The Mistress of His Manor

by Catherine George

  ‘Can’t wait to take you there.’ He touched a finger to his son’s cheek, and turned to his daughter. ‘And how are you today, Jo?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘What happened after I left last night?’ He turned to his wife. ‘You know Jo’s been hobnobbing with the aristocracy?’

  ‘Any reason why she shouldn’t?’ demanded Kate. ‘Our daughter is good enough for anyone.’

  Jack blinked in surprise. ‘Of course she is, you tigress! I only asked because last night Jo was so hostile to the man.’

  Jo shrugged. ‘Only because he’d kept quiet about his title, Jack.’

  Her father’s eyes gleamed. ‘I thought I was Dad now?’

  ‘Only on special occasions.’

  Kate looked up from arranging her son in his carry cot. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Our daughter actually called me Dad for the first time last night,’ Jack told her. ‘Though Jo’s titled chum told me I don’t look old enough to be her father.’

  ‘Oho! Trying to get in your good books,’ said Kate, laughing.

  ‘So did you send him off with a flea in his ear, Jo?’ demanded her father.

  ‘No. I gave him some supper. After all,’ she added defensively, ‘he can’t help having a title.’

  ‘Ah! You like him.’

  ‘Yes. Did you?’

  Jack smiled. ‘Actually, I did. But if you go on seeing him he’d better not have any droit du seigneur ideas in mind.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake! Besides,’ she added, as an afterthought, ‘it doesn’t apply because I’m single. Droit du seigneur gave the lord first go in the sack with his vassal’s bride.’

  ‘Beautifully put,’ said Kate, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m so glad your education wasn’t wasted. Right, then, Jack. Let’s say our goodbyes to the staff and take our son home.’

  ‘Before you take off, could I ask a favour?’ asked Jo.

  ‘Anything you want,’ said Jack promptly. ‘Does it involve money?’

  ‘No, permission.’ Jo hesitated, eyeing her parents in appeal. ‘Would you mind if I told March my own story some time?’

  Joanna had mixed feelings as she drove to Arnborough the following Saturday. She was going to look round his house, she told herself, not meet the family. But some of the part-time cleaners would be around, getting the place ready to open to the public later. They would naturally be curious about March’s guest. And with that in mind she was wearing a black cashmere knit dress and suede boots—this year’s birthday present—and last year’s chestnut suede trench coat. Not that it mattered. March had seen her with damp hair, in a towelling dressing gown well past its sell-by date, so almost anything would be an improvement.

  She scowled as she turned down the road to Arnborough. Did all this girly fussing mean she was falling for the man? If so, she could nip that in the bud right now. She was happy to be his friend, maybe even his lover, but only a fool would fall in love with a man who had no intention of doing the same.

  This time Jo drove to the visitors’ car park at the Hall. There was no one around when she walked through the gatehouse arch, hoisting her black suede tote. But as she crossed over the moat March, in heavy jersey and cords, came hurrying round the side of the building, looking so delighted to see her she smiled warmly.

  ‘You came!’ he said, and took her hands, kissing her on both cheeks.

  ‘I said I would.’

  ‘You might have changed your mind.’ He looked her over. ‘You look edible, Miss Logan. Your coat matches your hair.’

  ‘Purchased by Kate last Christmas for just that reason,’ she assured him, then raised an eyebrow as he led her back the way he’d come. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘The tradesmen’s entrance. Today’s team are beavering away in the Great Hall right now. So we’ll sneak up to my place for coffee before I take you on the tour.’ March led her through a tall, narrow door into a tall, narrow hall with stone walls and a lofty groined ceiling. He closed the door behind them and took Joanna’s hands. ‘Come with me to my lair, fair maiden. You can explore the rest of the house later.’

  March took her past several doors and went ahead of her to a spiral staircase with stone treads worn smooth by centuries of use. He glanced at her suede boots. ‘Sensible footgear. Good. This is where we climb.’

  Glad to make use of the rope strung along the wall, Jo followed him up dizzying curves until they finally reached a door March opened with a touch of drama.

  ‘Here we are.’

