Free A Rake by Any Other Name by Mia Marlowe Page B

made underbutler, or even Lord Hartley’s valet, that would be something.
    Best of all, he’d have a chance to see Mrs. Culpepper every blessed day. And wouldn’t that be a fine thing?
    ***
    Eliza slanted a sideways glance at Miss Quimby. She was smart, she was, with her fine muslin gown with real lace at the bodice. Eliza had heard that lady’s maids got first pick of their mistress’s cast-offs, and this was a still a lovely gown, even if it was secondhand. Quimby’s drab brown hair had been pulled into a tight bun at her nape, but a few artful curls tumbled onto her forehead and dangled at the sides of her thin face.
    With both Lady Pruett and Lady Antonia to tend, when does she find time to curl her own hair?
    Quimby’s movements were as crisp as her apron as she laid on the icing with an expert hand.
    â€œYou’ve worked in a kitchen before,” Eliza said.
    â€œI’ve done a bit of this and that, it’s true. I was a sous chef before I was a lady’s maid. But going into service with Lady Pruett offered me a chance to do some traveling and see something of the world,” Quimby said with a friendly smile. “What about you, girl? Eliza, is it? Where did you train?”
    â€œNowhere, miss. At Somerfield, I guess.” Eliza shrugged and kept her voice low. She didn’t want Mrs. Beckworth to think she was complaining about her lot. Plenty of girls in Somerset-by-the-Sea would trade places with her quick enough. A position at Somerfield Park, even one as lowly as Eliza’s, was more precious than jewels when the whole village was scrambling for work. “Don’t know how much training it takes to chop carrots, lay fires, and generally make myself scarce whenever anything interesting is happening.”
    â€œWell, when you’ve a chance at something interesting, take it, my girl. That’s my motto.”
    That sounded like sense to Eliza. She’d wanted to see what would happen at this tea, so when Mr. Porter sent up the request for extra help, she was the first, and only, volunteer. A small candle of pride flickered in her chest. She’d been offered a chance and took it.
    But why would Miss Quimby want to be here? Eliza asked her.
    â€œAfter I heard about the state Miss Goodnight was in when she made the invitation for this tea, I simply had to see how it would come off.” Miss Quimby raised her brows in censure.
    â€œOh?” Eliza wasn’t allowed upstairs, and the Somerfield staff had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about anything to do with the Goodnights, so she hadn’t heard anything about Miss Sophia’s “state.” “What was wrong with her, then?”
    â€œWhat wasn’t?” Quimby quietly described Miss Goodnight’s disheveled—no, make that positively grubby—appearance in Lady Somerset’s oh-so-proper parlor.
    Eliza wasn’t good enough to be seen in that parlor even if she were dressed in her Sunday best. She stopped listening for a bit while she stewed over the injustice of it. Miss Goodnight was no more a lady than Eliza was, yet because her father had the chinks, she could parade around in the marquess’s parlor covered in mud.
    â€œMakes you wonder, don’t it?” Miss Quimby finished.
    Eliza blinked, realizing she’d missed a bit of the lady’s maid’s diatribe while she was woolgathering. “Wonder what?”
    â€œIt’s clear from talking to Mr. Porter that the Goodnights have no idea how things are done properly, else they’d not have tried to throw this party together at the last moment,” Quimby said as she finished icing another row of lemon cakes. “They aren’t Quality. That’s obvious as a wart on the nose. Just what is the connection between the Goodnights and Lord Somerset? Is Mr. Goodnight his lordship’s man of business and his womenfolk are somehow getting ahead of themselves with this