The Mistress of His Manor

by Catherine George

  ‘We should have escaped up to the gallery with Isobel and Rufus,’ he said in an undertone.

  ‘I wasn’t brave enough to suggest it,’ she said candidly.

  ‘Neither was I, babe!’

  Jo stiffened as she saw a familiar pair come into the vestibule. Mr and Mrs Jeremy Fox-Hatton were the last to arrive, and made the grand entrance Lavinia had obviously intended. She swept in, bestowing smiles all round, and flung her coat to a steward, revealing beaded crimson silk that clung like a second skin.

  Just like a snake, thought Jo uncharitably.

  ‘Darling,’ said Lavinia, in a voice intended to carry, ‘how lovely to see you again.’ She cast herself into March’s reluctant arms, gave him a smacking kiss on both cheeks, then turned to Hetty, who very pointedly kissed the air a foot away from Lavinia’s cheek and evaded her embrace.

  ‘Hello, Lavinia.’ Hetty smiled past her. ‘Jerry, how lovely to see you.’

  ‘Ouch,’ said Cal quietly.

  To Jo’s horror, March reached out a hand and drew her close. ‘Allow me to present Miss Joanna Logan.’

  Lavinia’s eyes narrowed as she took in Jo’s dress. ‘We’ve already met, March.’

  ‘Have you? I’d forgotten.’ He turned to Cal. ‘And this is my brother-in-law—Calvin Stern.’

  ‘I’ve met Mr Stern too,’ said Lavinia acidly, as Cal gave a surprisingly graceful bow.

  ‘Frightfully sorry,’ said March, coolly insincere. ‘My memory must be going. Do go on in.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Hetty, grinning at her husband.

  ‘Wow’s the word,’ he agreed. ‘Your brother sure knows how to freeze people off.’

  ‘It’s a gift,’ she agreed, and smiled at Cal with relish. ‘I can do it too, when I try.’

  ‘Don’t try it with me, sweetheart,’ he threatened, and received a smile which rocked him on his heels.

  ‘Never with you, my darling.’

  ‘Come on, you two,’ ordered March. ‘I have a speech to make before the ball can officially start rolling.’

  ‘We’ll take care of you,’ Hetty assured Jo as they went into the ballroom, which looked no less magical now it was full of people.

  ‘I hope Rufus will bring Isobel back soon,’ said Jo, as March leapt up on the stage.

  ‘They’re probably arguing the rival merits of Lawrence and Gainsborough, or whoever,’ said Hetty with a grin. ‘Don’t worry. Your friend is safe with Rufus.’

  March smiled on the assembled crowd, waited for silence, then welcomed everyone to the annual fundraiser for the local branch of the charity, and stepped down from the stage to make for Joanna as couples surged onto the floor to dance.

  ‘This is mine, I believe,’ he said, smiling down at her.

  Feeling like Cinderella singled out by the Prince, Jo took his hand and went into his arms for the opening waltz. ‘I’ll have to count to keep in time,’ she said in his ear, ‘I’m not very good at this kind of thing.’

  But to her surprise Jo found she was better at conventional ballroom dancing with March than on any of the rare occasions she’d had a shot at it in the past.

  ‘You lie,’ he said, his breath warm against her cheek. ‘You dance like a dream, Joanna.’

  It felt like a dream as she revolved with him under the sparkling chandeliers, exactly as she’d imagined. Though her imagination had never come up with Lord Arnborough as her partner. But the very unreality of it all was the problem. All this was so alien to her normal life it was impossible to picture herself as part of it on a regular basis. But she might as well enjoy the dream while it lasted.

  She had the next dance with Cal, and a third with Rufus, and found that she was not as good with either of them as with March. She was grateful to sit out with Hetty and Isobel when March went off to do his duty with some of the organizers—including Candia Birkett, whose plain face lit up like a Christmas tree as she danced with him.

  ‘Poor woman. She’s been in love with him for years,’ said Hetty.

  ‘Hardly surprising. Your brother’s a charmer,’ said Isobel, watching him.

  ‘Do you agree with that, Jo?’ said his loving sister.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know he’s determined to marry you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And March,’ said Hetty ruthlessly, ‘is used to getting what he wants.’

  ‘Not with Lavinia,’ Jo reminded her.

