...and he moved on without the barest flicker of recognition.
What da 'ell? Arrogant son of a bachelor! Who does 'e think 'e is?
Most likely a peer of the British Empire. In which case, he would be right, damn him!
And yet...
To look past her without even hesitating?
What, did ye think 'e'd actually pick ye? An infuriating little voice sounded in the back of her mind. Do ye think dis is some bloody fairy tale?
He couldn't pick her if he wanted to. They were on a mission! They were here to mingle and observe—not to cause a bloody ginormous scandal by letting everyone watch Lord Patrick Day, most eligible bachelor of London, dance at a duke's ball with a frigging nanny!
This was fact.
This was logic.
Yet somehow, all of that didn't change the fact that her heart, which had been pounding just an instant ago, now suddenly felt bruised. Not because she wanted him to come over to her and ask her to...no, of course not! But for him to not even look at her, not even acknowledge her existence...
It made her feel hollow and cheap, like a cracked old vase, about to shatter at any moment.
"My Lady." Abruptly, Lord Patrick's eyes snapped back. With long strides, he strode forward—straight in her direction. Amy's lifeless heart suddenly jumped again, and...
And Patrick stopped in front of a tall, elegant lady standing right in front of her. Amy could only see her elegantly curved back, slender neck and shiny locks, which already made made her a matchless beauty. More than that, with her golden hair and marvellous figure, she was Patrick's perfect match.
Match? Great! Please let's set 'er on fire! Let's do it right now!
Maybe she had spent too much time with Flo. Maybe there wasn't any reason to be concerned. After all, the woman might just be as ugly as—
Just then, the young lady turned to gaze directly at Lord Patrick, revealing a stunningly beautiful face that could make angels cry.
Crap.
"Y-yes, My Lord?" a tremulous, melodious voice issued from between her lips.
Lord Patrick performed a deep bow. "Lady Violet, you are as beautiful as the flower whose name you bear. There is none here but you worthy of accompanying me for the opening dance at His Grace's ball. May I have the honour of being given your hand?"
Amy felt her hands clench into fists. Suddenly, she really wanted to give him her hand. Into his face. And maybe a few other, more vulnerable places.
No! Bad Amy! Bad! Dat's da wrong one! Da noble ye wanna chop ta pieces is da copper-'aired one, not da blond bastard (may 'e die an agonizing death!).
That's what she kept telling herself, at least. Lord Arsehat was was her ally! Her ally in this pit of evil and depravity!
That still didn't keep her from wanting to kick his arse!
The aforementioned arse, however, was already moving.
"Why...thank you, Your Lordship." Blushing, the lady called Violet curtsied and extended that slender, too darn dainty little hand of hers. "I would be delighted."
"Then please follow me." With a deep bow, he took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. "It will be my honour."
As the musicians struck up a seductive melody, Amy watched Lord Patrick Day leading his lady onto the dancefloor. His second hand joined hers, and they began to move to the rhythm of the music. Or rather, he began to move her. Like a whirlwind, he twirled around the dancefloor, manoeuvering her with swift, elegant, irresistible movements. Amy couldn't tear her eyes of them. A beautiful couple dancing at a luxurious ball. Just like Cinderella and the prince, only that both of them were of noble blood. This was how the other half lived. This was what the woman by Patrick's side was supposed to look like.
And why da 'ell is dat botherin' ye so much? Ye don't even like 'im! 'e's a nob, an aristocrat, and worst of all, a grammar fanatic! Ye 'ate dose arrogant arse'oles!
So why did she still keep staring at him, like a distant monument, impossible to reach?
Finally, the first dance came to an end.
"Everyone!" The duke's distant voice seemed to her as if it were coming through a thick bank of fog. "Please join the lead couple on the floor!"
And, as the music struck up once again, the guests moved into the center of the room, surrounding the young lady and her lord until nothing could be seen of them anymore. Finally, Amy was able to look away, lowering her gaze—only to meet two pairs of curious blue eyes.
"Waawaah?"
"Dat's right." She nodded, firmly. "Who needs other men as long as I 'ave ye?"
"Waah!"
"Oh, thank you! I agree, I'm much more beautiful dan dat 'ag."
"Wawawah?"
"So observant for yer age! True, 'er temper is far too timid and sheep-like."
"Waah!"
"Aye, 'er face, too."
