The Mistress of His Manor

by Catherine George

  ‘I’ll take you there next time, then,’ said March promptly, and grinned at the look on her face. ‘Or am I breaking the speed barrier again?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ She smiled. ‘But let’s enjoy this evening before we move on to the next.’

  ‘Enjoy is the word.’ He applied himself to the rest of his dinner. ‘Tell me more about yourself, Joanna. I noticed several books on art on your shelves.’

  ‘I did Fine Art in college for a while.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Oxford.’ She put down her knife and fork and drank some wine.

  ‘Weren’t you happy there?’

  Her face shadowed. ‘In the beginning I loved it, but it didn’t work out for me. So at the end of the first year I left the dreaming spires and came back here to take a business course at the local technical college.’

  March eyed her with respect. ‘That must have been a big adjustment after Fine Art at Oxford.’

  ‘It certainly was.’

  ‘It must have helped to have this house to get back to?’

  She shook her head. ‘I had to wait for the tenant’s lease to expire before I could move in.’

  ‘You lived with your parents until then?’

  ‘For almost a year.’ She smiled at him wryly, her eyes bright in the flickering candlelight. ‘I’d been away at school since I was eight, and went straight from there to Oxford. No gap year for me. So, much as I love my parents, it was quite an adjustment to live permanently at home in Mill House.’ Hey, watch it, she warned herself, and collected the plates to change the subject. The man was so easy to talk to she’d be telling him all her secrets if she wasn’t careful. Not her usual policy with someone she knew so little. Or even with people she knew well. She smiled brightly. ‘I didn’t have time to make a pudding, but I can give you cheese with home-made biscuits—another of Molly’s recipes.’

  March got up, curious about the shutter she’d suddenly pulled down between them. Ignoring her protests, he picked up the heavy platter to follow her into the kitchen.

  He was obviously someone used to doing things for himself, noted Jo, and it was making her more and more curious about him. ‘Just leave it on the counter,’ she told him. ‘I don’t put this in the dishwasher.’

  ‘I’m good at washing up. Let’s do it now.’

  She shook her head. ‘If there’s a next time, you can do it then.’

  ‘Next time,’ he said, moving closer, ‘I’ll take you out to dinner. But,’ he added deliberately, ‘I’ll insist on washing up the time after that. Shall I take the cheese in?’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll make some coffee.’ Glad to be alone for a moment, Jo frowned while the coffee-maker did its thing. She liked this relaxed, self-assured man very much, but the way he took so much for granted was a bit unnerving. She smiled wryly. On the other hand it was only human to feel gratified when a man of March’s calibre made it so plain he was interested in her.

  ‘I couldn’t resist trying your biscuits,’ he confessed when she rejoined him. ‘You’re a very talented cook, Joanna. Have you ever thought of it as a career?’

  She pulled a face. ‘Lord, no. When I came back here after—after Oxford, I worked for Molly that summer, then did weekends and holiday periods for her when I started the new course. So I know what fiendishly hard work it is. I enjoy a little social entertaining now and then, but that’s as far as it goes.’

  ‘Who do you entertain?’

  ‘Josh and Leo Carey mostly—twin brothers I’ve known for years. And I don’t exactly entertain them—just feed them whenever they’ve got an hour off. Then there’s Isobel, the artist whose work you liked. We met at a party when we were thirteen, and we’ve been firm friends ever since. She lives in an attic flat above the art gallery she manages in town.’

  March looked at her steadily. ‘But no boyfriend for you, Joanna?’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘If there were you wouldn’t be here tonight.’

  ‘Point taken. But you’re a pleasure to look at, gainfully employed, you own a jewel of a house—and you cook like an angel.’ He spread his hands. ‘Why hasn’t some man snapped you up long since?’

  Joanna kept her eyes on the coffee she was pouring. ‘Because I don’t want to be snapped up.’

  ‘Is that written in stone?’ He took the cup she handed him. ‘Because be warned, Joanna. I intend to know you better. Much better.’

  ‘Are you suggesting we become lovers?’ she said bluntly.

  March drained his cup and set it down with a click. ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘I had to ask.’

