Deirdre's trying for a refined, vaguely sinister laugh, and she's failing; when she's amused it's a very light sound, airy and bright, one that belongs to the girl that studied magic and not the woman in the suit.

"You'll need to look the part. I still have the uniforms from my former maids, and your first official task will be getting yours fitted. Work hours only, of course, but I think you'll find it quite comfortable."

A foot brushes against Jeff's calf.

"Do say yes," Deirdre purrs. "Try it until the summer solstice at least. The worst that happens is that I prove to be a poor mistress and lose all right to complain if you put me in song."