“My lady?”

“Hmmm.” Charlotte shook off the image of Dare’s naked behind as seen the day Gillian ripped his kilt off, and considered Batsfoam for a moment. He didn’t sound particularly Scottish, so perhaps the fault lay elsewhere. She worried about that for a moment, then decided it was more important she turn her mind to other things, such as having a maid, a proper maid, undress her so she could await her husband’s connubial attentions. “Batsfoam, while it is true that I appreciate your willingness to help around the house as you can, I simply must draw the line at you serving as a lady’s maid.”

“If it is my noisome leg, my lady—”

“No,” Charlotte reassured him as she opened the door to the hallway. Overall, she was pleased with the small room adjoining Dare’s that had been assigned as her bedchamber, but she had strong feelings about the person who had shown her the room. “It is not just that. You force me to be blunt, Batsfoam, to wound you with words, something I had hoped to avoid with my new staff, at least for a day or so until we get to know one another better, but perhaps it’s for the best that we clear the stair with this issue now and not later—”

“Clear the stair? You wish me to dust the stairway?” Batsfoam looked surprised at the order. “Now, my lady? At this late hour? I believe his lordship will have need of my assistance with the rendering onto paper the design of a newly modified valve, but I will strive to meet your demands for stair care. Nay, say not another word, my lady. You wish the stairs cleared, and so they shall be. Since I cannot serve you as your maid due to the uncouth and raucous noises issuing from my new leg, I shall endeavor to fulfill your every wish, no matter how inexplicable. And now, my lady, I am off to clear the stairs, but before I do so, I will send up another staff member to take my unwanted place as your maid.”

Charlotte, busy thinking about whether it was better to wait for Dare and his much anticipated manly instrument in her bed or his, missed most of Batsfoam’s oratory, a fact which did not escape him. Should Charlotte have been looking at him at that exact moment, she would have seen something very akin to a light of challenge dawning in his eye. But she was lost in contemplation of the image of Dare’s bronze skin, rippling with muscles and gilded with the finest of golden hairs, so she merely muttered, “Fine, fine.”

It wasn’t until later, when Batsfoam sent up Wills the scullery lad to act as lady’s maid, that she realized she would have to take charge of the household that very instant or suffer the most improper, and more importantly, uncomfortable life with Alasdair’s heathenish staff. The good Lord above knew she, in an act fairly reeking of generosity and willingness to cooperate (not to mention desperation to get undressed and ready for the connubial action she anticipated with bated breath and wetted lip) had given Wills a chance, but he proved to be a sore trial to her patience when, asked to comb out her hair, he fainted dead away before even taking out one rosebud.