gonna go to a lord's wedding at a manor in da country, for some reason they didn't seem to believe me.'

'Imagine that.'

'I know, right? Like I'd ever do anything as dastardly as lie.'

She tugged at the foot again, and this time, it moved. A moment later, an ankle appeared, followed by legs. Quite evidently, one hundred twenty per cent female legs. The eyes of the assembled male aristocrats went wide, unable to waver from the sight. Somewhere farther back in the pile of hay, a third voice, slightly drowsy, asked, 'What's da matter? Are da oxen bein' watered?'

The head of a young woman appeared from amidst the hay. She was a pretty thing. Under her somewhat excessive make-up was a fresh and friendly face that, right in that moment, seemed rather taken aback to have about three dozen lords and ladies from London's high society staring at her.

'Oh. Um. 'ello?'

Raising a hand, she waved.

'Hello, dear,' responded the marchioness with unflappable good cheer. 'My goodness, have you poor dears been riding in that horrid hay wagon for long? What happened? Did your coach break a wheel?'

'Coach?' The girl in the hay blinked. 'What coach? We ain't got—ow!'

'What me friend Cora means to say,' Amy proclaimed, taking the heel of her foot off her friend's maltreated fingers, 'is dat our coach broke down a few miles 'way from 'ere, and dis nice gent,' she prodded the farmer, who gave a particularly gusty snore and continued to slumber, 'was kind enough to give us a ride.'

'And your things?' Lady Samantha asked, looking around in vain for the dozen or so suitcases ladies normally had with them. 'Your luggage?'

'Err...well...'

'Oh, of course!' Her ladyship clapped her hands. 'The luggage must still be back at the coach. It wouldn't have fit on the wagon, right?'

'Right, right!' Amy nodded. 'Exactly!'

'Luggage?' Cora blinked. 'What are ye blabbin' abou—ow!'

'Oh, you poor dears!' Rushing forward, Lady Samantha enclosed Amy in her arms. 'Losing your coach and all your luggage! No wonder you look a little frazzled. Don't you worry! We'll see you outfitted.'

Amy blinked. 'You will?'

'Of course! After all, if not for this little wedding of ours, you would never have come here, and you would never have lost your things. Besides...' Eying the foot still sticking out of the hay, she gave a delicate cough. 'I think your clothes might be a bit...travel-worn. You might want to wear something else to the wedding.'

'I would hope so.' Mr Ambrose let his ice-cold eyes wander over the three women in front of him. Or rather, the one woman, one head and one leg that were currently visible. 'That will be a necessity.'

'Besides,' Lady Samantha added brightly, 'my son can afford it.'

His head snapped around. 'Excuse me?'

She patted his shoulders. 'You're excused.'

'I'm not paying for—'

With the loving gentleness befitting a caring fiancée, I stepped up behind him and slapped my hand over his mouth.

'We'll be happy to help you in any way we can,' I announced brightly, making sure to bulge out my hand so he couldn't bite into my fingers. 'We can take a trip to the local dressmaker's shop tomorrow. I'm sure Mrs Jenkins would love some business.'

'Mmm! Mgmgm mmh!'

'That sounds fabulous!' Clapping, Adaira rushed forward and took Amy by the arm. 'Come on inside, will you? I'd love to have a little chat with you. I'm sure we can learn a lot from each other.'

'Gngrr!' From underneath my hand, a strangled groan erupted from Mr Rikkard Ambrose's throat.

'Excellent idea.' Keeping hold of him with one hand, just in case, I stepped towards the wagon and extended a hand to Carol, who by now had fought herself free of the hay and was gazing down at me as if I had three heads and a little yellow pig tail. 'Let me help you down. We'll go inside and have a nice cup of tea.'

'A cuppa...tea?' Carol asked, somewhat suspiciously. Looking up into the girl's face, I realized this was probably the first time someone had offered her something without demanding something in return.

'Yes.' I held her gaze. 'And biscuits.'

She considered a moment—then nodded. Taking my hand, she stepped down from the wagon, and I shook her hand, firmly.

'Wait!' Came a muffled voice from deep under the hay, and the foot sticking out of the pile began to wiggle. 'What about me?'

'Of course, nobody will be left out.' Taking hold of the foot, I shook it, too. 'Delighted to meet you, Miss...?'

'Jenny. Most people call me Juicy Jenny.'

Lady Samantha blinked. 'Err...indeed? And why is that?'

'Because she makes such good juice,' I explained, my face deadpan. 'Wait till you taste her apple-and-orange mixture.'

'That sounds delightful! Come, let's all go inside.'

Soon, Jenny the juicemaker had struggled free of the hay pile. She was a slender girl. If I'd met her at a ball, I'd have called her elegant and slim. But looking at the shadows under her eyes, the word 'emaciated' came to mind.

'You know what?' I snapped my fingers. 'I think we could do with some sandwiches, too. And a cup of hot chocolate for everyone. Benson?'

The butler, waiting at the door, bowed deeply. 'Immediately, My Lady.'

'Excellent! Shall we?' Helping the last girl down from the wagon, I took her with one arm and Carol with the other—which left no arm for Mr Ambrose, poor dear—and proceeded towards the manor steps. Half-turning, I gave him a wink. 'I have a feeling we're going to have a really interesting chat over tea. But I'm sure you have important business matters to take care of, right? I wouldn't want you to keep you from—'

'I'm coming!'

'Oh, well, if you insist.' I nodded at my friends and family. 'Come on, girls. Let's have some fun.'

And, arm in arm, we stepped inside the manor.

If I'd looked back, I might have noticed the dark figure watching out of the shadows.

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

And, did you enjoy Amy's entrance? I hope you did, because for now, I'll be borrowing Mr Ambrose. A heatwave is approaching, and I'll be steeling him and putting him in my room as an air conditioner... ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob