“But nothing has a point!” Lord Blackthorn protested incredulously. “All of life is absurd to some extent or other!”

You know what you are, Effie? You’re chronically helpful. It’s a disease.

Regency housemaid Euphemia Reeves has (somehow) acquired a faerie godfather. Unfortunately, he has no idea what he’s doing. (But he’s trying.)

She has rather inconveniently fallen in love with the dashing Mr Benedict Ashbrooke, youngest son of the household she works for. There’s one problem in their Happily Ever After; Effie is a housemaid, and a housemaid cannot marry a gentleman. (Effie conveniently ignores the other problem; namely, that Benedict Ashbrooke can’t keep her name in his mind for more than 10 seconds.) It seems like she will never have a chance, until one night she stumbles into Lord Blackthorn, who is only too eager to help in such a romantic case of True Love. (Partially because Lord Blackthorn is trying to collect positive human qualities like they’re Merit Badges.) All he asks in return (because Faeries can never do something for nothing; every debt has to be repaid.) is that Effie sew ten thousand stitches onto his favorite jacket.

Effie is all ready to demur (her mother has told her so many tales of what has befallen people who accept help from Faeries) but life as a maid at Hartfield is so awful that she is willing to risk even her immortal soul for a chance at something better. (Because that’s the other option; if Effie doesn’t finish the jacket in time, she will have to become Lord Blackthorn’s maid, cleaning his estate. And seeing as his estate is a section of forest with no roof, walls, or floor, the sweeping is going to be a real p.i.t.a.) Now, she has one hundred days – and ten thousand stitches – to make Mr Ashbrooke notice her, fall in love, and propose. . . if Lord Blackthorn accidentally sabotage everything first. For Effie’s largest stumbling block may very well be Blackthorn’s good intentions.