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It’s probably a bad sign when I’m reading a historic romance and the thing that most grates on me is one heroine blithely boasting “oh, I don’t have a lady’s maid—I can dress myself!”

And I’m thinking of all the evidently invisible labor that lady’s maid should be doing besides dressing her mistress that the author doesn’t know enough to value.

Someday I may blog a bit of a rant on this topic. Because this isn’t the first time that I’ve yelled at a historic romance, “Where are the servants?”