  ‘Well, now you have. And, since we’re calling a spade a spade here, I won’t pretend the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.’ His eyes speared hers. ‘But that’s not my reason for being here tonight. I came to enjoy your company, so relax. I don’t have any shortcuts to paradise in mind right now. These twins you mentioned,’ he added. ‘Since they eat here regularly, I take it neither of them aspires to a closer relationship with you?’

  Joanna shook her head, kicking herself for bringing the subject up. ‘They’re like brothers. I’m very fond of them, but they irritate me sometimes, too.’

  ‘Because they’re men?’

  ‘Right.’ She smiled crookedly. ‘The only man I know who never irritates me is my grandfather.’

  ‘Not your father?’

  ‘Jack’s too dictatorial not to irritate me sometimes, but I love him just the same.’

  ‘Fortunate man.’ March raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘So, Joanna, where do we stand, you and I?’

  She thought it over. ‘I’d like us to be friends,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘Then we will be. Your house is a surprise,’ he added, stretching out his long legs.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Because you look like modern woman personified I expected contemporary furnishings and abstract art.’

  Jo chuckled. ‘Anachronism in a nineteenth century house, March. Besides,’ she added, ‘this is how the house was when it was made over to me. I helped Kate choose the paint colours and some of the furnishings eleven years ago. When I was thirteen,’ she said demurely, ‘in case you’re wondering. But the chairs and some of the other pieces in the house belonged to the aunt who left it to Kate. How about you?’ she added. ‘Is your place all minimalist and leather?’

  ‘God, no—anything but!’ March’s eyes fastened on hers. ‘So. Now it’s established that my intentions are honourable, when can I see you again?’

  ‘Next week?’

  March jumped up and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. ‘This weekend,’ he said firmly, and planted a kiss on her lips. He raised his head to look into her eyes, then kissed her again. ‘Saturday. Make a reservation for two at your friend Molly’s.’

  Jo nodded rather than trust her voice.

  He smiled triumphantly. ‘Good. I’ll ring you to find out the details. And now I’d better leave—before you change your mind.’

  ‘I won’t. How about some more coffee before you go?’ she suggested, surprised by how much she wanted him to stay a while.

  ‘Wonderful idea,’ he said, as he opened the door for her, giving thanks that he hadn’t frightened her off by kissing her. It had been a risk worth taking.

  To Jo’s relief March did not follow her to the kitchen, which gave her time to recover from the kisses which, though brief, she could still feel like a brand on her mouth. He turned with a smile as she returned to the parlour with two mugs of coffee.

  ‘Your taste in literature is unexpected, Joanna.’

  ‘Ah, but I keep the cookbooks in the kitchen, and my romances and Georgette Heyers lurk upstairs in my little study! I enjoy a happy ending as much as any other female.’

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ He took one of the mugs, impressed to find his coffee was black with a touch of sugar. ‘Perfect. You’re a very efficient hostess.’

  ‘Molly says the details are important, so I try to remember the various tastes of my gu
ests. Not,’ Jo added wryly, ‘that it matters with the Carey twins. They eat whatever I put in front of them.’

  March returned to the sofa. ‘You’ve known them a long time?’

  ‘Ten years or so. I met them at a very sad time in my young life, and they were a huge help.’

  ‘What happened?’

  She looked at him for a moment. ‘Like your etchings, that’s best left until I know you better.’

  ‘Which,’ he informed her very deliberately, ‘you will do. And sooner rather than later—Miss Sutton.’ He grinned at her startled look. ‘I investigated your taste in poetry just now. Your name was on the flyleaf.’

  ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Which reminds me: I still don’t know your other name.’

  He drained his coffee mug and stood up. ‘It’s Aubrey. And now I really must go. I have a lot to do tomorrow.’

  ‘Back in the grafting house again?’

  ‘No. The weather forecast is good for the next week, which means I’m on grass-cutting detail while the weather holds.’

  Jo stared at him in awe. ‘It’s your job to cut all that grass?’

  ‘Afraid so.’ He grinned. ‘Did you imagine I got this tan in Barbados?’

