A Rake by Any Other Name by Mia Marlowe

chatelaine with all the keys to the locked cupboards on it dangling at her waist.
    Then wouldn’t her mum be proud? Maybe even her father, if anyone could find the man. Eliza had no memory of him at all.
    She assumed David must have his sights set on Mr. Hightower’s tidy office, which guarded access to the wine cellar and housed the fine silver service. The butler was lord in all but name below stairs. The power of hiring and firing, advancing some or holding others back would be in his hand.
    What young man wouldn’t aspire to that?
    â€œHurry up, girl,” Mrs. Culpepper said as she pushed Miss Bowthorpe’s tray into Eliza’s hands. “Ye’re holding up my supper, and I’m right sharp set.”
    Eliza and the cook took their meals in the kitchen with the scullery maid, but after all the dishes were done, she’d be allowed to join the other servants in the common room for cards and games and, if Mr. Hightower and Mrs. Grahame were not there, a bit of gossip too. She wasn’t sure yet how much she should tell of what she’d seen in the gallery.
    She didn’t think David would like hearing that she’d spied on his lordship.
    Then, as if she’d conjured him, there he was on the back stairs, coming down as she was going up.
    â€œGood evening, David.” She forced herself not to stammer or waffle on. If the man wanted to talk to her, he should carry the conversation forward.
    â€œOh. Yes, good evening to you too, Eliza.” He was almost past her before he spoke, as if he didn’t notice her until the tray made him flatten himself against the wall, so she could pass. A frown drew his brows together, and she wished she knew him well enough to ask what was troubling him.
    She climbed a few more steps before she stopped and turned back to face him. “Just so you know, Toby made a cake of himself at the supper table tonight. If you play your cards right, Mr. Hightower will name you Lord Hartley’s valet.”
    â€œThank you, Eliza.” David shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m meant to be, but I don’t see myself as a valet.”
    Eliza was dumbfounded. “A valet is ever so much more important than a footman. Don’t you want to move up the ranks?”
    â€œDon’t you ever get the sense that you weren’t meant for back stairs and cellars?” he asked.
    Amazingly enough, she did. Every time she sneaked into the gallery and pored over the paintings or imagined herself floating up into the painted clouds on the ceiling, she strained at the narrow confines of her life as a kitchen maid. “I understand just what you mean.”
    His smile washed over her. “Good. I was beginning to think I was the only one with such thoughts. I don’t know why I said something about that, but you’ve an openness about you. A fellow might tell you anything.”
    Oh yes, David, you can tell me anything, and I’ll listen with my whole heart.
    But she didn’t say that. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She just smiled back, hugging the moment she and David had shared close to her chest. It wasn’t much, but for the first time, he’d truly noticed her. He’d given her a glimpse of the man behind his handsome face. Her insides had capered about over him at regular intervals. Now she felt giddy as a drunken faerie on a daisy stem.
    Light as her heart was, her workload was still burdensome. However, as she trudged up the stairs, the tray didn’t seem quite as heavy as before.

Five
    When an old woman says what’s on her mind, she’s considered outrageous yet charming. When a young woman voices her opinions, she’s counted outrageous and decidedly not charming. Still, I can’t help but admire the lady brave enough to do it.
    â€”Phillippa, the Dowager Marchioness of Somerset
    â€œI say, that’s a smart equipage.” Sophie’s mother turned to watch as a