My Cousin Rachel: first impressions

Having dropped Stoner, I’m now going back to my plan to read more female writers this year—I’m reading My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier. 
At this point, Rachel hasn’t appeared. For those who don’t know the story: the novel is narrated by Philip, who is heir to his cousin Ambrose Ashley, 20 years his senior. For his whole life Ambrose has no interest in marriage and calls himself a woman-hater. For a few winters he goes to Italy for his health, where he meets Rachel, a distant relative, falls in love with her, and marries her. Everyone awaits his return, but there is delay, and he becomes ill. During this time he sends some worrying letters to Philip, who travels to Italy to “save” Ambrose (the travel is about 3 weeks), but when he arrives, Ambrose’s already dead from a brain tumour. Because of the letters, Philip firmly believes that Rachel has killed Ambrose, or is an enemy of some kind. 
I’ve seen the Rachel Weisz film, so I’m vaguely familiar with the plot—but even without the film, I know from the 1st chapter that the young, inexperienced Philip sets himself against Rachel but would fall in love with her.  
But there is something I notice that I didn’t know before. For those who don’t know the book, Ambrose dies suddenly in a foreign country, without altering his will, so he dies leaving Rachel nothing, and Philip inherits everything. 
Now look at this passage: 

“[Seecombe] waited upon me while I dined, solicitous, anxious for my welfare, and I was thankful that he did not press me with questions about my journey or about his master’s illness and death, but was full of the effect upon himself and the household: how the bells had tolled for a whole day, how the vicar had spoken, how wreaths had been brought in offering. And his words were punctuated with a new formality of address. I was “Mr” Philip. No longer “Master” Philip. I had noticed the same with the coachman and the groom. It was unexpected, yet strangely warming to the heart. 
When I had dined I went up to my room and looked about me, and then down into the library, and so out into the grounds, and I was filled with a queer feeling of happiness that I had not thought ever to possess with Ambrose dead…” (Ch.6) 

This is someone who is meant to be grieving for his closest family member, his father figure, his beloved cousin. 
Then: 

“I went out across the fields, and the men were harvesting. […] A year ago I would have rolled up my sleeves like the rest of the hinds, and seized a fork, but something stayed me now, a realisation that they would not think it fit.” (ibid.) 

He takes on the new role very quickly, doesn’t he? I mean: 

“It came upon me strongly and with force, and for the first time since I had learnt of Ambrose’s death, that everything I now saw and looked upon belonged to me. I need never share it with anyone living. Those walls and windows, that roof, the bell that struck seven as I approached, the whole living entity of the house was mine, and mine alone. The grass beneath my feet, the trees surrounding me, the hills behind me, the meadows, the woods, even the men and women farming the land yonder, were all part of my inheritance; they all belonged.” (ibid.) 

That is cold, no? We already see that, upon news of Ambrose’s marriage, Philip is bitter and resentful, instead of being happy for Ambrose. At that time, he knows that his position would change because of the marriage, especially if Rachel bears Ambrose a son.  
Now this: 

“… And [Louise] flushed again, silly girl, glancing up at her father to see how he would take it, as though we had not ridden backwards and forwards visiting one another before, times without number. Perhaps she also was impressed by my new status, and before I knew where I was I would become Mr. Ashley to her too, instead of Philip. I went back into the house, smiling at the idea of Louise Kendall, whose hair I used to pull only a few years back, now looking upon me with respect, and the next instant I forgot her, and my godfather as well, for on coming home there was much to do after two months’ absence.” (ibid.) 

Louise is daughter of Philip’s godfather, Nick Kendall.
All these things can’t be random, as they stress over and over again the same point that Philip seems very happy to inherit everything and become the new master of the house. There is little mention of grief or loneliness (though arguably grief could be the reason for his hatred of Rachel). 
I can’t help finding him obnoxious. When Seecombe (the servant) and he have a disagreement about Rachel and the will, this is what he thinks: 

“But I wondered, with a sudden flash of bitterness, what their manner would have been to me if, after all, I had not inherited the property. Would die deference be there? The respect? The loyalty? Or would I have been young Master Philip, a poor relative, with a room of my own stuck away somewhere at the back of the house? I knocked out my pipe, the taste was dry and dusty. How many people were there, I wondered, who liked me and served me for myself alone?” (Ch.7) 

Everyone, from Seecombe to Louise, expects Rachel, as the widow, to stay in Ambrose’s room when she arrives, but Philip perversely chooses to use it himself and gives her another room. It is understandable, because he firmly believes her to be responsible for Ambrose’s death, but there is something petty about it, especially when he previously believes that she goes away suddenly and takes Ambrose’s possessions, but it turns out that she wants to return them all—she wants nothing and demands nothing. 
This is the day Rachel’s meant to arrive: 

“I stood alone in the library, munching my sandwich of meat and bread. Alone, I thought, for the last time. Tonight she would be here, either in this room or in the drawing-room, an unknown hostile presence, stamping her personality upon my rooms, my house. She came as an intruder to my home. I did not want her. I did not want her or any woman, with peering eyes and questing fingers, forcing herself into the atmosphere, intimate and personal, that was mine alone. The house was still and silent, and I was part of it, belonging, as Ambrose had done and still did, somewhere in the shadows. We needed no one else to break the silence. 
[…] I judged that Wellington would be home with the carriage not earlier than five o’clock, so I determined to remain without until after six. They could wait dinner for me. Seecombe already had his instructions. If she was hungry, she must hold her hunger until the master of the house returned. It gave me satisfaction to think of her sitting alone in the drawing-room, dressed to the nines, full of self-importance and no one to receive her.” (ibid.) 

Again, this is very petty—note the obnoxious phrases “the master of the house”, “my home”, “mine alone”, etc. This is a comment on the character, not a criticism of Daphne du Maurier. 
My Cousin Rachel is meant to be an ambiguous novel—I suppose my view of Philip might very well influence my interpretation of his story and narration.