  Jo stepped across the threshold into light. March’s ‘lair’ was panelled, with windows on three sides giving a panoramic view of the gardens far below and acres of parkland and fields beyond them. ‘How fabulous!’

  March came up close behind her. ‘So, what do you think?’

  Jo looked round the room slowly. An open desk, overflowing with paperwork, stood in one corner, a huge oak cupboard in the other. Chintz-covered armchairs and a leather sofa sat in front of the big stone fireplace, grouped around a low table with newspapers, books and journals stacked alongside a coffee tray. A carved chest stood under one of the windows, an oval table covered in framed photographs under another. She smiled as she saw a pair of etchings on the panels between them, one of the gatehouse, the other the church.

  ‘I said I’d show you my etchings one day,’ said March, watching her.

  Joanna’s eyes widened as she recognised the signature. ‘So, this is your “sort of flat”.’

  ‘Part of it. I’ll show you the rest after we’ve had coffee. Help yourself to a cake and sit down.’

  Joanna took a Chelsea bun from a silver basket and settled in a corner of the sofa. ‘Yum, it’s still warm. Is it something you made earlier?’

  ‘No. I raided the tea shop. They’re baked on the premises.’ March filled the cups with steaming coffee from a jug, and added milk to hers. ‘Is that to your taste, madam? I hear it’s important to get the details right.’

  ‘It’s perfect,’ she assured him, and smiled sheepishly as he took the opposite corner of the sofa. ‘I was so nervous about coming here, March.’

  His eyes glinted. ‘In case I shut you up in my tower and had my wicked way with you?’

  She shook her head, smiling. ‘That never occurred to me.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same! So, why were you nervous?’

  ‘Stupid, I suppose. Maybe you bring women here all the time. But if you don’t I thought the people who work here would be curious about me.’

  ‘They are. But it’s friendly curiosity. Though probably hopeful, too.’

  ‘Hopeful?’

  March shrugged. ‘Some of them have known me all my life. They would like to see me with a wife and family.’

  ‘But surely you must know dozens of females in your own—well…’

  ‘Say class and I’ll get angry,’ he growled.

  Jo scowled at him. ‘I was going to say circle, set—whatever, Lord Arnborough.’

  ‘Those of my acquaintance with the slightest appeal are either pursuing highly successful careers or already married to my friends,’ he assured her. ‘Have another bun.’

  ‘Where are we having lunch?’

  ‘Right here, after our tour, but I’m taking you out for dinner.’

  ‘Am I staying for that, too?’

  ‘Do you have something to rush home for?’

  ‘Nothing until I cook lunch at Mill House tomorrow.’

  March refilled their cups. ‘So how is your mother?’

  ‘Doing really well, thank goodness.’

  ‘And the baby?’

  ‘He’s gorgeous. All’s right with Jack’s world since Kate survived Tom’s arrival.’ Jo smiled. ‘As you’ve gathered, Jack thinks the sun rises and sets with her. And vice versa.’

  ‘I witnessed the same phenomenon with my own parents.’ March got up, holding out his hand. ‘Right then, Miss Logan. Lord Arnborough is not in the habit of showing visitors over his home, but in this case he’ll make an exception.’<
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  ‘I’m honoured; but first I need to tidy up.’

  ‘Then come to my bathroom, which I enjoy courtesy of Grandfather March’s largesse.’

  ‘Do we have to go back down those terrifying stairs to get to it?’

  ‘No. There’s a more modern, user-friendly version which leads to the main staircase. I brought you up the spiral to show off.’ March led her across the room and slid a catch to open a section of the panelling onto a landing outside.

  ‘How exciting—a concealed door,’ said Jo rapturously.

  ‘The three of us slept in the rooms along here,’ March informed her, as they went down to the next floor. ‘My room up there was once my mother’s sitting room. In times past known as the solar. This is where I sleep now,’ he added, showing her into a room with a plain, solid wardrobe and chest, a large matching bed, and very little else.

  ‘You’re very tidy!’

  ‘Not really. I just stuffed everything in the wardrobe before you came,’ he said, grinning. ‘The bathroom’s through that door in the corner. I’ll leave you—’

  ‘Don’t go far,’ she said, alarmed. ‘I’ll get lost.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting,’ he promised, and trailed a finger down her cheek. ‘Hurry up.’

