Tom said.
Hoity-toity, just like she’d said.
“Her ladyship looked lovely last night,” she said
defensively.
His pursed lips suggested he didn’t agree.
Miriam stifled a sigh. It would be easier to establish
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her reputation as a superior lady’s maid if the countess
was prettier; Lady Spenford would be a test of any
maid’s abilities.
“Her ladyship is most refined,” she pointed out. No
one could fault the countess for her manner—not proud,
but not familiar, either.
“As I see it,” Tom said bluntly, “she does Lord
Spenford no credit.”
The judgment was a slap on the face. And an
impertinence to the mistress of the house.
But it wasn’t to Tom that Mr. Dallow directed a
disapproving look as he pushed his plate away. Miriam
squared her shoulders under his scrutiny. The butler
wasn’t her master, but he did like to have his finger on
the pulse of the house-hold. Who knew if he might take
it into his head to mention to the earl that she wasn’t up
to scratch in her work?
It was rare that a washerwoman’s daughter should
end up a lady’s maid in a fine house in London. Miriam
might be too ambitious, as her mother liked to say, but
having come this far, she’d do whatever it took to stay.
Which was why she couldn’t entirely disapprove of
whatever rebellious spirit had come over the countess.
Her ladyship had also come a long way, and she refused
to be relegated.
Mr. Dallow stood and left the table, doubtless for his
daily conference with Mrs. Matlock, the housekeeper.
Miss Powell followed him out.
Alone with Tom—Miriam didn’t count the clattering
of the cook at the stove in the kitchen, or the kitchen
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
maid’s industrious sweeping—she chewed on her piece
of bread, her eyes fixed on a knot in the pine table as
she considered the challenge of turning a plain-looking
bride into a fine countess.
“You need to do better, my girl,” she murmured to
herself.
“Maybe,” Tom said, “this isn’t the right position for
you.”
She’d forgotten how sharp his hearing was. Which
she shouldn’t have, considering it was a whispered
word from her, not intended for his ears, that had
encouraged him all those years ago to— Don’t think
about that.
“No one’s perfect in a job right from the start,” she
said. But her defense lacked fire. The countess probably
did need a more experienced maid. Miriam could ask
Miss Powell’s advice, but the older woman was hardly
original, or daring. Dressing a dowager was nothing like
dressing a young bride.
The only other person in the household with such
expertise, and a younger personage to dress, was Tom.
The Earl of Spenford was arguably the best-turned-out
gentleman in London. Thanks in no small measure to
his valet.
Asking Tom’s advice would only reinforce his sense
of superiority. But if she didn’t improve in her work,
she might not keep her position.
Miriam swallowed her pride. “Mr. Harper, who
would you say are the finest ladies in London this
Season? Those who wear their clothes the best?”
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For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then:
“You mean, whose lady’s maid does the best job?” He
saw immediately where she was going.
She nodded.
“Mrs. Quayle can seldom be faulted,” he said. “Her
grace, the Duchess of Lewisham. Lady Bartlett and
Lady Mottram.”
“Thanks.” Beyond Mrs. Quayle, Miriam had no idea
how she was to observe those ladies. She could only
hope they would call on her mistress, and Miriam could
get a glimpse. Perhaps the earl would host a supper
party…
“I’d better deal with his lordship’s boots.” Tom
wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood.
Now that he was looming right next to her, she
couldn’t help looking at him. And to look at Tom
Harper was still a mouth-drying experience. At twenty-
five, Miriam was no longer young enough to think the
sun rose and set on him…but what girl wouldn’t have
her head turned by such a physique—broad shoulders,
flat stomach, long legs? Hurriedly, she raised her gaze.
And encountered another problem: his eyes. Dark as
coal, but with a gleam in them that unsettled her.
She wondered why he wasn’t married. Maybe
because it was all but impossible to remain a personal
servant once you were married—not if you ever wanted
to see your spouse. Maybe because he hadn’t met the
right girl…but she’d seen the flirtatious glances the
housemaids slid in his direction. If it wasn’t strictly
against house rules, he could take his pick of any one of
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THE EARL’S MISTAKEN BRIDE
them.
Maybe he’s courting one of them on the sly. Just
thinking it made her feel as if she’d sucked on a lemon.
“Where were you last night, that you missed seeing Mr.
Dallow’s note?” she blurted.
His gaze slid away. Did that mean he was courting?
“That’s none of your business, Miriam Bligh.”
He was right, of course; she didn’t know what came
over her. He looked her up and down, and