"Well, well, will you look at that? And people say there aren't any interesting stories in the paper these days."

"What is it?" One eyebrow cocked, Amy leaned across the breakfast table to peek at Patrick's newspaper. "Something interesting?"

"See for yourself."

Turning the paper around, he held it out to her. She grabbed it and, the moment she caught sight of what was printed there, a delighted smile spread across her face.

"Ha! Something interesting? You can say that again."

SCANDAL SHAKES LONDON

The headline nearly jumped at Amy the instant she glanced at the front page. Even the article below was printed in such a large font it was hard to overlook.

Following up on our news story from several weeks ago, we bring you the exclusive story revealing the full extent of the travesty that has been going on right under our noses. Yesterday evening, the Metropolitan Police Force, led by and under the initiative of brilliant private investigator and bodyguard Mr Karim—

Amy snorted her marmalade all over the newspaper.

"Brilliant private investigator Mr Karim?!"

"Ah, yes. Mr Hendrickson may have heard about how Inspector Pritchard didn't wish to take any steps when we first came to him and told him about the underground slave trade." Grabbing a piece of toast, Lord Patrick started to spread butter. "He was...less than pleased with the good inspector."

"Oh dear." Amy's eyes sparkled. "And Karim?"

"Hasn't seen the paper yet, I believe." His Lordship looked up to meet her eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I remember him mentioning his employer usually only gets the previous day's newspaper for frugality reasons. Fancy a visit to Empire House later today to give him a...lovely surprise?"

"Aye." A wicked grin spread over Amy's face. "Oh aye, definitely. I can't wait to congratulate the amazing private investigator on his success and tell him he's now famous all across London."

Unable to resist, she glanced down at the paper again.

"Let's see what amazing things Mr Karim has achieved, shall we...?"

The Metropolitan Police Force, led by and under the initiative of brilliant private investigator and bodyguard Mr Karim, stormed an illegal underground slave auction. Since the time of Queen Elisabeth I, it has been establaished law in the United Kingdom that no man who steps upon England's shores may be kept in slavery.And yet, what did the intrepid Mr Karim find when he and his companions entered the house? Enslaved men? Enslaved women? No, ladies and gentlemen. Enslaved children!

Children being sold to people whose names might be very familiar to everyone.

The article went on and on, ruthlessly exposing name after name after name. Earls, barons, landed gentry, rich industrialists—none of the "buyers" were spared. And neither were the gangsters. The portraits of all the leaders were printed all over the page, followed by more lists of names. It was a marvelous piece of work that filled Amy with increasing satisfaction with every word she read. And yet...her eyes weren't really focused on any of it. No, instead her eyes came to rest on a much smaller news story in the section for social news.

Lord Patrick Day Adopts Six Children

Orphans Finally Finding Happy Home

In a stunningly unexpected move, Lord Patrick Day, heir to the dukedom of Exeter, declared his adoption of six orphaned girls. It is heartwarming to see a young nobleman follow in the charitable footsteps of his lady mother, the Dowager Duchess of Exeter, who is well-known for supporting several orphanages in London from her personal fortune. Some people, however, have questioned whether such a direct connection to the lower classes as adoption might not be an inappropriate thing for a future duke of the realm. When our reporter posed this question to Lord Patrick, he stated "You can take your b***dy inappropriateness and stick it up your f****ing a***!"

Putting the paper down, Amy reached out and softly placed her hand atop Patrick's.

"Thank you."

"For what?" He smirked. "Making good use of your East End language lessons?"

"That, too. But most of all..." Leaning over the table, she hugged him, cupped his jaw with one hand and pressed a soft kiss onto his lips. "Thank you."

He didn't ask again what she was referring to. But then again, it was probably all too clear in her eyes.

Thank ye for doin' dis for Flo and Jo. Thank ye for takin' in dose girls, when no one else would. Thank ye for doin' what I wish 'ad bin done for me.

The moment was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. Quickly, Amy sat up straight.

"Enter!" Patrick called.

A moment later, the door swung open and Griffiths stepped into the room.