  ‘Pooh! That was just sex-based infatuation, and he soon got over it.’ Hetty patted her hand. ‘Whereas you would be the ideal wife for him.’

  ‘I know. Clever and capable,’ said Jo, resigned. ‘I can even cook.’

  Isobel moved closer in instant sympathy. ‘He sees a lot more in you than that, love.’

  Hetty stared at Jo in surprise. ‘Darling, March really cares for you.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’

  ‘Nothing you can put right, Hetty,’ said Jo, and pinned a smile on her face as a drum roll preceded the band leader’s announcement that supper was served in the dining room.

  March rejoined them, smiling. ‘Come with me, ladies. Our supper’s waiting us in the family dining room. I’ve sent Cal and Rufus on ahead.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely,’ sighed Hetty. ‘I didn’t fancy standing in line.’

  ‘Thank God for food,’ said Rufus, when they joined him in the small vaulted room. ‘I’m not used to all this exercise.’

  ‘You dance surprisingly well, then,’ said Isobel, picking up a plate. ‘Yum, this looks wonderful.’

  It was restful to share the party food in private. Jo felt relaxed for the first time all evening as she sat between March and Isobel.

  ‘So, what did you think of the paintings in the long gallery?’ she asked her friend.

  ‘Very interesting. Some of them are merely the school of or the style of famous artists, but it was great to see a genuine Lawrence and a Gainsborough. Though the portrait that interested me most was the Constable.’

  Jo nodded. ‘I was surprised when I spotted it. Because he’s known for landscapes, its rarity must make it valuable.’

  ‘He kept to his family and friends as subjects,’ said Rufus. ‘Unlike the society painters, like Lawrence, in Constable’s day his name on a portrait didn’t carry the same cachet.’

  ‘How did you manage on the spiral stairs, Isobel?’ asked March. ‘Joanna complained the first time I took her up.’

  ‘I went up barefoot,’ said Isobel, laughing.

  ‘I guess you have a lot in common with Rufus,’ said Cal, smiling at her. ‘Jo tells me you like his work.’

  ‘A lot,’ she agreed. ‘I wish I could paint half as well.’

  ‘You’re too modest,’ said March emphatically. ‘The watercolours you painted for Joanna are exquisite.’

  ‘But after looking at Rufus’s work I really want to try oil,’ she said, and turned to him. ‘Exactly how do you get that extraordinary light in your sky?’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Hetty, as her younger brother launched into his favourite subject. ‘We’ll never get him back to the ballroom now.’

  Rufus turned in sharp dismay. ‘There’s more dancing?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said March relentlessly. ‘Hetty’s brought in a rock band for modern stuff after the supper break, and you can hop around with everyone else. Noblesse oblige and all that.’

  At the end of the evening Jo was so tired by the time the band played the last dance she began to droop in March’s arms.

  ‘So,’ he said in her ear, ‘have you enjoyed twirling around under my chandeliers?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She smiled brightly. ‘Cinderella has had a great time. But the party’s over now. My fairy coach is waiting.’

  He pulled her closer. ‘I wish you’d agree to stay here.’

  ‘I can’t let Isobel go back alone.’

  ‘I have another speech to make before everyone goes home. Don’t go away.’

  As the band came to a final crescen
do March brought Jo to a stop in front of the dais, then stepped on to it and took the microphone to smile into the upturned, expectant faces.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my grateful thanks for making this evening such a success for the charity. Your support, as always, is deeply appreciated. And now,’ he added, ‘I have an announcement of my own to make.’

  To Joanna’s horror, he reached down to lift her onto the stage, sending a buzz of excitement running through the room. And a look like a hot poker from the lady in red sequins.

  ‘I’m taking this perfect opportunity to introduce Miss Joanna Logan—soon to be my wife.’ He took Jo’s left hand in his, slid a ring on the third finger, and then raised the hand to his lips—to a tumult of applause and loud shouts of congratulation from all sides. ‘Thank you, one and all,’ he shouted back, his eyes glittering with a hint of defiance behind the elation as they met Joanna’s. ‘Goodnight everyone, and safe journey home.’

  ‘Excuse me, My Lord,’ said one of the stewards. ‘The car’s arrived for Miss Logan and her friend. The driver would like to leave before the crowd.’

