“To do what?”

“To take care of the Pretender once and for all, of course.”

“But…you just said that you were helpless to do anything about him, that not even your expertise in Society could help Mr. McGregor—”

“Pheasant feathers! That was before I knew what foul lies that evil man has been spewing! Answer me this, Caro: Is there anyone in town more qualified than me to mount a counterattack?”

“A counterattack?” Caroline looked shocked. “You mean you will blacken his character?”

Charlotte snorted as she patted Wellington, standing to flash her friend a smile filled with portent. “As if that was possible. I shall simply ensure that everyone in the ton sees him as he truly is. That, my dear, shall be my new raisin debtor!”

“Raisin…you don’t mean raison d’êtré—”

Charlotte sailed out the door, pausing long enough to kiss her friend on the cheek. “Thank you, sweet Caro. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

With a flash of lace petticoat, Charlotte raced down the stairs and out to the carriage, her mind filled once again with plans for her husband. What a silly thing she was, thinking Dare didn’t need her. Why, here was proof that she had a role to fulfill in life, a destiny that she intended to meet—Dare needed her keen eye and her sharp intellect and her ability to see things others missed to keep his life running smoothly and happily.

Charlotte settled back in the somewhat dingy seats of the rented carriage and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. The business with the Pretender was bound to turn out as she hoped. How could life do anything but arrange itself to her pleasure now that she knew her husband needed her? All she had to do was keep Dare in the dark about the foul things the Pretender was saying, and all would be well. By the time the engine was ready and Dare was prepared to rejoin Society, she’d have taken care of his supposed cousin once and for all. She smiled even as the poorly sprung carriage jounced and rattled over the road. Things were working out well after all.

Seventeen

“Batsfoam, fetch me when Johnson has the steam cylinder repaired.”

“As you desire, sir. There are few things that will give me greater pleasure than to stand around the blacksmith’s forge. You are kindness personified to offer me the opportunity to escape the sweltering heat of the day by allowing me to stand inside a small, confined shed containing the blacksmith’s massive forge, not to mention the blacksmith’s massive self, his massive assistant, and two massive sons, all four of whom will be manning the bellows in order to heat the forge to such a temperature as to work with the steel cylinder you wish repaired.”

“Batsfoam—”

“I can imagine nothing I will like so much as to stand about on my unfortunate limb, perspiring freely, secure in the knowledge that I am doing my own insignificant part to ease your mind.”