The Mistress of His Manor (5 page)

Amazed by such weakness from a girl as big as her sister, Kitty agreed to listen to one of her longer stories, and to Jo’s infinite relief fell asleep before the end of it.

Jo was on her way downstairs to make herself some much needed tea when her phone rang again. ‘Grandpa?’ she said eagerly.

‘Afraid not, Joanna. It’s March. Dan told me he’d seen you running past the pub earlier, on your way to the car park. Did you come to see me?’

In his dreams! ‘Absolutely not. I can’t talk now. My mother’s in hospital and I’m waiting for news.’

‘The baby?’

‘Yes.’

‘In that case I’ll get off the line at once and call you tomorrow.’

‘Please don’t put yourself to the trouble—Lord Arnborough.’ Jo snapped her phone shut and hurried back to Kitty, who’d begun to wail.

Tom rang twice during the endless evening, but only to report that Kate was still in labour. It was midnight when the phone rang again, and at last it was Jack—hoarse and triumphant.

‘Darling, you’ve got a little brother, all seven pounds of him, and your wonderful, marvellous mother is exhausted, but she’s come through it safely. Thank God—’

His voice cracked on the last, and Jo heaved in a shaky breath, wanting to cry her eyes out with relief. ‘Oh Jack, I’m so
relieved.
Are you coming home now?’

‘As soon as Kate is settled for the night. Have you had a rough time with Kitty?’

‘She’s been wanting her mummy.’ Jo’s voice thickened. ‘So have I.’

‘For God’s sake don’t cry, or I will, too. And Dad’s had enough on his plate tonight without that!’

Jo managed a chuckle. ‘Poor Grandpa.’

When the men got home there was much kissing and hugging and reports on Kate’s well-being. Jo rang Anna Maitland very briefly, while Jack went up to check on his sleeping daughter, then whipped up a midnight feast of soup and toast and mugs of tea.

‘It should be champagne,’ said Jack, yawning, ‘but if I even sniff the cork I’ll keel over.’

‘So what’s he like, this new brother of mine?’ demanded Jo. ‘Does he have any hair? Is he like Kitty?’

‘At the moment he’s bald, with a chubby red face, and he looks like himself!’

Tom laughed. ‘Has he got a name yet?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Jack casually. ‘We’ve had names ready for months. Margaret Joanna for a girl, and Thomas John for a boy.’

Jo’s throat thickened at the look on her grandfather’s face. ‘Perfect,’ she said huskily.

She was settling down in her old room before she allowed herself to think of the phone call from March. Or Lord Arnborough, she reminded herself acidly. A good thing she’d found out now, before things went any further. March was a man she could have grown to care for in an adult way very different from the fleeting teenage infatuation she’d felt for Charlie. But he’d walked out on her anyway, so there was no possibility of that—whatever his name was…

Jo woke with a start as Kitty burst in the room next morning with big news. Her excitement about the new baby was intense. She was going to see him later, with Daddy, and did Jo know that you didn’t buy babies? God sent them to you in the hospital. But she wished the baby was a girl.

‘God had already sent Mummy two girls, darling,’ she pointed out. ‘He wanted her to have a boy this time.’

‘I told Daddy to ask for a girl next time.’ Kitty sighed. ‘But he said there wasn’t going to
be
a next time.’

Amen to that, thought Jo with feeling, and jumped out of bed. ‘Come on, Kitty-cat—time to get dressed. Hazel will be here soon—you can tell
her
all about the baby.’

Hazel Carter, mother of Molly and a great favourite of Kitty’s, had worked for the Logans for years, and still preferred to help Kate with the running of Mill House rather than wait on tables in her daughter’s restaurant.

‘Thank God for Hazel,’ said a very haggard Jack at the breakfast table. ‘If she just sees to Kitty for a day or two—that’s all I ask. To hell with the house.’

‘When she gets here, go back to bed for a bit,’ advised Jo. ‘I’ll go home to change, then drive into the office to spread the news and keep things ticking over. But I’m taking a long lunch hour, boss—to visit Kate.’

Jack got up to hug her. ‘Thank you, Jo. Though you must be tired too. Knock off early today.’

‘I’ll see how I get on.’ She kissed Kitty’s butter-smeared cheek. ‘See you later, poppet.’

Jo’s morning passed with constant interruption. Once she’d announced the arrival of Thomas John Logan, she had visits from staff eager to pass on their congratulations. By the time Jo was ready to leave for the hospital she was in possession of a huge bouquet of flowers, several cuddly toys and, from her female colleagues, a pile of magazines and a basket of French toiletries.

‘Goodness,’ said Kate, once Jo had left off hugging her to look in the crib beside the bed. ‘What a haul!’

‘And none of it from me.’ Jo smiled down at the pink sleeping face. ‘Gosh, he’s chunky.’ She looked up at Kate, who looked tired and pale, but otherwise better than Jo had expected. ‘Was it a battle to produce him, Kate?’

‘It wasn’t a walk in the park, certainly, but he’s worth it.’ Kate smiled indulgently. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t make Jack admit it, but I think he’s secretly delighted to have a son.’

Jo shook her head vehemently. ‘He’s just delighted that you’re both safe, believe me. Kitty, however, would have preferred a sister.’

Kate laughed. ‘She’ll be fine once she actually sees the baby. Jack’s bringing her in with Grandpa this afternoon. How is Tom, by the way?’

‘He was very tired last night—but, Kate, you should have seen his face when Jack told him the baby’s name!’

‘But his grandson’s not to be Tommy. He must be Tom, too. By the way,’ added Kate, ‘Hazel’s happy to move in with us for as long as I want, which is good.’

‘What can
I
do to help?’

‘Just see that things run smoothly at the firm, darling, so Jack can spend more time at home for a bit.’

‘I’ll be only too glad to,’ Jo assured her, then bent to kiss her mother. ‘You’d better take a nap before your next visitors arrive. How long will you be here?’

‘I might be home tomorrow.’

When Jo had finished for the night she drove straight to Mill House, to find Jack and Tom enjoying a drink in the kitchen while Hazel prepared dinner. Kitty ran to her sister joyfully, full of her visit to Mummy and little Tom.

‘He’s so little, Jo!’

‘He’ll soon grow.’ Jo smiled warmly at Hazel. ‘Thank you for moving in.’

‘I’m only too glad to. It’s a change from living on my own.’ She eyed Jo closely. ‘You look as if a good rest wouldn’t do you any harm, dear. Are you staying for dinner?’

‘Actually, if you’ve got everything in hand, Hazel, I’d rather go back to Park Crescent. Is that all right, Jack?’

He nodded. ‘Of course. Do you want to come in with me tonight, to see Kate?’

She shook her head. ‘Tell her I’ll pop in tomorrow lunchtime again.’

‘Make sure you eat something,’ said her father severely. ‘Have you got any food at your place?’

‘How about some of this chicken casserole?’ said Hazel. ‘I made loads.’

‘Hazel, you are a godsend,’ said Jo thankfully.

‘Want you to stay here,’ said Kitty, scowling.

‘Jo needs to go home to her house and rest tonight,’ said Jack firmly.

‘But I want her to read a story!’

‘I can do that,’ said Tom promptly, and Kitty stared at him in astonishment.

‘Can you
read,
Grandpa?’

‘Oh, yes. Even the big words,’ he assured her, ignoring the smothered mirth from the others.

‘In that case,’ said Jo, grinning, ‘I’ll take off and get some ironing done before supper.’

When she got home a message was waiting on her answermachine.

‘Joanna, it’s March. I haven’t rung today in case you needed your line free for emergencies, but I’m anxious for news of your mother. I doubt that you’ll ring me back, so I’ll try again later.’