  She eyed him in sudden doubt. ‘Look, we don’t have to go to Molly’s on Saturday. There are other places to eat—I could even drive to your local again.’

  ‘Absolutely not. It’s too far for you at that time of night.’ He moved closer. ‘Joanna, I swear I can spring for dinner for two with no problem—even at your friend Molly’s establishment.’

  She flushed. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, March.’

  ‘But you did,’ he said promptly. ‘You wounded my male pride. So kiss it better, please.’ He took her in his arms and tipped her face up to his. ‘Just a nice, friendly kiss between friends to say you’re sorry.’ But when their lips met the kiss heated to a long way short of mere friendly before he finally released her.

  ‘Thank you again, Joanna,’ he said, in tones very different from his usual lazy drawl. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Drive safely.’

  Chapter Three

  JOANNA cleared away in thoughtful mood. So he was March Aubrey. While he thought she was Joanna Sutton. Which she had been—at one time. But to explain would mean taking March into confidences about her adoptive parents. Far too personal with someone she’d known such a short time. Perhaps she should go back to Arnborough Hall Nurseries and make a few discreet enquiries before she got too involved. Because involved she was likely to be if she went on seeing March Aubrey on a regular basis. She hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. Or ever.

  Jo gave a sigh of relief later as she slid into the beautiful sleigh bed which had been part of Kate’s legacy from her aunt who, though single all her life, had probably not, according to Kate, been a maiden aunt. Definitely not, thought Jo, stretching. A bed like this was made for lovers. Which was why she made sure no male guest ever laid eyes on it. But the sudden thought of sharing the bed with March Aubrey was so unsettling she arrived at Logan Development next morning with shadows under her eyes.

  ‘The gardener kept you out late last night?’ said her father affably.

  ‘No,’ she said with truth.

  ‘Did you have a good meal?’

  ‘Yes.’ Also truthful. ‘How’s Kate this morning?’

  Jack’s eyes, rimmed with darker marks of fatigue than hers, met hers unhappily. ‘She’s very tired. A man feels so bloody helpless at times like this—not to mention guilty. Which,’ he added hastily, ‘is hardly something to discuss with my daughter.’

  ‘Jack,’ she said gently. ‘Stop worrying. Loads of women have babies in their forties these days.’

  ‘I know, but because it’s my woman it doesn’t help.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘All right. Let’s get to work. What’s first up in the diary?’

  The diary was full and the day was hectic. Jo was glad. It helped keep her mind off March. But only temporarily. When she got home a van marked with the logo of Arnborough Hall Nurseries was parked near her house. A young man emerged from it, eyeing her hopefully as he held out a giant sheaf of flowers.

  ‘Miss Joanna Sutton?’

  ‘Yes.’ More or less.

  ‘These are for you.’

  ‘How lovely. Thank you.’ Jo let herself into the house as the van drove away, eager to read the card tucked into the blooms.

  With my thanks. Until Saturday. March.

  As if she needed reminding. Jo eyed the extravagant bouquet in disapproval, hoping March had been given a discount at the nurseries for something so pricey. It was also a long way for delivery, which added to the expense. She must make it plain on Saturday that extravagant gestures like this were unnecessary. A text to say thank you for the meal would have done. Jo arranged the flowers in a tall ceramic pot, set the spectacular result on the floor under the parlour window, and then sent a text of thanks to March, before hurrying upstairs to exchange her office suit for jeans and sweatshirt. After that it was straight back out to drive to Mill House and play with Kitty, then take over bathtime duty while their parents enjoyed a peaceful predinner drink together.

  ‘Mummy’s going to buy a baby soon,’ announced Kitty, when Jo was helping her into her pyjamas.

  Oh, boy. As far as Jo knew the subject hadn’t been mentioned to Kitty before. ‘How wonderful,’ she said brightly, lifting her onto her lap. ‘You’ll like having a baby brother or sister.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Kitty sighed as she snuggled close. ‘But I can’t choose.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jo carefully, smoothing the dark curls. ‘Either one will be lovely.’

  ‘That’s what Daddy said. Will you read me a story?’

  ‘Of course I will. The one about the little bear?’

