Batsfoam’s eyes opened wide with astonishment for a brief moment, before he veiled them in his usual manner. “Indeed, madam?” he murmured.

Charlotte paced the length of the small cream-and-green room, her brow furrowed. “How he expects me to fall in love with him if he won’t allow me to be of assistance to him in his work is beyond me, utterly beyond me. I cannot see what I did wrong.”

“I believe, my lady, that Lord Carlisle found the fault not in your ladyship’s intentions, but in the manner your assistance took.”

Charlotte paced past him, still frowning. “He overreacted. His objections to my doing a spot of cleaning on that filthy engine were most ungentlemanly, and only because I am most determined in my attempt to love him was he saved from having his ears boxed.”

Batsfoam bowed his head humbly, more so his mistress wouldn’t see the unholy glee in his eyes than from any sense of subjugation. “I could be mistaken, but as I understand it, a certain amount of filth in the form of grease is needed to make the pistons move smoothly in their fittings. Without that substance present, the engine would not be able to work as it was intended.”

Charlotte spun around. “Yes, but he said my interfering—ha! As if wiping off the dirt and grime found on the parts was interfering!—ruined the pistons. Still”—her hands fluttered as if to push the thought away—“that’s neither here nor there. The result of my well-meaning and tender concern is banishment. I must, therefore, find another way to fall in love with him. As you know him best, I was hoping perhaps you would have advice on the matter.”

She looked at him hopefully. He looked back at her, more than a little nonplussed. “I…I…”

“Oh, come now, Batsfoam, you know Alasdair better than almost anyone. I cannot get anything out of Miss McGregor other than when it happens, you will know it and other such vagueness, but I expect better from you. Not only are you privy to his intimate daily routine, but you act as his assistant with that engine. You must be able to tell me something that will aid my cause.”

Batsfoam, for the first time since he had become Dare’s servant, was speechless. Without thinking, he sat on one of the two matching green ladder-back chairs. “I…you…” He cleared his throat and suddenly realized he was sitting before his mistress. He stood and mumbled a brief apology. “I will think upon it, my lady.”

“Good.” Charlotte dismissed him with a nod and moved toward her writing desk. “But please hurry. There are only a few hours left until nightfall, and although surely I must almost be to that point, I don’t want to risk the possibility that I might not be wholly in love with him before we retire for the night. It wouldn’t be fair to Dare if I weren’t.”

“I will do my best, madam,” Batsfoam intoned as he bowed himself out the door. He paused for a moment in the hall, whistling tunelessly to himself, then thumped his way toward the back stairs. He thought he might just be able to help his mistress’s plans along.