Dare gave Charlotte one last look that she met with flared nostrils and thinned lips. Then he took his leave and headed off to the bowels of the house.

“Has there ever been such an annoying, nettlesome, aggregating man?” Charlotte fumed, sitting back with an unladylike snort. Clearly Dare’s insistence on refusing to deal with the situation left her with two choices—she could do nothing, tending Dare’s house and waiting for his solicitors to prove the Pretender was just that, or she could take matters into her own very capable hands. Surely the removal of the Pretender should reinstate Dare and her back into the good graces of the ton. “And I have never been one to shirk my duty, Batsfoam.”

“I do not doubt that for a moment, ma’am.”

“I love my husband,” she said, standing and fixing the butler with a militant glare.

His shoulders straightened under the influence of that glare. “As every good wife should, I’m sure.”

“I will not allow anyone to abuse his good nature.”

Batsfoam’s head lifted in response to the equally militant tone in her voice.

“There are people out there who would think nothing of doing so,” he snapped out in his best sergeant’s voice.

“Solicitors are well and fine in their place, but their place is not at Alasdair’s side!”

“That is your place, not any other’s,” he agreed, giving Charlotte a brisk salute.

“Therefore, it falls to me to act on this matter.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Batsfoam stood stiffly at attention, the creak from his wooden leg the only sound as Charlotte stared at the empty fireplace, a finger tapping on her chin. Finally, she nodded and turned toward the door.

“I will attend to this man who claims to be Alasdair’s cousin myself. Once I do, Dare will see just how very useful and helpful I can be to him. Batsfoam?”

“I am here, ma’am, as I will ever be, no matter how much my unfortunate limb pains me, waiting to learn how I might best serve you and the master.”

“I wish the carriage to be brought around at once. I have some calls to make!”

“I will be as quick as the wind the entire way to the stables, ma’am,” Batsfoam said with another snappy salute, turning with a military fineness despite the ominous creak of his wooden leg. “I will be as the swiftest bird upon the wing. I will race as fast as a hare under the hounds. I will fly with the speed of a shooting star. My legs, the unfortunate one included, will be a veritable blur as I—”

Charlotte rolled her eyes heavenward, then interrupted before her ears were talked off. “Batsfoam?”

He tipped his head in obsequious inquiry.

“Leave now. I shall be ready for the carriage in one half hour.”

He bowed until his nose touched his knee. Charlotte allowed herself a small grimace, one small enough to be effective without running the risk of wrinkles, and left the room mentally considering and casting aside any number of ideas regarding Geoffrey the Pretender. In cases such as these, Charlotte had always found that two heads were wiser than one.