Patting the heads of the admirably intelligent children, Amy glared at the spot where she had last seen the woman, now obscured by the crowd. Why, out of all the women here, did he have to pick such a ...such a spineless little nitwit! She wasn't even a real woman yet! The girl hadn't even dared to look him in the eyes properly. And yet, for some bloody reason, he'd seemed to have eyes for no other female in the entire frigging ballroom! He was already dancing the second dance with her, while everyone else had already switched partners! And yet, that wasn't the most infuriating thing!
No, the worst thing was: Nobody asked her to dance!
Nobody!
Not a single frigging one!
All the other ladies had at least one gentleman approach them already. But the men, gentle or not, all seemed to be studiously avoiding her, the most bloody alluring lady of the night from the Pussycat's Palace, as if she had the plague! To be fair, this might have had something to do with the cheerful pink spit catapults in her arms, but still...
That didn't bloody cheer her up any!
The third dance came. The fourth. The fifth. Lord Patrick changed partners to another even paler, shyer girl. Smiling prettily, she kept hiding behind her fan—unless her dance partner wasn't looking, in which case she stared at him like a hyena would at a juicy cadaver she was about to devour.
Amy couldn't help noticing that, whenever a lady was finished dancing with His Lordship and stepped away, other men swarmed her immediately. Dozens. In some cases, hundreds even.
"Will you do me the honour of accompanying me for this dance, My Lady?"
"No, please allow me the honour of your hand, My Lady!"
"Pardon me, Sir! I spoke to the lady first!"
"And she has not answered yet. Be a gentleman and let the lady make her own decision."
"Exactly. A decision to choose me. You two fellows cannot even compare to me. Step aside."
From all sides, men converged on Lord Patrick Day's leftovers. Tall men. Muscular men. Elegant men. All of them wanted nothing more than to bathe in the vicarious glory of a mighty peer of the realm by flocking around his former partners. Graciously, the young ladies condescended to choose a partner, and the remaining men turned away disappointed—only to find another partner immediately. After all, they'd had the great honour of being rejected by the leftovers of Lord Patrick Day, how could women not desire them? They were all so fortunate to be invited here! Joyfully, they joined on the dancefloor, bowing and curtsying as they all exchanged greetings and found partners.
All but one, that is.
Amy tugged at her frumpy nanny outfit.
Bloody ''ell, bloody 'ell, bloody 'ell! Titus Irving, I'm gonna kill ye!
Where did he even find this bloody costume? What was up with it? Was there men-repellent spray on it? Was it cursed?
Amy couldn't figure out what else might be happening. She was Amy Weston! The most treasured prize of the Pussycat Palace. That might not mean much to high and mighty lords with august social status, but it meant she was bloody darn good at attracting males! And not just those who were shitting in diapers and attracted by rattles!
And yet...not a single man here even glanced at her. The more time passed, the more she felt herself wilting, like a flower in the desert. More time passed, and still, not a single watering can approached her, let alone a man! And as for Lord Patrick Day?
Staring at the crowd, Amy managed to catch a glance of him dancing with a beautiful redhead who could really do with a dozen or so ugly pimples on her face! Her eyebrow twitching, Amy turned back towards the only two males in the ballroom who currently didn't annoy her.
Suddenly, she saw movement out of the corner of her eyes. Was that...? Yes! A man was coming towards her. An actual, living, breathing man! Ha! In your face, Lord Pea! This lady still got it!
Eagerly, she straightened up. Lifting her chin, she presented herself from her very best side as the the man strode towards her with eager steps...
...and brushed right past her to grab a carafe of water from a nearby table.
"Aaaah!" Pouring himself a glass, he drank with big gulps and gave a satisfied sigh. "I really needed that. All that dancing is so exhausting..."
Then he turned around and strode back to his dancing partner for another round.
"Waawah?"
"Oh, shut up ye!"
"Waah?"
"Just ye wait! Men are going ta start come flockin' ta me soon!"
Another dance passed. And another.
"Waawah?"
"Any minute now! Dey'll come runnin' any minute now!"
Suddenly, the dance ended, and a figure stepped out from among the crowd. A tall man, with a stern expression on his face. Even Amy, who'd seen more men in her life than she cared to remember, had to admit his ruggedly handsome face with that determined expression on it looked not unappealing. And...and he was coming straight towards her!
Was he going for the water carafe, too?
No, this time there was no mistake! He was coming towards her! He was definitely coming towards her! Ha! She was going to get to dance after all! And when Patrick saw her on the dancefloor, she would—
"Excuse me, Miss..." Stepping up to where she sat on her chair, the gentleman bowed before her deeply.
"Yes?" Amy's heart made a leap. His stern eyes were really quite attractive....