Jo eyed the machine coldly and got on with the ironing. She was putting the iron away when March rang again. She clenched her teeth as his deep, drawling tones left more or less the same message as before, then turned her back on the telephone and went up to have a bath. She was in her dressing gown, wet hair swathed in a towel, when the doorbell rang. Her heart leapt, then righted itself again as she ran downstairs to the hall. March—or Lord Arnborough, to give him his proper title, she thought
viciously—was tall enough to be seen through the fanlight. It wasn’t him. And it wasn’t Jack, either, for the same reason.

Jo opened the door very cautiously, then grinned as she saw familiar sandy curls and hefty shoulders. ‘Hi, Leo. Long time no see.’

‘No have time off,’ he groaned. ‘Are you going to let me in?’

Jo opened the door wide. ‘Are you hungry?’

Leo’s open, friendly face looked hurt. ‘I come here for reasons other than mere food, Jo Logan.’

She made a mental note to ask people to call her Joanna from now on. ‘My apologies, Doctor.’

‘Actually, I’m on my way out to dine with the parents before I fall into bed for a day or three.’ He grinned. ‘I called in to congratulate you. Josh’s squeeze in Maternity told him your mother delivered a baby boy yesterday. How about coffee to celebrate, so I keep awake at the wheel on my way to Chez Carey?’

‘Come with me to the kitchen, my friend. Coffee you shall have.’

‘So your father has a son at last,’ said Leo, as they sat down at the kitchen table.

‘All he wanted in life was Kate safe through the birth and a healthy baby,’ said Jo severely. ‘The sex didn’t matter to him.’

‘Sex doesn’t matter to me any more, either,’ said Leo morosely, and yawned. ‘If I ever get a girl into bed again I’ll have forgotten what to do.’

Jo gave a snort of laughter. ‘Don’t worry. It’s supposed to be like riding a bike—you never forget.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ He eyed her in a professional manner. ‘You look a bit frazzled. Too much socializing, or just not sleeping well?’

‘Sunday left its mark on me. On top of worrying about Kate I had the job of keeping Miss Katherine Logan entertained!’ Jo got rid of the towel and ran her fingers through her hair.

Leo whistled in sympathy. ‘No wonder you look fragile. What does our Kitty-cat think of her baby brother?’

‘Wrong sex, but cute. Are you sure you won’t have a sandwich or something?’

‘Better not. Mother’s roasting the fatted calf as we speak, so the prodigal had better be on his way to eat it.’ Leo drained his mug and got to his feet, rubbing a hand over his tired young face. On the way to the door he gave her a hug. ‘Great to see you, Jo. As soon as I can I’ll take you out to supper for a change.’

‘I’ll hold you to that.’ Jo looked up as the doorbell rang, and saw the top of a dark head through the fanlight. ‘That’ll be Jack on his way home.’ She opened the door, then wished she hadn’t. Her second visitor of the night was Lord Arnborough.

M
ARCH
looked at her in silence for a moment, then said, ‘Good evening, Joanna,’ in a tone so forbidding it raised her hackles. What right had
he
to be angry? ‘I left two messages on your machine without success, so I took a chance on finding you in.’ Cold gold eyes took in Jo’s dressing gown and bare feet, then lingered on Leo’s arm, which was still firmly round her waist. He held out a hand. ‘March Clement.’

Leo dropped his arm to shake hands, smiling cheerfully. ‘Hi—Leo Carey.’ He kissed Jo’s cheek. ‘Must dash, love. By the way, birth weight and name, please. Mother’s hot on that kind of thing.’

‘Seven pounds,’ said Jo. ‘And he’s Thomas John. Enjoy the fatted calf, then, and come again soon.’

‘Will do.’ He nodded to March, who stood aside to hold the door for him. ‘Goodnight all.’

March closed the door and stood with his back to it. He wore a leather jacket and jeans as well worn as young Dr Carey’s, and a look on his face she objected to. ‘I apologise for intruding,’ he said at last, breaking the hostile silence.

‘Why did you?’ she said stonily.

‘After my lack of success with the telephone it seemed the only option.’ His eyes held hers. ‘Did you get my messages?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you didn’t pick up. Why?’

‘Isn’t that obvious?’

