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He felt an absurd impulse to bellow the question out loud to her now in front of everyone. What would she say? She liked losers? He threw down his bread and glared ferociously down the table in a manner that made Freda, happening to glance up at that moment, gasp and drop her spoon.

“Whatever is the matter, Konrad?” Magnatrude asked, catching sight of his expression.

“I was thinking of something else,” he muttered ill-naturedly.

“Well kindly direct your murderous glances elsewhere,” his sister requested with a shudder. “We poor females are not used to such a terrifying sight across the supper table.”

Aimee glanced up at this with a spark in her eye and looked, for a moment, as though she would join the fray. He felt a sharp stab of disappointment assail him when she did not. Had she been going to defend his right to scowl at his own supper table?

Absurdly, he found himself wondering if they might not be afforded the privacy of dining alone once in a while. He could ask her anything he damned well liked if his plaguey female relatives weren’t cluttering up the place.

When he announced he was retiring for the evening, his wife bade him a good night and made no attempt to delay him with conversation or any other tactic as she had before. He frowned over this as he left the room.

Something was not quite right about how things were running; he felt it deep in his bones. As he mounted the staircase to his room, he spied one of the servants coming down. “Send Ingrid to me,” he rapped out, sending the lad scurrying.

He was dragging a shaving blade down his unscarred cheek when Ingrid appeared in the doorway with her sleeves rolled up and a disagreeable expression on her face. This was nothing out of the ordinary for Ingrid. She opened her mouth but got no further than “I’m in the midst of –” before he interrupted her.

“Never mind that now!” he replied smartly, half turning toward her but keeping his eye on the mirrored glass. For some reason, he was attempting to keep his beard in some sort of order since his marriage. He didn’t want to examine his motives for this too closely. “I want to know what’s going on in this household.”

Ingrid plunked her hands on her hips. “How do ye mean?” she stalled, looking suspicious.

“You know full well what I mean.”

She shot him a wary look. “Among the womenfolk, ye mean?” she asked cautiously.

At her words, he briefly closed his eyes. He had known a houseful of fool women would be a damned nuisance. “Aye,” he growled. “The womenfolk.” Gods damn it. He turned back to the glass.

Ingrid shrugged. “They ain’t fightin’ it out like what they’m s’posed to, that’s all.”

He frowned at her in the mirror. “I don’t take your meaning.”

She rolled her eyes. “A’course you don’t, milord. Ain’t got the first idea, have you, on account of your being a man.” She pursed her lips, and he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have spat after the word ‘man’ if she hadn’t been in his presence.

He lowered his blade and glowered at her in their reflection. “They aren’t fighting it out,” he repeated bitingly. “Explain to me what you mean by that.”

“Well, there’s a natural order and there’s a pecking order in any fine house, ain’t there?” When he continued to look blank, she sighed. “First ways, you’ve got the established order. Man at the head and mistress after him and such like.” Ingrid started to warm to her theme. “But behind that, you got the pecking order, which is assumed by nature, so to speak.”

Konrad picked up a cloth and dabbed at his cheek but kept his eyes on Ingrid. “Go on.”

“Like sows,” she said. “They’ll go as far as to draw blood when it comes to showing dominance.” Sows? When he continued to look unconvinced, she tried again. “Let me put it this way, consider the old place.” He grunted. She meant Bartree castle, of course. “Your stepmother, the Lady Adela, was official mistress of the house for a seven year, but everyone knew as she never had the running of the place. Mistress Magnatrude always kept the keys on her chatelaine, and she guarded them close by her. That’s why she never married. Why should she? When she already had a home of her own where her word was law.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Trude is trying to wrest the reins from my wife?” he asked, starting the tricky business of shaving the carved-up side of his face. He should just let Jakeman see to this, he thought as he navigated the scars. He made a far better job of it than he ever did. But he was always leery of letting people get up close to the left side of his face. It made him feel vulnerable.

Ingrid hesitated. “No,” she said after a moment’s consideration and scratched her head. “No, I wouldn’t say as Mistress Magnatrude’s done that.” She frowned. “Truthfully, she ain’t shown a morsel of interest in how thisplace is run.”

Konrad considered Ingrid shrewdly in the looking glass. “Thinks a townhouse is beneath her interest, does she?” he grunted, thinking of Trude’s grand manner. He pulled a face. “Of course she does.” He dabbed a cloth at his cheek, deciding that would have to do, and turned to fully face her. “So, if she’s not trying to lord it over Aimee, then wherein lies the problem?”

Ingrid rubbed her nose. “Like I said, they ain’t fighting it out.” At his expression, she plunked her hands on her hips. “It’s like this. Your sister ain’t letting the new baroness take her rightful place in rank above her. But the new mistress, she ain’t the sort to be ridden roughshod over. She’s got plenty about her, alright.” She gave a chuckle. “I seed that alright when you sent me to tend her after your wedding night. I bleeds more on me courses, Ingrid, that’s what she said. Let him have his sheets changed, if he wants, you let me alone. I sat in a bath all afternoon, and I ain’t a’takin of one now! A washcloth will do very well for naught but a spot of blood.”

Konrad felt his color rise. “That’s enough, Ingrid!” he snapped. The old woman snorted. For a moment, he considered dismissing the impudent old witch. “Just how would Trude deny my wife’s rightful place?” he demanded instead impatiently. Without preamble, she told him. “So Trude spends her day skulking above stairs?” he clarified.

Ingrid nodded comfortably. “Taken that little oaken parlor for her own domain, she has.” Ingrid paused heavily as though debating telling him something. “And she’s been sending out messages and greetings and such like today and all.”

“Messages?”

Ingrid nodded. “She heard as how the Strethneals are in Caer Lyoness.”

Konrad’s eyebrows rose. “My sister would surely not be so brazen as to invite callers to another woman’s house without performing the correct introductions,” he said heavily.