"The carriage is ready, Your Lordship. You should depart if you wish to arrive in time for the garden party."

"Well, we definitely wouldn't want to be late, now, would we, My Lady?" Patrick, that scoundrel, had the audacity to smirk at the look on Amy's face. She was going to get him for this! She would have revenge! "Ready to meet the Queen?"

Taking a deep breath, Amy rose to her feet.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"And..."

"Aye?"

"Be on your best behavior, will you?"

A sweet smile spread over Amy's face. Perhaps her revenge would come sooner than she'd thought. Cocking her head, she blinked up at him innocently. "Aren't I always?"

***

Frederick F. Phillip Montgomery Montague, personal butler in the service of Her Majesty Victoria, by the Grace of God Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith and Empress of India, straightened his spine and resisted the instinctual urge to make certain with a ruler that it was perfectly vertical.

"Everyone, may I have your attention, please?" The servants who stood lined up in front of him quieted down, exchanging curious glances. "Today, we have a most important duty. Today is a most auspicious occasion. We shall have the distinct honour of hosting a young lady who, due to her meritorious deeds, shall soon be elevated to the highest echelons of society." His stern gaze swept the assembled line of maids, footmen and other servants. "Noble society."

Excited whispers spread throughout the servants' hall.

"Noble? Did he say noble?"

"A girl like us? Becoming a lady?"

"Is that really true?"

"Quiet, please!" Frederick clapped his hands. "Conduct yourself in a manner behooving your status as servants of Her Majesty."

Instantly, the whispers fell silent.

"Good. Now..." Once again, Frederick's gaze swept the assembled servants. "It goes without saying that we shall treat such an august personage with all the respect she deserves. This is a young lady who, by merit of her own charitable efforts, has made a deep enough impression on Her Majesty the Queen, herself, that the Queen has decided to raise her above her humble station and elevate her to the aristocracy. This speaks of an inborn nobility in this young lady, of virtues so pure and good that few can rival them. I trust I do not need to tell you that such a virtuous young lady is to be treated with the utmost courtesy. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Mr Montague, Sir!"

Frederick nodded with satisfaction. "Good. The name of this esteemed young lady is Miss Amelia Weston. Do not forget it. She will be received during a garden party for which the outdoor staff is currently preparing and will be accompanied by none other than Lord Patrick Day, heir to the duchy of Exeter."

Excited mutters spread throughout the room, and, in the case of the young maids, girlish giggles. Frederick suppressed the urge to smile. He should have guessed this was going to happen. Forcing a stern expression onto his face, he pinned the girls with his gaze, silencing them quickly.

"I will expect you all to be on your best behavior, understood? Make the young lady feel how much her charitable deeds are appreciated."

"Understood, Mr Montague, Sir!" everyone chorused.

Then one hand rose. A slender, tremulous hand.

Frederick cocked an eyebrow at the young maid. "Yes, Mary?"

"Um...I know it isn't my place to ask, Mr Montague, but...can you tell us what charitable deeds this young lady has performed that got her ennobled?"

"I have not been informed of the details," Frederick told her in a dignified tone. "But, if Lord Patrick Day has seen fit to honour her with his attention, not to speak of Her Majesty the Queen, the young lady's accomplishments must be significant and varied."

Again, whispers spread throughout the room. The young maids were in a tizzy, gossiping like mad about what kinds of amazing things a young woman of humble origins would have had to do to catch the attention of one of the most eligible bachelors in the Empire and, more importantly, how they could pull off something similar. Frederick felt one corner of his mouth twitch, but he didn't chastise them again. If they took this chance to learn from such an extraordinary young lady, it could only be good for them, right?

"Watch closely, girls," he advised them, as he heard a carriage roll to a stop outside and turned towards the door. "Watch and learn. This is what a real lady looks like."

A knock came from the door. Striding forward across the red carpet, he gripped the knob and pulled the door open with an elaborate bow.