‘Tell me anyway.’

‘I didn’t want to speak to you.’ She shrugged. ‘I still don’t, Lord Arnborough.’

His mouth twisted. ‘It’s just a title, Joanna. I’m still the same man.’

‘Rubbish,’ she spat at him with sudden heat. ‘You’re the umpteenth Baron Arnborough. And I assume the “sort of flat” you live in is a suite of apartments roped off from the public at the Hall. No wonder you laughed when I said I’d like to marry the heir! But now you
are
here, put me straight.’

He moved closer. ‘About what?’

‘Why did you lie?’

‘The same reason you did, Joanna. I wanted someone to like me for myself, not for my blasted title and my stately home.’ His eyes hardened. ‘Just as you kept
your
name secret in case I fancied your father’s money more than you.’

Jo shivered, suddenly aware of bare feet and cold tiled floor.

March startled her by picking her up. She stiffened like a board as he carried her into the parlour and put her down on the sofa. ‘Your feet must be freezing.’ He would have chafed them, but Jo had curled them up under the robe in knee-jerk rejection. ‘So how did you find out?’ he demanded, standing back.

‘On my first visit to—to your home,’ she began, ‘your Victorian forebears looked familiar. They reminded me of someone. So on Sunday I drove back to the Hall and went straight to the portrait gallery. I realised that the someone was your brother. Further on I saw the portrait of your mother, and then a photograph of the heir at eighteen—the Honourable March Aubrey Clement himself. You were a handsome lad,’ she added.

He shrugged. ‘Hetty and I take after our mother, Rufus after the male line—though he’s the first to have artistic leanings, and he was delicate as a child. Father wanted Rufus to study
Land Management like me, so he could pitch in and do his share one day. But in the end Rufus had his own way and did his Fine Art course. By that time I was working for a Home Counties firm, looking after other people’s venerable buildings. But when my father died I returned home and buckled down to the full-time job of looking after my own.’

‘That must take some doing,’ she said stiffly.

‘It’s a full-time occupation,’ he agreed. ‘Like so many of my breed, my assets far exceed my cash flow. By the time my father inherited, the Hall was in a pretty bad way. But with various grants and the agricultural returns from the family acres he started up a restoration programme that’s still going on to some extent.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Father also had the great good fortune to marry a lady who not only possessed intelligence and beauty, but a wealthy father. So at times of crisis through the years my grandfather gave a helping hand.’ He raised an eyebrow as the doorbell rang. ‘Are you expecting more visitors?’

‘No,’ said Jo, jumping up. ‘I’m not.’ She hurried into the hall and groaned as she saw the familiar outline through the fanlight. ‘It’s my father.’ Heart sinking, she opened the door to Jack, who looked at her bare feet in disapproval which changed to outright hostility when he saw the man behind her.

‘Am I interrupting something?’ he demanded.

Jo shook her head. ‘What’s the matter? You look terrible.’ She seized his arm. ‘Is something wrong with Kate?’

‘Look, I’ll go,’ said March.

‘You’re the gardener,’ said Jack suddenly.

March nodded. ‘My name’s Clement. How do you do?’

‘Never mind all that,’ said Jo impatiently. ‘What’s wrong, Jack?’

‘Could we sit down somewhere?’ he said wearily. ‘And some coffee before I drive home would be good. Only put something on your feet, please, Jo. And don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong exactly. Kate needs a blood transfusion before she can come
home. They’d started it before I got there tonight. It gave me a hell of a shock. And the baby was missing. He’d been taken off to the nursery.’

‘If you two will go into the parlour I’ll put some coffee on,’ said Jo, willing March to refuse and just leave. Instead he held the door open for Jack and followed him into the parlour.

Jo flew into the kitchen to deal with the coffee-maker, then ran upstairs to pull on jeans and a sweater and thrust her feet into shoes. She ran a comb through her hair and tore back downstairs to set a tray, then took it into the parlour.

‘Can I get you something to eat, Jack?’ Jo asked as she filled cups.

‘No, thanks, darling. I just called in to warn you in case Kate is still hooked up to the transfusion gear when you see her tomorrow.’ He drank some coffee and took a look at March. ‘So you work at Arnborough?’

‘Actually, Jack,’ said Jo acidly, ‘he owns the place. He’s
Lord
Arnborough.’

‘Something, as you can tell, that your daughter takes objection to,’ said March, and drank the coffee she’d given him so grudgingly.

Jack eyed first March, then Jo, looking as though he was too tired to take it in. ‘Why do you object, Jo?’

‘Because I didn’t tell her that from the first,’ March informed him. ‘Just as Joanna forgot to tell
me
her name was Logan.’

Jack nodded sagely. ‘She didn’t want you to know I’m her father.’

‘You look hardly old enough, sir,’ said March politely.

‘I’m more than old enough to be Joanna’s father, but nothing like old enough to be called sir by someone your age!’ said Jack dryly, and gave Jo his cup. ‘That was a lifesaver, but now I’d better be on my way.’ He got up, looking at March steadily. ‘I’m not sure we’ll meet again, but it was interesting to make your acquaintance.’

‘I hope to further it,’ said March, returning the look in kind.

‘From the expression on my daughter’s face, you’ll need to work on that,’ said Jack, and yawned. ‘Sorry. I need my bed.’ He put his arms round Jo. ‘Don’t overdo things tomorrow.’

‘All right, Dad. Go home and get some sleep.’ Jo coloured at the arrested look in her father’s eyes, but he merely nodded coolly to March as he went out.

Jo shut the parlour door very deliberately as she followed her father into the hall.

‘Dad?’ said Jack, smoothing her hair.

‘Does that make you feel too old?’

‘It makes me feel quite wonderful,’ he assured her, and kissed her nose.

‘Good. Now, get some sleep. And don’t worry. I’ll keep things ticking over at the office tomorrow before I take off to see Kate.’

‘Don’t you mean Mum?’ he said slyly.

Jo shook her head. ‘She’s still my lovely Kate—as she always has been.’

‘Mine, too.’ He kissed her cheek and opened the door. ‘Should I stay to see His Lordship off the premises?’

Her eyes glittered. ‘No, thanks. I reserve that pleasure for myself.’

March was standing where she’d left him. ‘Before I leave,’ he began, forestalling her, ‘I insist on giving you some idea of what my life entails.’

‘Since we’re unlikely to meet again, it’s of no interest to me,’ lied Jo.

His jaw clenched. ‘For God’s sake, Joanna, you’d think I’d committed murder. Put your knife away and listen. I just wanted to be plain old March, enjoying time with a beautiful girl who seemed to like me for myself.’

‘It’s amazing your cover wasn’t blown that first night in
the pub,’ she pointed out, ignoring a slight lift at the ‘beautiful girl’ bit.

‘I asked Dan not to let the cat out of the bag. The locals know me, of course, but I pass unnoticed among the customers at the garden centre. And that’s the way I like it.’ He smiled. ‘Normally I rush through at the place as quickly as possible, but then that day I saw you—a life-changing moment.’

Jo steeled herself against the smile. ‘If you must put me in the picture, stick to the facts, please.’

‘Certainly.’ His eyes hardened. ‘I run the Hall with a bare minimum of staff. One part-time administrator deals with bookings and publicity, a rota of twenty-five stewards and guides deal with visitors, and a small team of locals work parttime to do the actual cleaning. The only full-time workers are my housekeeper, Mrs Dean, and the gardener, Ed Pargeter, of whom you have heard much already. And there’s myself, of course. My father had my mother to help him, but I don’t possess such an advantage. So as you see,’ he added, ‘Lord Arnborough’s life is not all fun and games. Can you blame him for wanting time off now and again?’

‘Not in the least.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘But I felt such a fool for worrying that you couldn’t afford a meal at Molly’s. I even made dinner for you at home so you wouldn’t be embarrassed if I paid when we went out.’

