Housemaid Heiress. Elizabeth Beacon

cake and wapses in the lemonade again,’ whispered Carrie and Thea chuckled softly, but refused to join the second housemaid’s muttered litany on the lack of state kept at Rosecombe Park nowadays.

      Jane often complained about the family’s insistence on saving tax by employing maids rather than footmen, but Thea had given up pointing out that if they did not, Jane might not be here to flirt with those stalwart specimens of young manhood she yearned for so badly.

      ‘More lemonade from the house, Hetty, and be quick about it,’ ordered the Darraines’ stately butler, sparing the least significant foot soldier from a line he directed with the aplomb of a field marshal.

      Feeling her humble position under Lord Strensham’s steady gaze, Thea departed. She waited while one minion was spared to squeeze lemons and crush sugar and another fetched ice from the depleted store in the icehouse. Fifteen minutes spent in that sweltering kitchen fetching and carrying, and she could understand Cook’s bad temper and was beginning to share it.

      ‘Not before time,’ said the butler, sounding like an archbishop sorely tried by a minor cannon when she finally reappeared, hot and flustered from the kitchens.

      She waited for further orders and wondered if she was fated to play the lowly housemaid for the rest of her life. It occurred to her that, once upon a time, she would have formed part of Lady Lydia’s bevy of ladies with large moneybags and doubtful pedigrees eager to wed a lord. The appalling prospect of competing with Miss Rashton in the Viscount Stakes grated on her wounded pride—at least that must be what sent a stab of dark pain shooting through her.

      How the mighty are fallen, she thought ruefully, before diligently attending to her duties once again. The rightful heiress to one of the largest fortunes in the British Isles, she spent the evening carrying cans of hot water for the quality and closing curtains and attending to crumbs and spills.

      If she couldn’t sleep for thinking of a particularly annoying nobleman, slumbering in comfort and solitude a floor below and half a world away, that was because he was so infuriating. All three housemaids made do with one old bed in their stuffy attic under the leads, so to feel resentment of the privilege he so undeservedly enjoyed was perfectly natural, she assured herself. Thea set about counting sheep with grim determination and at last fell into an uneasy slumber.