  ‘I wish I’d gone with you on Sunday,’ said Kate later, over supper. ‘But it’s such a trek to Arnborough. I’ve never been to the new garden centre there—nor, oddly enough, to the Hall itself. Is it worth a visit, Jo?’

  ‘Definitely. Fabulous old house, dreamy gardens—you’d love it. I’m going back myself some time, to see the bits I missed. I got there too late to see everything.’

  ‘Because she took so long to choose your pansies,’ Jack told his wife. ‘We were about to send out a search party by the time she got back.’

  ‘I wasn’t that long,’ protested Jo, laughing. ‘And you must admit they were first-class plants, Kate. They look fabulous in those stone troughs.’

  ‘Don’t they just! Grandpa put them in for me.’ Kate shot a look at her daughter. ‘So, are you seeing this gardener of yours again?’

  ‘Yes. Saturday. I’ve made a reservation at Molly’s.’

  ‘So Molly gets to meet him before we do,’ commented Jack. ‘You’d better bring him here some time, too, so we can look him over.’

  ‘No,’ said Jo flatly.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Kate mildly. ‘Are you ashamed of us?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Jo got up to collect plates. ‘You’re just not up to it right now, Kate. Besides, if he comes here and sees this place, and the penny drops about Logan Development and so on, it could embarrass him.’

  ‘Or,’ said Jack with edge, ‘he might think he’s landed in the honey pot.’

  Jo glared at him. ‘Always a possibility. Either way, I won’t be inviting him home to meet the family any time soon. Thanks just the same.’

  Jo couldn’t get her father’s words out of her head when she was in bed that night. March, who lived in a ‘sort of flat’, had been impressed enough by her place. Heaven knew how he’d react to huge, spacious Mill House, which Jack had restored so magnificently that articles on it featured in magazines. Jo sighed. She wanted March to like her for herself, not for any expectations he might think she had. She’d been down that road before. She tossed and turned restlessly as she remembered how quick he’d been to veto a return visit to the Arnborough Arms. He obviously didn’t want her back on h
is home ground, either.

  It was a trying week. Jack’s honey pot syndrome occupied her so much that at one stage Jo even considered ringing March to cancel. But then she’d have to explain why. To her surprise—and mounting disappointment—she heard nothing from March all week. When he finally rang her on the Friday evening she tensed, sure he was about to pre-empt her and do the cancelling himself.

  ‘How are you, Joanna?’ he asked.

  ‘A bit weary. End of the week and all that. How about you?’

  ‘Very tired of grass. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘For waiting until now to ring you. Are you impressed by my restraint?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, laughing, suddenly so happy to hear that deep, drawling voice she didn’t care why he liked her as long as he did. ‘Deeply impressed.’

  ‘Did you miss me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was silence for a moment. ‘I wonder,’ he said slowly, ‘if you realise how that makes me feel.’

  ‘Pleased, I hope.’

  ‘Massive understatement.’

  ‘That’s nice. I booked with Molly by the way,’ she added. ‘Seven-thirty for eight.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be with you at seven.’

  ‘Do you have more grass to cut before you come?’

  ‘No, thank God. Hand weeding tomorrow.’

  ‘No day off after all that grass?’

  ‘Not a chance. Nor do I want one. The time would drag too much until I see you again. What will you do with your Saturday morning?’

  ‘Kate has insisted that Jack play a round of golf with Grandpa tomorrow, to de-stress, so to make sure he does that I’ll keep her company and play with Kitty—who now knows about the baby. I think she hankers after a little sister.’

  He chuckled. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I just want a healthy baby and my mother in good shape.’

  ‘Amen to that! Goodnight, Joanna.’

  ‘Goodnight, March.’

  Next day Jo played with Kitty for most of the morning, as planned, then ate the sandwich lunch Kate made for them. When Jack and her grandfather arrived, Jo put up with more teasing about her date, then drove off to do some food shopping, and took a detour on the way home to have a word with Molly. The restaurant was ideally situated, halfway along a sidestreet of exclusive shops, with a solitary initial ‘M‘ in gold on the glass door. Having timed her visit until well after the lunchtime rush, Jo smiled at the handsome man who came hurrying to greet her.