It was a dark, stormy day as the lonely figure of a woman stood in front of the towering castle. Trying to find shelter from the whistling wind, three tiny figures huddled around her, peeking up at the massive turrets overhead like scared little bunnies.

Only if someone looked very, very closely, might they have noticed the evil glint in the harmless little children's eyes.

"Come, my dear ones," the lonely woman—who just so happened to bear a distinct resemblance to Amy with a bright blond wig—took her charges by the hands and led them down the path towards the castle. "Let's see if dese good people take pity on da needy and destitute, or else we'll 'ave ta go back to da work'ouse and live in squalor and poverty."

"Oh no!" One of the little girls nodded and trembled in tremendous terror. "Not the workhouse! Not the workhouse!"

"Shh...shh..." The woman patted the little girl's head. "Don't be afraid. Dose large rats dat bit ye won't be dere anymore. Dey'll 'ave bin eaten by bigger, uglier rats by now."

"Bigger? Uglier? Oh, I'm so afraid Mummy! Please don't send me to da work'ouse! If I'm dere, I'll...I'll..."

"Don't be afraid!" The woman hugged the little girl closer. "I won't let ye go to da work'ouse! I know 'ow much ye 'ate ta work!"

That caused the terrified little girl to give her a good kick in the shin. Clearing her throat, the woman took the girls' hands and pulled them towards the castle.

"Ehem! Come along, everyone! Let's see if dese good people will take pity on some poor, pennyless orphans and deir pinheaded mother. And do remember ta look frightfully fearful."

"Aye, mother!"

Together, the poor, single woman and her woebegone children made their way along the path to the wrought iron gate and humbly humbled their way towards the guards standing on either side. Just in case the way she stewed in destitution wasn't evident enough, she staggered a little, muttering and moaning like a miserable, marginalized little miss.

"Oh, woe is me...'ow could such a thing befall us! 'ow could da 'eavens leave us without a man ta take care of us...sob sob, what a cruel fate!"

"What do you want, woman?" One of the guards demanded, making a shooing motion with his hand. "Begone, you and your pack of brats!"

"P-please." The desperate, destitute woman stumbled forward, trying to think of additional adjectives starting with "d". "Please...ye 'ave ta 'elp me..."

"I don't 'ave ta do nothin'! Piss off!"

"Please," the desperate, destitute lady slid her destitute fingers through her rich, silky blond hair that looked almost too good to be real. Why, you might almost think it was a pricy wig. Giving the two men the trembling smile of a damsel in deep, deep distress, she thrust out her chest, making sure that her buttons were similarly in distress and her cleavage clearly visible. "Please, ye 'ave ta 'elp me."

"Oh, well, err..."

"Uhum, we..."

The two guards exchanged looks.

"It think it's our civic duty."

"Yes, it's only right. After all, if a lady is asking for help..."

Just then, the sound of hoofbeats approached from the direction of the castle, and the cast iron gate creaked open. Hurriedly, the guards leapt aside and stood to attention, making room for the massive, black-and-gold carriage that rolled through the gate a moment later, drawn by six resplendent horses. The coach was just about to pass them when the unfortunate young woman just happened to stumble, almost falling in front of the horses.

Only almost, of course.

"Ho!" Abruptly, the coachman tugged at the reins, just managing to bring the coach to a halt. "Oy, woman, what do ye think ye're doin'? Get out of da way!"

"I'm s-sorry! I didn't mean to! It's just...I 'aven't eaten for days, and me legs are feelin' so weak, and..."

"Oh dear! What do we have here? Coachman, stop!"

The coachman, who had just been about to spur the horses on again, froze in mid-movement. "My Lord?"

"Well, just look at this poor woman, and her...poor children." His Grace Ronald Harrington, Duke of Arrendyle pushed open the coach door and, climbing out, gazed down at the helpless woman and her children. Helpless being the operative word. What a wonderful start to a day that had promised to be so dreary. A smile spread across his handsome face. Only a very, very close observer would have noticed that, unlike his gate guards, the Duke's gaze rested not upon the woman's cleavage, nor upon her skirt, but upon the children who clung to it. The Duke smiled to himself. To each their own, after all. "This good woman doesn't look like a beggar or vagabond. I think it is very likely that there is a story behind this, correct?"

Smiling, he bent forward to where the terrified damsel was huddled together with her children. This was going to be highly entertaining.

The poor woman cowered. "Y-yes, thank ye, My Lord. Ye're quite right. I...I..."

Such sweet fear...such savory innocence...too bad she was about ten or fifteen years too old.

"What is it?" the duke asked gently, extending his hand.

"It's...I...I'm ashamed dat...dat..."

"What? Do not be afraid, Miss. You're safe here."

"Th-thank you, My Lord! I...I..." Ah, that delectable stutter... He wondered whether she would still stutter later when she was safely in his castle, and he had found a nice, comfortable bedroom for her children. "J-just...th-thank you."

The poor, distressed young lady lowered her head in shame. And because she did, no one, not even the duke, was able to see the ginormous grin on her face.

"I...was lucky enough ta be married ta a wonderful man, My Lord. One of da best ta ever live. 'e...'e worked tirelessly ta provide for me and our children, and...and everythin' looked so wonderful. We didn't 'ave much, but we were 'appy, and our future looked bright. And den...and den..."

Blah, blah, blah, et cetera...would that woman never shut up?

"Then what?" he asked gently and oh-so-convincingly.

"I...we...lost 'im. Just a few weeks ago, 'e...'e went out on da sea in his fishing boat and never...never ever..."

Just then, two of the little girls buried their faces in the woman's skirt, starting to whimper and sob with gusto. Oh, that sound... His Grace had to suppress the urge to shiver in pleasure.

Soon, he told himself. Soon.

"Shh...shh..." Gathering the children up in her arms, she hugged them close. "It's all right, me little ones. It's all right. Mum's right 'ere."

"Well now, don't be sad, children. Don't be sad," the duke soothed. "I'm sure he is in a better place now." Better for me, anyway. Stepping towards them, the duke bent down to the children, giving them a blindingly white smile that might have come straight from a dentist's advertisement. "No need to hide. You're safe here."

One of the girls peeked out from the folds of the skirt. "P-promise?"

"I swear," He gazed straight into the adorable girl's eyes. Eyes that soon would plead for mercy. "I happen to be very fond of children."

"R-really?" The little girl peeked up at him. She was an incredibly cute girl, with wild untamed locks, and a pretty doll clutched in her arms. Oh, if only she knew what was coming for her...

"Really?"

"What's your name, girl?"

"A-Aggie, Mister. Me name is Aggie."

"What a beautiful name. And yes, Aggie, really. I promise."

"Pinky promise, Mister?" The girl looked up at him with large, innocent eyes. "I know people can't lie when dey do a pinky promise."

"Of course!" One corner of his mouth twitching, the duke stretched out his pinky finger, and the girl stretched out her hand, curling hers around his. The motion attracted His Grace's attention to the toy in her arms, and he glanced down.

"Oh, what a cute doll you have, little girl!" Smiling, he leaned down to stroke the doll's head.

"Thank ye." The girl returned his smile with an even bigger one. "Maybe later, when ye can come visit 'er, and get ta know 'er a little closer."

"I would like that very much."

Again, he patted the doll's head, and....was that a handle sticking from her bottom?

No. Surely, he was mistaken.

"Yer Lordship? 'ello, Yer Lordship?"

"Um...my apologies. I was distracted by...never mind." Refocusing, the duke rose to his feet and turned his gaze back towards the woman, his eyes filled with compassion. After all, eyes weren't particularly big and difficult to fill. He ought to know. He'd gouged out more than a few. "I'm afraid my manners so far have been at fault. May I enquire what your name is, Mrs...?"

"Antula, My Lord. Mrs Antula." The young woman curtsied. "But please, just call me Tara."

"Of course, Tara." Gently taking her hand in his, the duke smiled at her. "So, Tara...may I ask why you've honoured my humble abode with your presence?"

"I..." Filled with shame, the young woman lowered her head. "Me children are all alone in da world now. I was gonna go to yer Lordship's kitchen back door, and see if dey 'ad any leftovers for me and me little ones. No beggin' or stealin'! Nothin' like that! Just...stuff ye might not need, and—"

"Shh...no need to say more, young Miss. I understand. Sometimes, life is hard. The world is not a fair one." His Grace gave a sigh that showed his despair at the unfairness of the world. "I could have the cooks give you something. I'd be happy to, but...do you have anywhere to go?"

The young woman's head lowered even farther. Shivering, she reached out to gather her children against her. The duke's hands twitched, itching to reach out and—

No. Later. Patience.

"So...you have no one to care for you?" he asked, once again smiling, and this time not even having to fake it.

"No, Sir."

"No family? No friends?"

"No."

"Poor girl, all alone in the world." His smile widening, he glanced back and forth between the castle and his unexpected guests, as if considering something. As if he hadn't already decided. "You know...I just remembered that there happens to be a post as a maid open at my castle."

"T-truly?"

"Truly. My steward was just telling me all about it, was he not?" Raising an eyebrow, His Grace shot a look towards a middle-aged man with a harrowed face that was peeking out of the coach. The man blinked, then hurriedly nodded.

"Maid...oh, yes, definitely! I, um...was just telling His Grace that...that...we have a post just made for a maid! Because...because..."

"Female employees never seem to remain in my employ for long." The duke shrugged, looking apologetic. "I don't know why, exactly. Maybe they don't like my drafty old castle. After some time they just somehow...disappear."

The duke gave a sigh.

"I can't imagine why, My Lord!" Straightening, the woman raised her chin to glare at the steward, as if she were outraged on the duke's behalf. Excellent. Simply excellent. "Ye've already bin kinder ta me dan anyone I can remember since da death of me poor 'usband. I would be honoured ta be accepted inta yer staff!"

"What a coincidence you should say so." With a beaming smile, he clapped his hands. "Well, it's settled then. You shall be entering my service forthwith!"

"W-what?" The woman's mouth fell open, awestruck. The duke had to work hard to resist the urge to laugh out loud. Bothersome, since work was not something he was used to, but the look on the stupid wench's face was worth it.

"You shall be entering my service forthwith," he repeated with a gentle expression on his face, "and you shall have a home, enough food for you and your children and, most importantly," he finished, his eyes glittering, "warm beds. Warm, comfortable beds."

There were now tears of gratitude shimmering at the corners of the woman's eyes. Her children were gazing at him with even more adoration, with one girl seeming ready to thrust her doll at him in gratitude.

Fools! But delectable fools, nonetheless. The young woman took a cautious step forward, gazing at him, hope burning in her eyes.

"Y-ye're gonna take me in? A-are you sure, My Lord?"

"Absolutely." Reaching out, he took her by the hand. "Come on in. I will take care of you...and your children."

***

Hidden behind the crest of a hill, Lord Patrick Day knelt in the grass, a pair of binoculars glued to his face. The thing was pressed so tightly against his skin that it would most likely leave permanent marks on his noble visage. Yet, for some reason, he did not give a shi—ehem, faeces. He did not give any faeces whatsoever. He simply stared at Amy Weston as she stood down below, only feet away from a murderous rapist and child molester.

The binoculars creaked under the force of his hands clenching around them.

Please no! Don't go! Don't!

Down below, Amy lifted her hands to her mouth, as if in shocked exuberance, and gifted the Duke of Arrendyle with a brilliant smile. Lord Patrick wanted to grab the man and punch his face into a pancake. Laws? Honourable rules of duelling? What need had he of these sorts of things!

Just then, down below, the duke reached out. Taking his hand, Amy let herself be led towards the castle gates.

It is all merely pretense! She is just playacting!

At least that was what he kept telling himself over and over again. But it did not change the fact that, as he watched Amy approach the towering castle gates, it felt as if a giant beast's claws were tearing his chest apart. And then he saw the three children following her. Children he welcomed into his home, watched over, and who were his...

What?

Family?

No, of course not! That would be ridiculous! He was Lord Patrick Day, Knight of the Order of the Garter and Peer of the Empire. How could he possibly think of a gang cleptomaniac midgets as his family?

As if on cue, his heart gave another painful tug.

Dang and blast!

An image of Flo trying to sell random people matches flashed past his inner eye, followed by one of all the five girls, little eyes filled with innocent joy as they toured the village's shops. Any of the spoiled noblemen's brats he knew would have been screaming their lungs out with complaints after ten minutes, proclaiming that the shops weren't expensive enough, that they wanted sweets, that they wouldn't spend so much as a second more in this miserable little hamlet. Yet all Flo and her friends had shown was innocent delight, as he tried to trick and distract them from the adults' plans.

He swallowed.

And after all that, after he had spent the whole day trying to deceive them into safety, they had still selflessly volunteered to put themselves in danger to protect others!

They can never be your family because you are noble and they are not? Well, then, oh wise Lord Patrick Day, what is your definition of "noble"?

Double blast.

"This," he ground out between clenched teeth, "is the most abominably, abhorrently horrific idea in the history of abhorrently horrific ideas!"

"Perhaps," Karim growled. "But it also happens to be effective—utilizing the enemy's weakness against him."

Patrick's brain could not help but agree. Logically, this was the best plan. The right thing to do. But as he watched Amy and the children being led into the castle and the iron-bound gates slamming shut behind them, some part of him deep, deep inside screamed out in protest.

His hands tightened even more, clenching the binoculars so hard he almost bled.

Please, Amy. Please let your plan work!