“I’m not a skivvy.”“I didn’t mean any harm by it, Janie,” Lawrence said. He leaned back against the wall and looked at her with those hooded blue eyes. “I think it’s a good thing to try to better yourself.”“I’m not going to be a lady’s maid. I want to be a cook.” She thought about telling him how gratifying it was to transform butter and flour and stock into sauce velouté. But she didn’t think he’d understand. “So I think I’ll just remain a kitchen maid.”“You want to spend your life icing thousands of fingers of cakes? And slopping out the pig bucket?”“I’m willing to put in the work so I can end up doing the thing I love.”Lawrence studied her as one might an unknown species and Janie squirmed a little under his scrutiny.“You really love what you do?”Janie almost laughed. “I do. I like feeding people.”“I wish there was something I loved that much.”Janie looked up into Lawrence’s face. He was the perfect vision of a footman — tall and handsome.