"Welcome, Miss Weston. May I say what a pleasure it is to welcome you to—"

"Blimey!" a young woman's voice exclaimed from above. "I knew dis place was bloody fancy, but dis? 'oly frigging mackerels!"

"—Buck...ing...ham...Pal..." Frederick's voice trailed off. Straightening, he stared at the young woman in the doorway, who was curiously staring into the extravagant hallway behind him. "Pardon me, Miss, what did you just say?"

The young woman beamed at him. "I was saying what a beautiful home Her Majesty the Queen has. I am so very honoured to be received into these hallowed halls."

"Oh." He gave a quiet sigh of relief. Of course, that had been it. He must have misheard earlier. "Don't mention it, miss. It is my honour to receive such an appreciative guest. And in such distinguished company, as well."

With that, he turned to Lord Patrick Day, who, for some reason, had one hand covering his eyes and was muttering something uncomplimentary about ladies of the night. Frederick frowned. Night? It was the middle of the day. Was His Lordship sick?

Oh, well, a simple butler such as him probably just didn't understand the kind of complex thoughts that a man of such noble breeding must be capable of.

"Please, Your Lordship, Miss Weston, come this way." With another bow, he gestured them inside. "Let me show you inside."

"Sure, sure! By da way, ye wouldn't mind if me and me minions invade and pillage da palace, would ye?"

Frederick F. Phillip Montgomery Montague froze in his steps.

"P-pardon?"

He turned around—and there she was, smiling up at him, as pure as the driven snow. "Oh, didn't I speak clearly enough? I'm so sorry. I said I brought with me some unfortunate orphans whom Lord Patrick recently was kind enough to adopt. Would you mind if I bring them into the palace with me? They would be overjoyed at a chance of seeing this symbol of our nation with their own eyes."

"W-why, of course, Miss! By all means, call them in."

"Why, thank you! This will make their day!" Giving him another radiant smile, the young lady—for a lady she truly was; only a true lady could radiate such purity and goodness—strode back to the door and stuck her head outside. "Oy, girls! 'e fell for it! Come on in!"

Frederick blinked. Fell? But he was still standing. What was she talking abou—

"Yay! Come on! Let's do dis!"

A moment later, the door crashed open, and half a dozen of the most innocent, adorable little children the butler had ever laid eyes upon rushed into the room. These little ones had been orphans? Frederick couldn't imagine how someone else hadn't adopted them before! They looked like angels, like they couldn't even hurt a fly!

"Ooooh! Look!" The smallest of all the girls dashed forward with eyes the size of dinner plates. Frederick felt his heart warm from the way she stared at the crystal chandelier, the decorations, the golden doorknobs...although he wondered why she seemed particularly interested in the doorknobs.

"Is dat all gold?" she whispered in awe.

"Yes, little girl." Reaching down, he patted her head. "That's all pure gold. Like many, many other things in the Queen's palace."

From behind him, Frederick heard a loud thunk. Turning around, he spotted Lord Patrick Day, who was slowly and repeatedly slamming his head against the wall.

"Um...Your Lordship? Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just fine. Which is more than I can say for your palace in the immediate future."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind. Lead on."

Shrugging, the butler turned back to the tiny girl and smiled down at her. Ah, this reminded him of the days when the Queen's children had been little and running all around the palace. Somehow, the crying, sleepless nights and dirty diapers didn't seem half as bad now as he thought they were a few years ago.

"So, you like shiny things, little girl?" He asked, bending down. "What's your name?"

"Jo, Sir!" The little girl piped up. "And aye, I do, ever so much! Could I..."

She broke off, hesitantly nibbling on her lower lip.

"What is it?"

"Could you...could you show us around for a little bit? I know it's a bit much ta ask, but I'd love ta see more of dis place! It's all so pretty!"

Frederick couldn't help but smile at the innocent excitement shining in her eyes.

"Hm...the garden is still being prepared, and it will be some time before the Queen arrives. Since your guardian was so kind as to arrive early, I do believe we could arrange something. Would you all like a little tour of the palace?"

"Yay!" The little girl threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. The others beamed, quite clearly filled with joy. Ah, that warmed his old heart!

