Chapter 14
Fourteen
“I should like the table moved nearer to the window,” Zoe said, with a longing glance at that bright corner of the room.
“The garden is beautiful, and the garden block makes a pretty backdrop. London is so green. I shall never grow tired of looking at the greenery. It’s a wonderful scene to watch while one breakfasts. ”
“I don’t care where the table is and I don’t care which table it is,” said Marchmont as he came away from the sideboard. “All I want is a table—any horizontal surface will do—on which to set my plate and a chair on which to plant my carcass.”
He set down his plate and sat in his chair. He made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the breakfast room. “Arrange the house as you like. You’re mistress here.”
“As I like?” she said. “Anything?”
He nodded. “You’re welcome to trouble about furniture arrangements if it amuses you.
I only ask that you keep me out of it.” He sliced into his beefsteak.
“If Osgood becomes hysterical because you move his papers from one side of the desk to the other or Harrison drops into an apoplectic fit because you turn the China Room into a sitting room or Hoare faints because you change the curtains of my dressing room, I do not wish to hear about it.”
The speech surprised her not in the least. “I’ll deal with it,” she said. “I’ve dealt with eunuchs.”
“So you have.”
“They can be exceedingly temperamental.”
“I daresay.” He regarded her for a time. “Zoe, this is your house. Do as you wish with it. The place has done well enough for me, but I suppose it wants a woman’s touch. So my aunts declare—and that includes the not-mad ones. They say it lacks warmth or some such.” He resumed eating.
He was doing it again: He was being sweet.
But then he’d reason to be amiable, she reminded herself.
She knew she’d pleased him last night and this morning.
He’d made her glad for all her years of training—and that was something she couldn’t have imagined only six months ago.
Since her skills had been wasted on Karim, she’d expected them to remain unused forever.
As his widow, she was unlikely to be able to employ them with other men.
Widows were worthless, unwanted. Besides, she was old—past twenty—practically a crone.
Her skills were not wasted on Marchmont. She’d made him laugh and she’d set him on fire and he’d done the same to her. She told herself not to place too much importance on his sweetness. A man was usually more malleable immediately after a night and morning of passion.
Furthermore, she knew he truly didn’t care what she did to his house. He left most of his life to others. He was fortunate to have efficient and conscientious servants. Obnoxious, too, some of them, but efficient.
Harrison, for instance. He might be a bully, but for all she knew that was a result of his having to assume complete control. He had become overbearing, perhaps, because the master made no decisions and bore no responsibility at all.
“I shall want to look at the household records first,” said Zoe.
“To move a table? All that wants is a pair of footmen.”
“I want to understand how this household is run,” Zoe said.
“Harrison runs it,” said Marchmont. “He does a fine job. Have you noticed anything wrong or lacking? I mean, apart from the breakfast table being too far from the window.”
“A gentleman who lives alone does not have the same requirements as a gentleman with a wife and family,” Zoe said.
“Family,” Marchmont repeated. He met her gaze, then his drifted downward. Though they had the table between them, she knew his mind had fixed on her belly, and he was wondering if his seed was sprouting there.
“One must make adjustments. One must accommodate the increase of the duke’s family,” she said.
Marchmont House was splendid, but, except for his bedroom, it was like a beautiful museum. It felt cold and anonymous. As stuffy and strict as the Queen was reputed to be, even Buckingham House had more personality.
“I’m sure Harrison will make all adjustments and accommodations necessary,” he said, returning to his meal. “You don’t need to trouble yourself about it. I can’t imagine why you’d want to spend time looking at numbers in ledgers instead of riding or driving or shopping or visiting friends.”
“I expect to be very busy with all of those activities in the coming weeks,” Zoe said. “These early days of our marriage, when I’m not so busy, would be the best time to learn the ways of this household.”
“I have no idea why you need to learn anything about it,” he said. “I can’t understand why you’d want to give yourself a headache looking at account books and such.”
“The books often explain more clearly than the servants can,” she said. “They show the patterns of the house, the ebb and flow.”
He shrugged. “As you wish. But you are not to give yourself a brain fever. I was hoping to show off the new Duchess of Marchmont in Hyde Park later today.”
“And I shall be honored to be shown off,” she said. “Any day you wish. I promise not to rave or froth at the mouth in public.”
“Afterwards, what is your preference? The theater? Or shall we spend the night quietly at home?” He glanced across at her, and heat sparked in his sleepy eyes. “But not too quietly.”
She slipped off her slipper and stretched her leg out under the table. She brushed her foot against his leg, then higher, and higher still.
He set down his cutlery. His slitted green gaze moved to the footmen posted on either side of the sideboard. “Out,” he said.
They went out.
“Come here,” said the duke to his wife.
Monday, 4 May, in the duke’s study
The interlude after breakfast led to another and another.
They were newlyweds, after all. And then, as important newlyweds in London, they had to be seen here and had to be seen there.
The Duke of York gave a great party on Saturday night.
The Queen was there, and several princesses and royal dukes and certain members of the nobility, the Marchmonts included, naturally.
As they were taking tea, the Queen suddenly fell ill.
She was taken back to Buckingham House in Lord Castlereagh’s carriage, because her own wasn’t ready.
Zoe and Marchmont left soon after Her Majesty did. They went home and did what newlyweds usually do.
It wasn’t until Monday that Zoe found the time to begin examining the household. She commenced the review shortly after Marchmont had dressed and taken himself off to Tattersall’s.
Osgood, she found, was happy to indulge her curiosity. He proudly showed her his domain: the neat piles of correspondence, the diary with its beautifully penned entries, the tidy ledgers listing Marchmont’s personal expenditures.
After Osgood came Harrison.
Harrison was a horse of a different color.
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 oversight immediately. ”
“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.