His eyes softened. ‘It was a wonderful dinner. And such a pleasure to eat it with you, in this little gem of a house, without a suit of armour or an ancestral portrait in sight.’

‘If you feel like that why don’t you make Arnborough over to the National Trust?’ she asked, then quailed at the sudden blaze in his eyes.

‘It’s my
home,
Joanna. The National Trust was never an option. And even if it were,’ he added, ‘they can’t act without an endowment.’

‘So how do you manage to carry on?’

‘By finding ways of bringing in income. The garden centre is a big success, thank God—and Ed. It also provides employment locally. But a film producer for a brother-in-law is a plus. Due to him Arnborough is listed on appropriate websites and registers as available for use as a location, both indoors and out. It’s an excellent source of income. Fashion magazines and companies who make films or television series about the Tudors or the Stuarts, or dramatise yet another Jane Austen or Bronté story, regularly pay good money to use Arnborough.’

‘So that explains the feeling I had there,’ said Jo, deeply disappointed. ‘Every room looked so familiar, as though I’d been there before in another life. But I’d merely seen it on film.’

March nodded. ‘I was sure you’d found me out that first night, when you said you’d looked at the portraits in the gallery. But luck was with me.’

‘Because I left after the Victorian section. If I hadn’t we wouldn’t have seen each other again,’ she added, and felt a thump under her ribs as their eyes met.

‘That,’ he said very deliberately, ‘would have been a tragedy.’ He took her hands. ‘So, Joanna, are we friends again?’ He smiled with his usual gleaming confidence, so obviously sure of her answer Jo’s inner rebel rose up in arms.

‘Now I know who you are that’s just not possible between us. We have nothing in common,’ she said tartly, and pulled her hands away. ‘You and I inhabit two totally different worlds, Lord Arnborough.’

‘And never the twain shall meet?’ His eyes blazed with such anger she backed away involuntarily.

‘Yes.’

March straightened, suddenly so physically formidable it was hard for Jo to stand her ground. ‘I see,’ he said curtly. ‘In that case I’ll stop wasting my time—and yours.’

And without another word he strode from the room and out
of the house for the second time, leaving her incandescent with fury because he’d made no attempt to change her mind.

Jo stood where he’d left her, in the middle of the room, waiting to hear the growl of his car engine. But in the end she gave up and made for the kitchen. The doorbell rang before she got there, and she ran along the hall, her heart leaping about like a mad thing when she saw who it was.

‘Forgotten something?’ she demanded, as she opened the door to March.

‘Yes,’ he said, and picked her up, kicking the door shut behind him. ‘This.’ He smothered her furious protests with his mouth as he carried her into the parlour and sat on the sofa, holding her fast on his lap.

Hissing like an angry cat, Jo tried to get free, but March caught her flailing hands and closed his arms round her like iron bands as he kissed her until they were both panting like longdistance runners.

‘To hell with friendship. I’m going to be your lover. And the only thing we need in common for that is
this
.’ To remove all possible doubt he began kissing her again, but this time he caressed her with clever, fire-raising hands while his lips and tongue worked magic. But at the very moment when Jo was melting into hot, boneless response, ready to do anything he wanted, March raised his head to look down into her eyes.

‘You drove me to that,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I’ve never used force on a woman in my life before.’

Because women normally dropped into his waiting hands like ripe plums, thought Jo, utterly disgusted with herself because she’d almost done the same. Even more mortifying, there was a strong possibility she still might if he tried the same tactics again.

‘Let me up now, please,’ she said, proud of herself because her voice was steady.

March slackened his hold and helped her to her feet. ‘If I
hurt you, I apologise,’ he said shortly, and looked her in the eye. ‘But I won’t lie and say I’m sorry for the rest.’

‘You’re honest,’ she conceded.

‘We aristocrats try our best,’ he said with biting sarcasm, and made for the door. He turned to look at her. ‘Having received what I came for, Miss Logan, I’ll bid you goodnight and never darken your door again.’ His eyes stabbed hers. ‘And this time I mean it.’