Said stern eyes moved down to her lap. "Could you please keep those brats quiet? My dance partner and I can hardly hear the music."
Then he turned around and strode back.
Calm, Amy. Calm. Ye ain't in Devil's Acre. Stabbin' someone in da back with a rusty kitchen knife ain't socially acceptable.
Too bad. Suddenly, that miserable little dump of a place she called home didn't seem like such a bad place after all.
So what if no one asks ye? Didn't ye forget a little something? Or rather, two little somethings? 'ow da 'ell are ye gonna dance with are ye gonna dance with a man with a rugrat under each arm?
So, it was entirely reasonable that she couldn't dance. She would have had to decline even if asked. She was not disappointed at all.
Not in the least!
Definitely not!
...
...
Nobody asked her to dance the entire evening. Not even once.
Amy felt miserable. And because she felt miserable, she was darn pissed at herself!
Ta 'ell with it! Dancing? What's da matter with ye, Amy? Dat ain't why ye're 'ere in da first place!
She and Patrick were here for a specific purpose.
She glanced at His Lordship, who had apparently exchanged the redhead for a brunette. To hell with those harpies! The two of them...the two of them had a job to do!
And ye're doin' a wonderful job of it, sittin' on yer arse and glaring holes in people.
Ehem, well...at least she was thinking and making plans! He, on the other hand...
She watched with narrowed eyes as the man who was supposed to be helping her investigate this place leaned forward to flirt with another girl.
Ha!
All right.
It was decided. If Lord Bloody Patrick Day wasn't going to do his job, she'd do it for him! Rising to her feet, Amy inconspicuously moved towards the closest door, keeping her head low like a good, demure little nanny.
Time to do some investigating!
***
"...and the three of us had so much fun together, that day! I tell you, the flower arrangements made by Lady Abercrombie are simply beautiful and such a joy to see! Did you know that there is a special language of flowers and each and every blossom has its meaning?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "Daisies mean innocence, forget-me-nots stand for treasured memories, palm leaves stand for success and roses stand for love and marriage."
"Fascinating," Lord Patrick Day said, one of his eyes twitching. "Absolutely fascinating. May I ask, which one stands for mind-numbing boredom?"
"Pardon?"
"Ehem, nothing. I was just thinking aloud." Cursing himself, Lord Patrick forced a bright smile onto his face. "I'd love to hear more of your flowery tales another time. But for now, why don't you tell me more about the time you and your friends visited this castle. It is such a fascinating building. So majestic and mysterious."
"Mysterious? Oh, don't get me started!" the girl exclaimed.
"Certainly not. Judging from the last half hour conversation, you are perfectly capable of starting by yourself and never stopping."
"Oh, thank you so much for the compliment, Lord Day! Like I was saying, don't even get me started on this castle! Of course, it is a grand place, never seen anything grander, I must admit. Nonetheless, can you imagine I've hardly seen more than a single room? It is a travesty, to tell the truth! Most renowned families would give you a tour of the manor if you are invited as a guest. Nay, more than that, most noble families even open their homes for tours for common people! And yet his grace would not even let me and my friends have a tiny little peak?" She put on a pout that was probably supposed to be adorable. "Can you imagine?"
Yes. Yes, I very much can.
"No! Really?"
"Yes! I wanted to sneak past the staff and have a peek, but my friend stopped me."
And probably saved your life.
"...and every time I was invited here, I was always shown to the yellow drawing room. I always wanted to explore the castle, but they never let me."
The girl pouted once more. Lord Patrick felt the urge to ask whether there was a weight attached to her lower lip. In the end, he resisted. After all, to ask a lady a question politely, you would have to be able to remember her name.
"...had so much fun riding over the grounds...blah blah blah...won three games of croquet, one even against Lord Larsendale..."
"How interesting," Lord Patrick said with that untouchable, elegant smile that had never failed to draw ladies in swaths. He'd been smiling for so long his face hurt. "Does the park have a fence or a wall? Is it guarded? I do so hate those ugly walls that block the beautiful view of the landscape beyond." He sighed. "I do so hope His Grace shares my opinion on this. Did you perchance notice?"
This was what he'd been doing since he first stepped into this ballroom. Mingling. Dancing. Conversing with the dozen of ladies who were so eager to dance with him, and trying his best to ignore the way they stared at him like hungry harpies.
Did they really think he would not notice?
He had been hounded by greedy mothers and their not-so-eligible daughters since he'd first stepped into London society. Which, incidentally, had been at the age of twelve. He was long hardened against the fake seductive looks of those harpies yapping at his heels.