Then Miss Weston stepped up beside him. Cocking her head, she sent him a look he couldn't quite identify. It looked...kind? No, that wasn't quite the word. More...pitying?

"Sir..."

"Just call me Frederick, Miss. I'm nought but a humble butler."

"Very well, Frederick. I must ask...Have you ever been an undertaker?"

Frederick blinked. "Um...no, Miss. Why?"

Reaching out, she patted his shoulder. "Because you are amazingly talented at digging your own grave."

"Um...thank you, Miss?"

Shrugging off the strange comment, he strode forward, grabbed a door by the knob and pulled it open, revealing the way into the main palace. This was going to be nice. Children were such a joy to the world, weren't they?

That was when he heard half a dozen girlish squeals of glee, and hell descended upon earth. Or at least upon Buckingham Palace.

***

Roughly ten minutes later, the Queen's carriage came to a halt in front of the palace, her accompanying cavalcade spreading out all over the square. Her Majesty stuck her royal head out of the window, cocking her ear towards the luxurious edifice.

"Oh my! Do you hear that, Albert?"

The prince consort pushed open the door on the other side of the carriage. "Hear what, dear?"

"Don't you hear it?" she pointed towards the palace with an eager smile. "Sounds like the party has already started. Oh, I'm so excited to meet this young lady! Henrietta can't stop praising her. She must be something really special."

"Hm, I think I hear it now. Chatter, and children's laughter, and—"

"Oh, children!" The queen clapped her hands. "I love children! Let's go!"

"—and crashing, and screams, and...is that chandelier shattering?"

The two shared a look.

"Let's go."

***

Several hours later, the door of Buckingham palace, which for some strange reason hung askew on only a single hinge, slowly creaked open, and a whistling Amy Weston strode out into the open, followed by a pale-faced Lord Patrick Day.

"Well, that was...different."

"Oh aye."

"Different as in I-won't-be-able-to-show-my-face-in-polite-company-for-years different."

"Well..." Smirking, Amy leaned into his side, snuggling up to him. "Den it's good ye've got some impolite company, ain't it?"

"Oh?" His Most Noble Lordship quirked one corner of his mouth. "So you think you are impolite company, Lady Amilia Weston?"

Amy opened her mouth—then closed it again. Damn! What was she supposed to say to that? He was bloody right, wasn't he? She was a god damn frigging lady now! She was the very definition of polite society!

"Just realized it, didn't you?" Lowering himself into a deep bow, he smirked up at her. "Greetings, oh noble lady. My humble self is most honoured to be in your exalted company."

Amy opened her mouth to shoot back a barb—

And she realized.

He wasn't joking. He meant it. He really, truly meant it. He was honoured to be with her. Happy to be with her.

The barb stuck in her throat.

When he came up again, her eyes met his. The eyes of the first man to truly see her. The eyes of the only truly good man she had ever met. Amy's breath hitched and, whatever desire to trade verbal barbs she might still have felt disappeared in an instant. She saw it in his eyes. The need. The desire. The wish to grab her and kiss her right then and ther—

Just then, a chorus of catcalls interrupted them from behind.

"Go for it!"

"Smoochy, smoochy, shmoo!"

"Go on! Snog 'im!"

Eyebrows twitching, Amy turned around, only to come face to face with half a dozen deviously smirking imps.

"Don't ye 'ave anythin' better ta do dan stalking da two of us?"

"Nope!" Flo exclaimed, her grin widening. "Nothin' at all."

"No," Jo agreed, shaking her head energetically. Energetically enough for certain appropriated goods in her pockets to jingle. "Definitely not."

Amy exchanged another glance with Lord Patrick Day. For a lady of the night from the darkest, dirtiest corner of the East End, it was really quite impressive how much, in that moment, she could empathize with a frigging future duke. A lord of all things! A nobl—

Crap.

She'd almost forgotten. She was a noble now, too, wasn't she? She, Amy Weston, foul-mouthed dollymop extraordinaire, was polite company!