  ‘Thank you.’ March jumped down and lifted Joanna after him. Hetty and Cal, with Isobel and Rufus close behind, rushed to hug and kiss her and exclaim their pleasure and delight—all talking at once in such excitement that no one seemed to notice Jo’s smile was fixed and she had nothing to say. March had his arm round her tightly as they left the ballroom, but none of the smiling, congratulating crowd realised he was keeping her prisoner rather than in a lover’s embrace.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow about one, darling,’ March said at last, after all the goodbyes had been said. He bent to kiss her as he helped her into the limousine, where Isobel was discreetly tucked into the far corner.

  ‘Splendid,’ said Jo, looking him in the eye. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

  The car had left the grounds of Arnborough and was well on the road home before Isobel reached forward to close the partition. She reached for Jo’s hand and examined the cluster of diamonds on her ring finger.

  ‘You gave in, then,’ she said quietly. ‘So why aren’t you happy about it?’

  ‘I didn’t give in. Lord Arnborough stole a march on me—pardon the pun.’ Jo’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘He had no right to make the announcement like that, when I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him.’

  ‘I think it’s romantic,’ said Isobel. ‘He just wanted to make sure of you.’

  ‘Then he made a big mistake,’ snapped Jo. ‘He knew I had doubts about marrying him. They multiplied as the evening went on. As you said, Bel, Arnborough is a magical place, but I just can’t see myself as part of the fairytale.’

  ‘Never mind your doubts about Arnborough. What are your feelings for March?’

  ‘No doubts on that score. I may be in love with him every way there is, but I resent the way he took the matter out of my hands like that. I’m not one of his vassals!’ Jo raked an unsteady hand through her hair. ‘Jack won’t be pleased, either. He would have expected a man like March to ask for my parents’ approval first.’

  ‘Do men still do that?’

  ‘A man like Lord Arnborough—yes!’

  It was light before Jo finally fell into a heavy sleep. She woke with a start to the sound of the doorbell. She stumbled blearily from the bed to grab her dressing gown, and went barefoot downstairs to find the last visitor she expected on her doorstep.

  ‘Good heavens, Jo,’ said Kate Logan, eyeing her daughter askance. ‘You look absolutely awful. Hangover?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Jo blinked owlishly. ‘What in the world are you doing here at this hour?’

  ‘Waiting to be asked in, for one thing. I can’t stay long.’

  ‘Sorry—sorry.’ Jo yawned and closed the door. ‘Put the kettle on while I go and brush my teeth. Shan’t be a moment.’

  When they were facing each other across the kitchen table, with two steaming mugs of coffee in front of them, Kate eyed her daughter expectantly.

  ‘Well? Tell me all about it.’

  ‘The ball was a great success.’

  ‘Never mind the ball—I want to see the ring!’

  Jo stiffened. ‘You know about it?’

  Kate nodded warily. ‘Drink some coffee, darling. You look as though you need some caffeine.’

  ‘Never mind the coffee—how do you know about the ring?’

  ‘I assumed March had one ready because he rang Jack on Friday evening to ask for your hand, in the good old-fashioned way. I was burning to tell you, but he asked us not to.’ Kate bit her lip. ‘Are you saying he didn’t propose to you last night after all?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ In a flat, unemotional voice Jo described his announcement from the stage.

  Kate groaned. ‘Bad move. His Lordship’s rather shot himself in the foot, I take it?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Jo stonily, but her lip suddenly quivered. ‘Before last night I was warming to the idea of marrying him. But the glitz and glamour of a ball at Arnborough changed my mind. I can’t live that kind of life.’

  ‘Are you in love with him?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Jo miserably. ‘Besotted, if you want the truth. Unfortunately my main attraction for March—apart from the bed part—is my organisational skill. Handy for helping him run Arnborough.’

  ‘That, my darling, is a load of nonsense.’ Kate got up. ‘I must dash now, but we’ll talk later—after lunch. To which March is invited, by the way. He’s picking you up at one.’

  Jo glared at her mother. ‘Tell me you’re not serious!’

  ‘I asked him myself. Do you want me to ring him to cancel?’

  ‘No. I’ll do the cancelling when he comes.’

  ‘Joanna, just be careful you don’t say something you later regret,’ said Kate emphatically. ‘I did that once, remember? And spent thirteen long years apart from Jack as a consequence.’