  When Jo rejoined him, her host was standing by the landing window, his profile outlined by the cold morning sunshine. She stood still for a second, thinking how perfectly he blended into his surroundings. As March said, he was what he was.

  ‘Are you ready for the grand tour?’ he asked, turning.

  ‘Absolutely. Why else am I here?’

  ‘To be with me, perhaps?’ The sun struck glints from his eyes.

  ‘That too,’ she agreed demurely. ‘So lead on, milord, where do we go first?’

  ‘We’ll do the main rooms before the punters arrive. So down to the Great Hall and the drawing room and so on, then we come back up to the first floor.’

  Exploring Arnborough Hall with the owner was a lot different from looking over it alone. March had stories to tell about the artefacts, and fascinating snippets of provenance not mentioned in the guidebook. She already knew that the medieval part of the house, mainly the Great Hall, dated from the early fourteenth century, but not that March and his siblings had used it as a playground when they were young—something which Jo could picture so clearly it humanised the huge room and brought it to life.

  ‘Not on open days, of course, but we used to have scooter races on rainy days in the school holidays,’ March told her. ‘Subsequent Arnboroughs have made additions through the centuries, but for obvious reasons money was short after the Civil War,’ he went on, as they went on through the small drawing room and the grandeur of the dining room. ‘The situation remained static until the Georgian Baron married an heiress. Fortunately Aurelia, the Regency bride, was passionate about maintenance rather than embellishment, except for the ballroom her nabob father insisted on, so otherwise the house is more or less as it was in the seventeenth century. My father’s priority was to get the roof done.’

  ‘The first time I came,’ said Jo, as they entered the empty ballroom, ‘I imagined myself whirling around under these chandeliers in a gorgeous dress.’

  ‘The next time I hire it out for a charity ball you can waltz with me,’ said March.

  ‘I’m not very good at that kind of thing,’ she warned.

  ‘You will be with me.’

  Joanna smiled doubtfully. ‘Where now? Portrait gallery?’

  ‘The state bedrooms first.’ March took her hand. ‘We can boast of sleepovers for one king and two queens here—though not at the same time.’

  ‘How impressive. I had to cut my original tour short before I got to the bedrooms.’

  ‘Which was good. Otherwise we wouldn’t have met again.’ March looked down into her eyes for a long moment. ‘We’ll start with the King’s Bedroom, where William of Orange once slept for a night—without Mary, his Queen.’

  Joanna was enthralled as March led her from one room to another, each one with some special feature. Linen-fold panelling in one, in another an amazing plaster ceiling dating from the Tudor period and a fireplace with beautiful carving. But the most impressive things of all to Jo were a coronet and the crimson and ermine robes worn at the Queen’s coronation.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ said March, as they reached the long gallery.

  ‘I was thinking of the work it must take to look after all this.’

  ‘My practical training comes in handy, and most of the people who help me have been working here for years. They’re a good team.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Of course if I had someone to help me, as my father did, life would be a lot easier.’

  ‘Can’t you afford to hire someone?’

  ‘I was talking about someone to share my life, Joanna. Not hired help.’

  Joanna’s eyes slid away. ‘You must have a priest-hole?’ she asked, to change the subject, then flushed at his mocking grin.

  ‘In a Parliamentary household? Tut-tut, Joanna. Priest-holes are found in Catholic establishments.’

  ‘Of course. Silly me.’

  ‘Meet Aurelia—the heiress.’ He led her to a portrait halfway along the gallery.

  Jo gazed up at a young woman in a flimsy high-waisted dress, with dark hair in a knot at the crown of her head, and dangling ringlets escaping from it to soften a face the painter had failed to make beautiful. ‘She had lovely eyes.’

  ‘Plus a rich, social climbing father, who handed over a fortune as her dowry and gave the bridegroom a townhouse in Mayfair as a wedding present.’ March looked up at the portrait with affection. ‘Aurelia presented her husband with two sons and six daughters.’

  ‘I hope she was happy.’

  ‘Legend has it that she loved the Hall, so hopefully she was. If the weather keeps fine I’ll show you her special garden later.’ March went over to a window. ‘Time up. The first of the visitors are here. Let’s make a run for it.’ He took her by the hand and hurried her along the gallery to whisk her through a door marked ‘No Entry’.

  ‘Do you ever get caught by people demanding information?’ asked Jo breathlessly.

  ‘If I do I plead ignorance and hand them over to a steward.’ He glanced down at her. ‘How do you feel about lunch?’

  ‘Enthusiastic. Halfway through the tour I wished I’d eaten that other bun. I know now how little Tom feels when he’s crying for his milk.’

  ‘Is he keeping his mother up at nights?’

  ‘And his father. They take it in turns with him.’

  March shook his head in amazement. ‘Your father is such a forceful personality it’s hard to picture that.’

  ‘Jack missed out on my early years, so he’s making up for it with Kitty and Tom.’

  ‘Of course! I’d forgotten you were adopted. Though to see you together it’s hard to believe. He couldn’t dote on you more if he were your biological father.’

  ‘Actually, he is,’ said Jo, smiling wryly as he stared at her in surprise. ‘If you like, I’ll tell you my little tale over lunch.’

  ‘Oh, no. After hitting me so casually with that piece of news you expect me to wait?’ March took her hand. ‘Let’s go back to the solar. Lunch can hang on for a while. Unless you’re utterly famished?’

  ‘No. Now I’ve started I may as well get on with it.’

  Once they were back in the solar, March settled on the sofa beside Jo and took her hand. ‘Right then, Scheherezade. Start your tale.’

  ‘It’s Kate and Jack’s more than mine, which is why I asked permission.’ Jo gazed into the logs laid ready in the fireplace. ‘They fell madly in love when they were quite young. He was working in his father’s building and contracting business, and on fire to expand it. But Kate was equally on fire to work in London, and she took it for granted Jack would find work there when she went, so they could be together. He flatly refused to do that, she flatly refused to stay, so they broke up and off she went.’ Jo sighed. ‘In London Kate not only pined
desperately for Jack, she eventually found she was pregnant. She rushed back to tell him, only to hear that he’d married someone else just the previous weekend.’

  March stared at her, dumbfounded. ‘Good God! How did that happen?’

  Jo flushed. ‘Jack had missed Kate just as badly after she went—not least, being a mere male, the bed part. When he was pestered by a lady who, according to Kate, was sex on legs, Jack eventually succumbed. And then, being Jack, paid the price of a wedding ring when told that the lady was expecting his child.’

  March swore softly. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Kate, utterly heartbroken at the news, went straight back to London without contacting Jack. So he never knew she was pregnant. And Kate never heard that he’d divorced the bride who’d miscarried too far along into pregnancy for the child to be his.’ Jo sighed, glad of his comforting grasp. ‘In the meantime, Kate’s married sister had begged to bring up the baby as hers, so I grew up in London thinking that my adored Kate was my aunt. Then when I was thirteen my adoptive parents—my real aunt and uncle—died on holiday in a car accident. I came to live with Kate in the house in Park Crescent and she met Jack again. Due to my resemblance to his mother, the truth came out.’ Jo turned to him with a wry smile. ‘The rest, as they say, is history.’

  March shook his head in wonder. ‘Small wonder your father feels protective, Joanna. He’s missed out on half your life.’

  ‘Far worse for Jack, he missed out on all those years with Kate,’ said Jo soberly.

  March slid an arm around her. ‘The revelations must have been a hell of a lot for you to take on board at that age.’

  ‘Oh, I was on cloud nine at first. I was a bridesmaid at their wedding; I’d gained a loving grandfather and a fabulous home. It was like a fairy tale, with Mill House the enchanted castle where we were all going to live happily ever after.’ Jo smiled wryly. ‘But all too soon the dreaded teenage hormones kicked in, and I began to change towards Jack. During school holidays at home he was so protective and strict with me I became resentful. Eventually I turned into a monster teenage rebel and even flung accusations at him, insisting that if he’d really loved Kate he would never have looked at another woman, let alone married one.’