A power struggle instantly ensued.
“Your Grace, I should be happy to explain the rules of the household,” the house steward said. “We follow the rules written down by His Grace’s grandfather, the eighth Duke of Marchmont. Some minor adjustments have been made to accommodate modern requirements.”
“It’s a great house, and I understand there must be ceremony and strict rules,” Zoe said. “The rules here will not be the same as those in other houses. I do not expect to make any but minor changes, and perhaps very few. Still, before I think about what I will and will not do, I must review all of the current records.”
“Mr. Dove and Mrs. Dunstan will be happy to answer any questions Your Grace has regarding the household matters.”
Zoe knew better than to let him fob her off on the butler and housekeeper. This was about control, and she must have it.
“I shall speak to them, naturally, in due course,” she said cheerfully. “But I shall begin by reviewing the books. I want to see all of them for the last six months. The ledgers. The accounts for provisions. The inventories.”
“Your Grace, I shall deem it an honor to explain the provisioning of the household,” said Harrison. “You should not find anything lacking. If you do, however, the matter will be attended to with a word, a mere word. Every member of this staff is not content merely to meet the needs of the family, Your Grace. We view it as our duty to anticipate. If there is aught amiss with Your Grace’s apartments, Mrs. Dunstan will wish to know of it, that she might correct the oversightimmediately.”
“I expect no less,” Zoe said.
“Thank you, Your Grace. We should wish you to have only the highest expectations of the staff of Marchmont House.”
It was obviously time for the voice of command.
“I expect my orders to be heeded,” Zoe said in the implacable tones that might have startled some people but with which Jarvis was familiar.
The tone clearly startled Harrison, because he became more wooden.
“I expect you to anticipate my desire to review everything to do with the running of the household whose mistress I am,” she said, watching the faint color rise in his face. “I do not expect to have to explain myself again. I expect to find in the library by three o’clock this afternoon the household records—all of them—for the last six months, and the most recent inventories.” She chose the location on purpose, remembering Harrison’s veiled insult on her first visit—the implication that she was too ignorant to appreciate books. “I’ll begin reviewing them immediately.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Harrison said, his lips barely moving. “Very good, Your Grace.”
He went out of the room in his usual stiff way, but this was the stiffness of suppressed fury. It practically came off him in waves. The other servants would have no more trouble than Zoe did in sensing it. Unlike them, though, she wouldn’t shrink away from his rage.
She’d had plenty of experience with bullies. She knew that some created an atmosphere of barely suppressed violence. It could be quite frightening to those at the bully’s mercy. But she wasn’t at anybody’s mercy, and she wouldn’t be intimidated or manipulated.
Given the condition of the house, she expected Harrison’s records to be irreproachable. But that wasn’t the point.
The point was, Who was in charge?
Marchmont clearly wasn’t.
She would have to be. As a woman and, worse, the notorious Harem Girl, she could never hope to have the respect of the servants and control of the household if she accommodated the house steward instead of seeing that he accommodated her.
It was not the Duchess of Marchmont’s business to make servants happy. It was their job to make her happy. If it turned out they were underpaid for the job, she’d correct that. But it would be fatal to her authority to expect of them any less than the absolute obedience Marchmont received.
A few hours later
Servant problems.
Marchmont had never had a servant problem. He was not supposed to have servant problems. Servant problems were Harrison’s problem.
Now Marchmont had a wife. She had not been in the house for four days, and he had a catastrophic servant problem.
He found Zoe in her dressing room, frowning at a carriage dress Jarvis held up for her inspection.
“Out,” he said, making the go-away gesture at the maid.
Jarvis darted out of the room, taking the carriage dress with her.
Zoe stared at him.
“Harrison is threatening to resign,” he said.