  Jo was trying to read the Sunday paper when March arrived. He looked tired, but dauntingly elegant in a formal suit as he held out a large bouquet of tawny roses.

  ‘For my lady,’ he said, and raised her left hand to kiss it. He tightened his grasp enough to make her wince. ‘No ring?’

  ‘Please come inside.’ She put the bouquet on the hall table and led him into the parlour.

  March eyed her worn jeans and faded sweatshirt quizzically. ‘Am I overdressed for a celebration lunch?’

  ‘We’re not joining my parents for lunch, March, because there’s nothing to celebrate.’ Jo handed him the diamond ring she took from her pocket. ‘So you can have this back.’

  ‘Why?’ His eyes blazed in angry disbelief. ‘Is this because I jumped the gun last night?’

  ‘It was a contributory factor,’ she retorted, her own eyes angry. ‘But I’d made up my mind to say no beforehand.’

  He stood very still, a pulse throbbing at the corner of his mouth. ‘Why? Didn’t I come up to scratch as a lover?’

  ‘Typical male response,’ she said scathingly. ‘Yes, March. In fact you are such a skilled lover I’d be happy to carry on indefinitely with our present arrangement—’

  ‘But not as my wife.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘How flattering.’ March’s face hardened into a mask. ‘So ultimately you’re no different from Lavinia.’

  Jo coloured hotly. ‘That’s not true. For me, it’s nothing to do with money.’

  ‘Then what is the problem, Joanna?’

  ‘I realised last night that I just couldn’t do it.’

  ‘Because I took a risk by taking the decision out of your hands?’

  ‘I resented that—though there was no risk involved. You knew I wouldn’t reject you in front of your family and friends.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘But before that, watching you last night at the centre of things in your own world, I couldn’t see myself ever being part of it.’

  ‘So you waited to reject me in private—for which I should be grateful, I suppose,’ he cut back, and gave a mirth
less laugh. ‘I was so bloody tired of waiting for you to make up your mind I decided to do it for you, in what I fondly thought was as romantic a way as possible. God, what a fool!’

  She licked suddenly dry lips. ‘This needn’t end things between us, March. We could still be—’

  ‘If you say good friends I’m likely to get violent,’ March said, in a tone which sent her backing away. ‘Don’t worry. I shan’t hurt you. Nor shall I trouble you again,’ he said harshly, and turned on his heel. He stopped in the doorway and turned to give her a look which sent the wrong kind of shivers down her spine. ‘I very deliberately took no precautions when I made love to you, so I shall, of course, expect you to let me know if you’re expecting my child.’

  Jo stared at him. ‘Deliberately?’ she said, when she could trust her voice. ‘How mortifying. And there was I thinking you were carried away by the heat of the moment.’ Her chin lifted. ‘Have no fear, Lord Arnborough. I shan’t appear on your medieval doorstep, begging you to acknowledge your by-blow. I take responsibility for my own precautions.’

  A tigerish light flared in his eyes for an instant, then snuffed out. ‘I see. That would appear to be that.’ He bared his teeth in a smile which chilled her to the bone. ‘Please convey my regrets to your parents.’

  The weeks after the ball were the most miserable of Jo’s life. For once her mother had no sympathy with her, and told Jo in no uncertain terms that she had been a fool to personally sabotage her own happiness.

  ‘You would have soon got used to life at Arnborough. And if you couldn’t have made March fall hopelessly in love with you while you were at it I’d have eaten my hat,’ she told Jo. ‘Just because the relationship failed to tick every last one of your boxes you’ve thrown it away.’

  Jo was only too conscious of that.

  She received a distressed phone call from Hetty, demanding to know what had gone wrong, but could only explain, lamely, that she was just not cut out to be Lady Arnborough.

  ‘Garbage,’ said Henrietta Stern. ‘You two were made for each other. I hate to see March so unhappy. I love him very much, you know.’

  So did Jo—but it seemed unwise to mention that in the circumstances.

  Isobel, desperate to give comfort, ordered the Carey twins to wangle time off on the same night for once, to give Jo some much-needed cheering up over supper at her flat. Leo and Josh did their best to oblige, plying Jo with wine and relating hairraising medical anecdotes to make her laugh. And even though as doctors they were shocked by her weight loss, they managed to refrain from commenting on it.