The Mistress of His Manor. CATHERINE GEORGE
you. I’ll do my best not to trespass.’ Jo gazed with pleasure at the lofty ceiling and the suits of armour in niches in the high stone walls. ‘It’s such an impressive space, yet the comfortable furniture gives it the feel of a huge, welcoming drawing room.’
The woman smiled. ‘That’s exactly what it is. On special occasions the family use it to entertain. Please take your time. Forty minutes yet before we close, and you’ll find stewards everywhere to answer questions.’
‘Thank you.’ Jo was only too happy to explore alone. Guidebook at the ready, she started in the library to admire its wealth of books and a pair of magnificent terrestrial and celestial globes. The room smelt of old leather sweetened by potpourri, and she paused, frowning a little, sure she’d seen a room like this before. She had the same feeling in a small formal drawing room with gilded furniture, and again in a lofty dining room with a long table laid for a banquet. By the time she reached the ballroom she was convinced she’d visited Arnborough Hall in a former life, and indulged in a pleasant little fantasy—imagining herself twirling around in waltz-time under its magnificent chandeliers.
With no time to follow the usual visitors’ route, she took a shortcut to a long gallery hung with her particular interest, the Hall’s valuable paintings, which included, so the guidebook told her, a rare portrait by Constable. The family portraits dated from as far back as the early Tudor period, and Jo studied each one at length. She spotted a possible Holbein, and farther on a Stuart Lely, and in the Georgian section her eyebrows rose when she found both a Gainsborough and a Lawrence. But she slowed to a halt under the Victorian portraits. The resemblance between the men of the family in the nineteenth century was not only marked, there was something familiar about them. She’d seen the distinctive features of the Victorian Lord Arnborough and his sons before somewhere. In that other life again? Creepy. She sighed as she checked her watch. Time was up.
‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,’ she apologised to the steward waiting to lock up in the Great Hall. ‘I should have started earlier. I had to miss part of it.’
‘Then do come again,’ said the friendly woman. ‘We have lots to offer in the run-up to Christmas, both here and at our garden centre.’
‘Thank you. I will. Goodbye.’
As Jo left the gatehouse she felt a leap of pleasure as she spotted a tall figure in the distance. Her hot gardener looked very different now, in clean, elderly jeans and a white T-shirt which clung to his broad shoulders and lean waist. His shaggy ink-black hair was damp round the edges, and he was minus the dark stubble and sunglasses. As he came close, smiling in recognition, she drew in a deep, surreptitious breath. His eyes were the dark amber colour she associated with lions. Hot was right. He scrubbed up really well.
‘Hello again,’ he said warmly. ‘You’ve been looking over the house?’
Jo nodded, smiling. ‘The others went straight home from the garden centre. I came under my own steam so I could look round the Hall afterwards.’
‘Will your husband have your little girl in bed by the time you get home?’
‘Actually that was my father, who looks far too young for the role, so I call him Jack. And Kitty’s my little sister. If you want the complete picture, the handsome older gentleman in the family group was my grandfather.’ To her delight a trace of colour showed along the knife-edge cheekbones.
‘I do beg your pardon,’ he said stiffly, then disarmed her with a grin. ‘On the other hand, the no husband part is good news—or is there some other contender lurking around somewhere?’
Jo laughed and shook her head. ‘No. I’m single.’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Excellent—so am I! Let’s celebrate our single blessedness with a drink before you drive home.’
Jo blinked. ‘My word, you gardeners certainly don’t beat about the bush!’
He shook his head. ‘Life’s too short for that. So will you come? The Arnborough Arms is just down the road. I’m March, by the way.’ He held out a long brown hand.
She shook it formally. ‘I’m Joanna, and I’m thirsty, so the answer’s yes.’
‘Right, then, Joanna. If we cross the gardens at this point we can take a shortcut along a footpath.’
‘You obviously know the place well.’
‘Man and boy. Are you expected for dinner with your family?’
She shook her head. ‘I cooked lunch for them before we came, while Jack hovered around my mother—known to me as Kate, by the way—driving her mad by asking how she felt every few minutes.’
‘She’s under the weather?’
‘Expecting another baby soon,’ said Jo, sobering. ‘Lord knows how my father will cope this time—he was bad enough when Kitty was born.’ She pulled a face. ‘Sorry! Too much information.’
‘Not at all. You and your father have my sympathy.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled up at him. ‘By the way, I hope the pub boasts a comprehensive Ladies’ room. I feel a bit grubby. And you’ve obviously been home for a bath since I saw you last.’
‘Much needed,’ he said with feeling. ‘I’d been slaving away in the grafting house for hours.’ He took her by the waist to swing her over the stile at the end of the overgrown footpath. ‘Here we are: a couple of yards from the pub’s back door. Hang on a minute—I’ll have a word with the landlord.’
Jo watched as her new friend rapped at the closed door, then opened it to lean inside.
‘It’s not opening time yet?’ she asked, when he came back to collect her.
‘Open all day. I merely asked Dan if we could take over the back parlour to chat in peace. Otherwise you’ll get trampled on by people playing darts and so on.’
The pub was attractive, with black beams and white plastered walls. It was also deserted. Jo raised an eyebrow at her escort as he ushered her into a small room behind the bar. ‘Trampled on?’
‘Sure to be later,’ he said firmly. ‘So, what’s your fancy, Joanna?’
‘Grapefruit juice with lemonade and lots of ice, please.’
Their drinks were waiting on a table in a window embrasure when she rejoined March after her repair session.
‘I’ve been toiling all day, and I’m not driving, so I can indulge in a beer,’ he said, and raised his glass to her. ‘Your very good health, Joanna.’
‘Do you live near by?’
‘Just a short stroll, yes. How about you?’
‘An hour’s drive away.’ She sipped gratefully. ‘I was in need of that. Thank you.’
March leaned back, relaxed, his long legs stretched out. ‘What did you think of the Hall?’
‘It’s a glorious place. I don’t suppose the owner’s single by any chance?’ she said hopefully. ‘If so I’ll marry him and move in tomorrow.’
He laughed. ‘You liked it that much?’
‘It’s the atmosphere. Ancient though it may be, it feels like a home.’
‘Probably because the same family has lived there continuously from the fifteenth century.’
‘Really?’ She eyed him in awe. ‘What an incredible feat.’
‘Achieved because the succession swung from branch to branch a bit on the family tree, with the odd bridegroom taking on the bride’s family name to keep things going. Did you take a look at the portraits in the Long Gallery?’ he added casually.
‘Not all of them. My time ran out halfway through Victoria’s era.’
‘Oh, bad luck,’ he said, and sat back, relaxed.