However...they did have their uses. Most importantly, the fact that they never. Ever. Shut. Up. He only had to steer their conversation in the right direction, and he would receive countless valuable pieces of information without Arrendyle ever catching wind of it.
"...very high walls indeed. And always there are people around watching over you so you don't get lost in the woods. It is quite tedious. Or at least it would have been, if not for the Duke. He's such an amazing person, you know? Always donating to charity, visiting orphanages..."
"Is that so?" His Lordship fought the instinct to clench his fists, and just about managed to keep himself from crushing the girl's hands. "Were you ever fortunate enough to accompany him on one of these trips?"
A tiny frown marred the girl's brow. "Now that you mention it, no. Nor has anyone else for that matter. He doesn't seem to like company on his charity trips."
So...he works not only at home, does he? Diversification is always such a wise strategy.
"Ah, yes." He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. "In his shoes, I would most likely do the same."
"Really?" The girl stared up at him, a nonplussed look on her face. He realized for the first time how immature she looked compared to...some people he knew. "Why is that?"
"Because," His Lordship answered, his gaze fixing on the neck of Duke Arrendyle in the distance, who stood with his back to him smiling down at the girl he was dancing with, "Some things can only be done in the dark."
"Ooooh, Lord Patrick!" She batted her eyelashes up at him. "Are you going to ask me to go for a walk with you in the garden under the starlight?"
Lord Patrick Day felt a muscle in his neck twitch. His engrained gentlemanly manners were certainly being put to the test. These young ladies were a little too...single-minded.
Don't you mean single-braincelled?
"I'm afraid His Lordship might object," he retorted. "It is his garden, after all."
"Oh, how bothersome!" She pouted—again. "That Duke is handsome, but he's such a bothersome man. Sometimes, I think I should just use the next ball to sneak out and have a look around..."
Good luck. If you do, I think you shall discover that the Duke is more than bothersome.
Continuing to listen to her with one ear—he switched from one to another, since he was of the firm opinion that nobody should have to bear torture for too long—he let his eyes sweep over the surroundings, seeking any and all visual clues as to where exactly the Duke might keep his "special guests". But it quickly became clear that Arrendyle had taken pains to keep the light and dark sides of his life clearly separated. Guards disguised as servants were nearly everywhere. Someone, at some point, after careful preparation, would have to sneak into the hidden parts of the castle if they truly wished to find and save the children. Lord Patrick's gaze flitted to a certain chair against the wall. He would have to discuss this with Amy, and...
Amy?
Where by all the crown jewels in the tower of London was she?
She wasn't sitting in her place! In fact, she wasn't sitting anywhere. Or standing for that matter! But, if she wasn't in the hall...
Darn!
No. No, not even she would be that reckless, thickheaded and...
Then he remembered whom he was talking about.
Tarnation!
"...and the week before last, my friends and I went shopping for bonnets at Madame Montfleur's. Truly, I had never seen such a marvellous collection of colours and flower-patterns! Did I mention that there is a special language of flowers? Daisies mean innocence, forget-me-nots stand for treasured memories, palm leaves stand for success and roses stand for love and marriage. Madame Montfleur makes such wonderful bonnets decorated with rose patterns. I think I shall be heading back there for my next birthday. But the roads these days can be so dangerous, and I am only a defenceless little damsel. Oh, if only I had a gentleman to accompany me who could protec—"
"Sorry, My Lady, see you later I have work to do!"
"Wha—"
Before she could get out another syllable, Lord Patrick Day gave her a last twirl, and then, just as he was supposed to catch her and lead her in the other direction...
He was gone.
"Ahh! Umph! What the—!"
Thump!
"You witch! How dare you throw yourself on my fiancee like that?"
"Ow! My foot!"
"Aagh!"
"Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, out of the way, please...!"
Not paying the least attention to the kerfuffle behind him, Lord Patrick dashed forward. Ducking and swerving from left to right, he swiftly made his way across the ballroom. Yet by the time he reached the spot where he'd last last seen the nefarious nanny, she had disappeared into thin air.
"Malediction!" His head whipped from left to right as he strode along quickly, but not fast enough to attract attention. "Where could she be? Where could she—"
He was halfway through the hall when he froze in front of a doorway leading into a particular corridor. In the air around the doorway hung a faint whiff of baby poo.
---------------------------------------------------------------
My dear Lord, Ladies and Gentlemen,
No time for an author's note today. A thousand curses upon tax returns, especially ones you have to make in a hurry because you forgot all about them!
Hands up anyone who agrees? ;-)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob