London, June 1814

The Earl of Ren crushed the letter from his solicitor in one shaking fist. It was absurd. No, it was beyond absurd, it was obscene. Ahch-To was his. By right of birth and blood, it was his. And now some jumped up little urchin would be slithering her way into the home of his fathers. She would have no idea of the history, the sacrifice-

Infuriated, he cradled his head in his hands and let out a long, controlled breath. He had other properties. He had the ancestral seat at Tattooine and the townhouse in Mayfair where his mother was currently holding court. He would one day have his mother's estate in Derbyshire as well. But Ahch-To was different. Ahch-To was home. And Luke, stupid, sentimental Luke, had given it away to the granddaughter of some old Oxford don of his. Some silly girl with no connection to the place who'd probably sell it- The thought made him grimace and squeeze his eyes shut as if in pain. Sighing heavily again-he was beginning to sound like the hero in one of his mother's blasted novels, sighing at the moon-he carefully smoothed out the letter on his desk to read it again.

His uncle, the 13th Earl of Ren, had been declared deceased a little over six months ago. It had taken this long for the courts to get all the proper paperwork in line and for the will to be read and executed. Ben had thought he had known what to expect. He had seen the will prior to his uncle's expedition, had understood that the earldom and the property was to all go to him. He had neither hoped nor expected it to be so soon, but he had understood. Apparently his uncle had had other plans and had written an addendum to his will while living in Bombay. He had looked his nephew in the eye the night before Ben had left for the Continent and sworn to him that it was all his and then he had betrayed that promise. While Ben was bleeding in Portugal, his uncle was scheming to deny him what was his. The addendum had arrived in London a few weeks ago and, according to his solicitor, it was all legal. The ownership of Ahch-To was to go to this girl, this Reyna Smith, and to her heirs in perpetuity. Who was she? Why did his uncle feel such a sense of responsibility to this near-stranger at the expense of his own blood?

His mother would laugh when she heard the news. She would tell Ben to stop being so damned self-righteous about it. She had never liked Ahch-To, it held too many memories of her hated father and she would be delighted to see her son seethe over its loss. It would be such a jest to her. She could not care less about history and heritage, her patronage of that damned upstart Dameron was evidence enough of that.

After outlining the details, the solicitor had asked would he like him to tell the news to the girl, or would Lord Kylo prefer to do the dubious honors? Ben pulled a sheet of paper from the stack on his desk and wet his pen. If the little bitch was going to steal his birthright from him, he was going to look her in the eye while she did it.

"Bloody hell!" Rey thrust her bleeding finger into her mouth and sucked on it bitterly. This dressmaker's shop was hell and Mistress Plutt was the devil herself. Squinting in the dim candlelight, Rey searched the cream-colored silk in her lap for any sign of blood. If she got even a drop on this dress she was piecing it was coming out of her wages. Sighing with relief, she leant back in the stiff-backed chair and rolled her neck from side to side. She was not made for work like this, that was for sure. Peering at cloth in the murky light and trying to make stitches so tiny they could hardly be seen was the last thing she had imagined doing, but this is where the foundling home had sent her and this is where she had a bed so this is where she would stay. For now.

Rey dreamed of going somewhere green. Somewhere out of the city where she could breath clean air and sleep in the sun. She closed her eyes and smiled, imagining that place. There would be flowers and hay to lay about in and no one dumping her out of bed at daybreak, screeching about getting to work.

"You, girl!"

Rey's eyes snapped open at the sound of Mistress Plutt's awful, shrill voice.

"What are you doing, you lazy child! I don't pay you to sit about day dreaming!"

Rey rocked forward in her chair, gathering up the needle and silk in her lap.

"You barely pay me at all, you dozy bitch," she mumbled under her breath.

The fat, grey-complexioned owner of Plutt's Drapery waddled into the room, her trusty strap dangling from one hand, rage clouding her pudding-like features.

"What did you say, you little trollop?!"

Rey bowed her head in feigned submission and lifted the dress closer to her face as if that might protect her from the seething woman's rage.

"Nothing Mistress Plutt, I'm nearly finished."

The other woman snorted, her double chin jiggling with disdain.

"See that you finish before you leave. I won't have you slacking!"

Rey sighed. She'd been here at Plutt's for only a month, but she could already tell there was no future for her here. The cramped shop in Cheapside catered mostly to merchant's wives and a few of the lesser members of the demi-monde. The dim rooms and poky corridors made it difficult to move about in the daylight, let alone at night. It was getting dark outside and it was ten times harder to sew in candlelight, but she daren't defy the old dragon or else she would go hungry tonight, just like last week. She had barely turned her attention back to her work when she heard a feeble scratching at the workroom door.

"Mistress Plutt," squeaked Millie, the piecing girl, from the doorway.

The immense termagant swung her bulk to face the tiny seamstress, nostrils flaring.

"What is it?" she growled.

Millie took a noticeable swallow, clinging to the door frame with white knuckles.

"There's a man 'ere," she swallowed again, "A fancy man with a carriage and all."

Mistress Plutt's demeanor changed instantly, her sharp eyes glinting with greed.

"What does he want, then?"

Millie looked as if she might faint right there and Rey couldn't help but feel for the tiny girl.

"I'm not sure, mistress. He says he's here to talk to Rey."

Rey's head snapped up at that, her eyes widening in disbelief. What on earth could that mean? The only slightly fancy man she had ever known had been the director of the foundling home and he wouldn't be out here in Cheapside at this time of night, certainly not on her account.

Mistress Plutt's gaze narrowed in suspicion and ill humor as she harrumphed and waddled toward the door separating the sewing room from the show room at the front of the shop. Rey rose quietly from her chair and trailed after her as unobtrusively as she could. Over the years of living in the foundling home Rey had acquired the skill of moving deftly through the shadows when she didn't want to be seen. She wanted to get a glimpse of this fancy man and she didn't want Mistress Plutt sending her away.

Ben eyed the dirty little shop with disdain. The windows at the front were rimed with grime and the show room was lit cheaply by only a scattering of smoking tallow candles. His solicitor had included the address in the letter he had sent and Ben had been dismayed to see that it was located in Cheapside, far from any respectable part of London. Not only was this girl a nobody, she was a dirty little seamstress in a dirty little shop. The only way it could have been worse was if he'd found her in a brothel, he thought uncharitably.

The little shop girl he had spoken with had scurried away into the back rooms like a mouse with a cat on its tail and left him here drearily scanning shelves stacked with cloth of middling quality. Ben's own black mourning suit was made of the finest materials and tailored to his tall form and wide shoulders perfectly. His black Hessians shone like oil even in the dim lighting of the shop and his black beaver hat was placed perfectly on his equally black locks. He might be an old stick in the mud, as Dameron had called him once, but his clothes were painfully correct and the height of good taste, if not greatest fashion.

Ben fiddled with the head of his walking stick and contemplated what kind of creature this Reyna Smith would turn out to be. Some gray little mouse like the shop girl, he decided. Or else a coarse bawd with a laugh like a goose. He could hardly imagine such a woman living in the storied halls of Ahch-To, walking amongst the portraits of his ancestors, holding court in the formal dining room. The thought was almost too much to bear.

Ben's attention was caught by movement in the doorway behind the counter and his eyes fell on the immense form of a horrendously ugly woman the color of a corpse. His light brown eyes widened in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. Surely not! Not such a...thing! Quickly he regained control of himself and returned his features to their usual bored expression. This woman was clearly too old to be Miss Smith whom he had been told was barely 19 years of age. This must be the Plutt of Plutt's Drapery.

The slug-like woman's eyes lit up as she took in the quality of Ben's clothes and his straight and distinguished bearing. He could practically see the pound signs in her pale eyes.

"I am Mistress Plutt, proprietress here. How can I help you, sir?" the words oozed from the woman's mouth and Ben had to resist the urge to turn on his heel and escape her unctuous presence.

"I am Lord Kylo, Earl of Ren and I am told you have a seamstress working for you by the name of Miss Reyna Smith. I have a need to speak with her."

Mistress Plutt's eyes narrowed. "Concerning what, my lord? I take seriously the safety of my girls and I won't have no man pestering them, Earl or not."

Ben nearly snorted his disbelief. This harridan clearly could not give less of a toss for "her girls".

"I'll give you ten pounds if you allow me to speak with her."

Mistress Plutt crossed her arms over her sagging bosom and sucked loudly on her teeth.

"What would a fancy lord like you want to do with some Cheapside seamstress, though?"

Ben could hardly resist rolling his eyes.

"Twenty pounds."

Mistress Plutt turned and thrust her head through the doorway. "REY!" she bellowed. "RE- oh you're right here, you sneaky wench. Get out here and talk with this fine lord."

Ben crossed the shop and carefully laid the agreed upon sum in her damp hand. Looking down his long nose at the greasy woman he summoned up his most lordly manner and said, "Alone, if you please."

Mistress Plutt shrugged heavily and reached through the door to grab the arm of the girl standing there. She pulled the young woman through into the show room and then plodded her way back into the bowels of the building, slamming the door behind her as she went. So much for caring for the safety of her girls.

Rey stood just on the other side of the doorway, listening intently to Mistress Plutt negotiate with the deep-voiced man. He sounded large and impatient and Rey wasn't altogether sure she wanted to be left alone with him. Soon, however, it was evident she had little choice. Mistress Plutt's head poked back into the room, shouting for Rey until she spied the girl standing right beside the door. Her hard grip on Rey's upper arm made her gasp with pain as she was pulled into the front of the shop and abandoned there to face whatever might come.

He was just as large as she had thought, easily over six feet and broad across the shoulders. Her eyes met his and he held her gaze with a disdain that was nearly physical. 'He has eyes the color of the brown velvet riding habit I worked on today,' she thought stupidly. His black hair was long enough to brush the top of his starched collar, longer than was fashionable. He had a long face and large features: nose, lips, ears, and by all rights should have been ugly. Instead, he was striking in a purely unconventional way and Rey felt her eyes dropping to his full mouth. So distracted was she by his strange, elfin face that she startled when he spoke.

"You're Miss Reyna Smith?" His voice was deep and his accent cultured and her cheeks flushed when she realized he had caught her staring.

"I am," she murmured.

His eyes narrowed. "Speak up!"

She frowned at his tone and squared her shoulders. "I am Reyna Smith," she said again with renewed strength.

"I am the Earl of Ren. I have some news that will change your life."

Note: This is my first Star Wars fic, but I couldn't resist writing a Regency AU after seeing The Real McGee's Regency inspired artwork online. Also, yes, Unkar Plutt is a woman in this version, lol.