Page 13 of A Wife for the Beast (Scandals and Second Chances #6)
The morning of Evangeline's second day as Duchess of Ravenshollow dawned with the sort of crisp autumn clarity that made the Yorkshire moors appear almost welcoming despite their inherent bleakness.
She had risen early, her stomach churning with a mixture of determination and apprehension as she contemplated the daunting task of establishing her authority within a household that had operated for years without female supervision.
The very notion of summoning Mrs. Cromwell for what she privately termed a diplomatic reconnaissance felt presumptuous, as though she were playacting at being a great lady rather than fulfilling her legitimate role.
How did one command respect from servants who had decades more experience managing a ducal household than she possessed?
What gave her, a captain's daughter who had never employed more than a cook and a housemaid, the right to direct the domestic arrangements of one of England's oldest estates?
Yet duty demanded that she made the attempt, regardless of her qualifications for the task, and so she had requested Mrs. Cromwell's presence in the morning room with all the false confidence she could muster.
"Mrs. Cromwell," she began, her voice betraying only the slightest tremor of uncertainty, "I should be most grateful for your counsel regarding the current arrangements for managing the domestic staff."
The housekeeper, a woman whose steel-grey hair and stern countenance spoke of decades spent maintaining order in a great house, settled herself in the chair Evangeline indicated with the sort of watchful attention that made the new duchess acutely conscious of being evaluated and perhaps found wanting.
"Certainly, Your Grace. Though I confess myself somewhat uncertain as to what particular aspects of our arrangements might require adjustment."
The delicate emphasis on the final word, combined with Mrs. Cromwell's penetrating gaze, made Evangeline feel like a child attempting to rearrange her betters' affairs.
She fought the urge to apologize for presuming to question established procedures, reminding herself that she was no longer Miss Hartwell but the Duchess of Ravenshollow, with both the right and the responsibility to oversee domestic matters.
"I have no intention of disrupting procedures that serve the household well, Mrs. Cromwell," she replied, praying that her uncertainty did not show in her voice. "However, I believe it would be beneficial for me to understand the current state of affairs before assuming my responsibilities fully."
The word 'responsibilities' felt foreign on her tongue, weighted with implications she was still learning to comprehend.
At Hartwell Manor, her duties had extended little beyond managing a handful of servants and ensuring that dinner was served promptly.
Here, she was expected to oversee the welfare of dozens of souls and maintain standards befitting one of the premier ducal houses in England.
"Of course, Your Grace. What would you care to know?"
Mrs. Cromwell's recitation of the household's reduced circumstances proved both illuminating and overwhelming in ways that Evangeline had not anticipated.
Where once Ravenshollow Manor had employed nearly thirty servants to maintain its grandeur, fewer than half that number now struggled to manage the essential functions of daily life.
The litany of eliminated positions and consolidated duties painted a picture of decline that would have been unthinkable during the previous duchess's tenure.
"And His Grace has made no provision for replacing those who have left?" Evangeline inquired, struggling to keep her voice steady as she contemplated the magnitude of the problems she was expected to address.
"His Grace has shown little interest in domestic arrangements since his return from the war," Mrs. Cromwell replied with diplomatic precision. "He has been preoccupied with other matters."
How was she supposed to restore a great household to its former glory when she had never managed anything more complex than her father's modest establishment?
The very thought of coordinating the activities of thirty servants made her palms damp with perspiration, though she forced herself to maintain an expression of calm competence.
"I see. And what of the village tradesmen? Are the household accounts current?"
"Some accounts have been delayed, Your Grace. His Grace finds such matters tiresome and has not always attended to them with appropriate promptness."
The admission struck Evangeline with particular force, as she recalled her own recent experience with unpaid bills and the humiliation of having creditors appear at one's door.
The idea that she now possessed the authority to settle such obligations with a few words felt almost surreal, like discovering herself in possession of magical powers.
"Then perhaps it would be advisable for me to review the outstanding obligations and arrange for their settlement," she suggested, hoping that her voice conveyed more confidence than she felt about managing financial matters on such a scale.
The visible relief that crossed Mrs. Cromwell's weathered features was both gratifying and terrifying, confirming that her inexperience was indeed expected to solve problems that had been festering for months.
How presumptuous it seemed to believe that she could succeed where others had failed, yet what choice did she have but to attempt what was expected of her?
"Now then," she continued, her voice gaining strength from necessity, "I should like to tour the household offices and meet with the senior staff individually. It seems prudent to understand each person's particular responsibilities before implementing any changes to our current arrangements."
The words sounded appropriately authoritative, though inwardly she quailed at the prospect of evaluating servants whose expertise far exceeded her own.
What if they challenged her decisions? What if they recognized her inexperience and refused to accept her authority?
The fear of exposure as an imposter gnawed at her confidence, even as she forced herself to proceed with the tour.
The butler's pantry, which should have been a model of organization and efficiency, showed clear signs of neglect that would have been unthinkable in any well-managed household.
Yet as Evangeline observed the tarnished silver and stained linens, she found herself wondering if her own standards were appropriate to judge such matters.
Perhaps what seemed like carelessness to her was actually the normal state of affairs in great houses, and her concerns merely reflected her humble origins.
"Higgins," she addressed the elderly butler with careful courtesy, fighting the impulse to apologize for questioning his methods, "I observe that some of our silver appears to require attention. Might I inquire about the current schedule for its maintenance?"
The butler's obvious discomfort at having his domain subjected to scrutiny made her stomach clench with sympathetic embarrassment.
Who was she to criticize a man who had served the Ravenshollow family for decades?
Yet the silver was undeniably tarnished, and surely a duchess had both the right and the duty to maintain proper standards.
"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but we have been somewhat understaffed in recent months. The silver cleaning has been postponed in favour of more pressing duties."
"I understand completely, Higgins. However, I believe it would be advisable to restore our previous standards of maintenance, even if doing so requires additional assistance. A duke's household should reflect appropriate dignity in all its appointments."
The words emerged with more authority than she had expected, though she wondered if she sounded as uncertain to Higgins as she did to herself.
Was this how duchesses were supposed to behave?
How could she be certain that her expectations were reasonable rather than the naive demands of someone unaccustomed to managing a great household?
"Certainly, Your Grace. I shall see to the matter immediately."
"Thank you, Higgins. I have every confidence in your ability to restore our silver to its proper condition."
The exchange felt like a small victory, though she could not shake the feeling that she was playing a role rather than exercising legitimate authority.
Perhaps all new duchesses felt this way, uncertain of their ground and afraid of making mistakes that would reveal their inexperience to those they were meant to command.
Her inspection of the kitchen proved even more daunting, as Mrs. Patterson—a formidable woman who had clearly ruled her domain with undisputed authority for many years—presented the sort of challenge that made Evangeline acutely conscious of her own inadequacies.
"Your Grace," Mrs. Patterson acknowledged with a curtsey that was technically correct yet somehow managed to convey skepticism about accepting direction from someone so obviously out of her depth, "I trust you find our arrangements satisfactory?"
The cook's penetrating gaze made Evangeline feel like a fraud, as though her true identity as a captain's daughter with no experience managing anything bigger than a cottage kitchen might be detected at any moment.
How could she presume to evaluate the work of someone who had been preparing meals for ducal tables since before she was born?
"The kitchen appears very well-organized, Mrs. Patterson. I am particularly impressed by the cleanliness of your preparation areas and the evident care you take with our storage."
The compliment was genuine, though she wondered if it sounded as tentative to Mrs. Patterson as it did to her own ears. Perhaps praising the cook's work would establish a foundation of mutual respect before she ventured into more delicate territory.