It was a horrifying thought.

Unless...

A grin spread over her face.

Unless I do a little redefining of da word "polite". Which, after my recent visit to da Queen's tea party shouldn't be dat 'ard. My oh my...what interestin' changes in London's 'igh society I could bring about, I wonder...?

"Lady Weston?" Patrick narrowed his eyes at her. "What are you plotting?"

"Plotting? Me?" She batted her eyelashes. "'ow could ye think such a thing?"

Then she skipped away, giggling. When she looked back, she could see Lord Patrick Day surrounded by her miniature minions, who were peppering him with questions about what he and Amy had been about to do, and where babies came from, and what that story about the birds and bees meant. When she met his gaze, the plea in his eyes was clear for all to see: Why me? What did I do to deserve this?

She smirked, and mouthed back: kissing me!

He blinked, then...smiled.

Worth it, his eyes seemed to say. Definitely worth it.

Amy felt a tug on her heart and, quietly, deep inside, couldn't help but agree. It had been worth it. With a smile, she turned around again and was just about to continue skipping down the road, when she spotted a paperboy running along the road.

"Biggest scandal ever! Biggest scandal ever! Read all about da scandal in da nobility! Read all about—"

"Oy!" Calling out, Amy waved the boy over. "Give me one of dose!"

"Aye, Miss! Right away, Miss!"

"Dat's Yer Bloody Ladyship ta ye, ye little brat!"

The boy snickered. "Sure it is."

Faking a scowl, Amy flipped him a coin and sent him off with a middle-fingered gesture that, if she had any say about it, would soon be spread throughout polite society as the fashionable new greeting. Then she flicked open the paper and started to skim its contents, on the lookout for the article in question.

"I think you're acting a little prematurely," a voice came from just behind her. Glancing up, she saw Patrick had caught up with her and was peeking at the open paper. "If you're wanting to read about the scandal at the Queen's garden party, I think you'll have to wait for tomorrow's issue."

"Nah, dat ain't it." Grinning, Amy shook her head. "I just wanna see what dey wrote about our accomplishments."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You already read about that this morning."

Amy's grin widened. "It's like ice cream. Ye can never 'ave enough."

He cocked a doubtful eyebrow. "Articles about illegal slavery?"

"Nah." She snickered. "Lists of assholes who are gonna rot in jail!"

Then she promptly proceeded to indulge herself.

Lord Hustous Exavier Crane, Sir Rudolph Alasdair Tennyson-Huntington...

Ah, what a joy it was to know about all the perverted shit stains that were never going to see the light of day again. Humming happily, she continued to peruse the list of names that covered half the newspaper page.

Lord Xavier D. Beamont, Mr Philip Bloomfield-Blyth, Lord Barnabas Nathaniel Darrington, Lord Fabian Evander Comp—

Amy froze.

No. No, it couldn't be, could it?

It couldn't be...him?

She was running before she realized it.

"Amy!" she heard a shout from behind, but ignored it. Ignored everything and anything. "Amy, what are you doing? Amy, wait!"

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

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Some of you might be confused about the newspaper article in the chapter stating that slavery was outlawed in England since the time of Queen Elisabeth, when, for centuries, Britain was the world's largest slave trader. But it's true. Ready for a little history lecture? ;)
Here we go!

Slavery being outlawed in Britain since the time of Queen Elisabeth is historically accurate, no matter how contradictory it might seem. In 1569, a man called Cartwright was arrested for whipping a man he had brought with him from Russia. When Cartwright defended himself by pointing out the man was a slave, the judge pointed out that there is no slavery in English common law, pronouncing "that England has too pure an air for a slave to breathe in." The crazy part of this whole matter is that this policy was upheld throughout the entire time during which Britain was the world's greatest slave trader. Slaves were captured in Africa and shipped to the colonies, but, theoretically, if a slave ever managed to set foot on the British Isles and appeal to a British court, they would be recognized as a free man. Of course, few people ever managed such a thing.

Sometimes, history is truly as weird as it is horrific.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob