This was the last thing Jo wanted. She tried to find some way to tell him that without losing face, and in the end—to her own surprise as much as his—asked him if he’d eaten.
‘No,’ March said blankly. ‘Are you by any chance offering to feed me?’
‘Fool that I am, yes,’ she said irritably. ‘But it’s just a kitchen supper,’ she warned.
March drew himself up to his full height, looking down his nose at her with all the hauteur of the portraits in his long gallery. ‘You’re asking me to sit at your kitchen table?’ he drawled with disdain, then dropped the pose and gave her the smile that turned her knees to jelly. ‘I’d like nothing better.’
‘In that case,’ she said, as they went into the kitchen, ‘sit there, so you don’t get in my way, and I’ll give you things to do.’
‘Yes, ma’am!’ March slung his jacket over the back of one of her chairs and sat down, his pleasure so obvious at the unexpected turn of events she thawed completely.
Jo passed him silverware and mats and told him to lay the table. ‘If you know how,’ she added.
‘Of course I know how! I live alone, remember.’
‘In a “sort of flat”,’ she agreed wryly, filling a kettle. ‘How big is it?’
‘Big enough. Some of it,’ he went on, ‘was the domain of the servants at one time. My mother had a good eye, and with the help of an architect friend of my father managed to achieve comfortable living quarters for us without losing the character of the old rooms. What else can I do?’ he added.
Jo put the casserole to heat in the microwave, and then handed March a board, a loaf and a bread knife. ‘You can cut some of that.’ In record time she set two steaming plates on the table and sat down. ‘There. No serving dishes tonight,’ she informed him pointedly.
March ate in silence for a moment, looking across at her. ‘I can’t help who I am, Joanna.’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘It’s just that I felt like such a fool when I found out.’
‘You weren’t straight with me either,’ he pointed out. ‘It got me on the raw that you thought I’d be some kind of sponging hanger-on if I heard about your background.’
She coloured slightly. ‘It’s happened before, so you can understand why.’
‘I do. The same goes for my little deception,’ he countered.
‘It’s a whole lot bigger than mine,’ said Jo, taking a slice of bread. ‘I don’t have a title, or ancestors who fought in the Civil War.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘But there’s something mysterious about you, just the same. If you were adopted, do you know who your real parents were?’
‘Oh, yes. One day, when—if—I get to know you better, I’ll tell you about them.’
‘
When,
not if,’ said March flatly. ‘I’m damned if I’ll let an accident of birth prevent a relationship between us, Joanna.’
‘Accident?’
‘I just happened to be born to a father with a title.’
‘Was his name March, too?’
He shook his head. ‘My grandfather’s. Mother was the only child of Randall Lewis March, an old rogue of an entrepreneur with a finger in every profitable pie going.’
Jo eyed him questioningly. ‘She must have died young.’
‘Just after my finals.’ His eyes shadowed. ‘My father was never the same afterwards.’
‘Poor man.’ Impulsively Jo reached out a hand to touch his. ‘You must have suffered, too, March.’
‘All three of us did. But Rufus most of all because he was the youngest—her baby boy, as Mother used to tease him.’ March shivered slightly. ‘She had an emergency appendix operation that went wrong. It happened so suddenly we were all in shock afterwards, including my grandfather. He died not long afterwards.’ He released her hand. ‘Sorry, Joanna. You don’t need this right now, when you look so tired. Have you had a bad day?’
‘Bad night.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘I was hurt when you stormed off on Saturday night.’
‘So was I.’
‘Were you?’
‘Yes. That’s why I lost it.’ He smiled a little. ‘So, did our fight make your day harder for you? There must be more for you to do while your father’s away.’
‘There are plenty of people to keep things moving until the boss gets back to work. Including me.’ Jo smiled proudly. ‘But Jack is the driving force. Even so, I hope he’ll stay home as long as Kate needs him.’
‘He looks very young to be your father.’
‘Jack’s not even fifty yet, and so far no grey hair. But if you think
he
looks young you should see Kate!’
‘I’d like to very much,’ he said promptly. ‘Or does meeting your mother come under the same heading of “not until you know me better”?’
Jo looked at him in thoughtful silence. ‘Look, March,’ she said at last, ‘now I know who you are it’s just so hard for me to see that happening.’
‘Because of the blasted title,’ he snapped, and got up so suddenly the table rocked. ‘I can’t change it, Joanna. I am who I am.’
‘I know that!’ Jo leapt up in consternation. ‘Please don’t storm off again.’
‘Why not?’
She glared at him resentfully. ‘You could at least try a little more persuasion.’
Suddenly very still, March raised an unsettling eyebrow. ‘If I do resort to persuasion, Miss Logan, it might not be to your taste.’
‘Try me.’
He held out his hand, his eyes bright with something that set her heart thudding. Aware that she could hardly complain after throwing down the gauntlet, Jo took the hand cautiously, half expecting to be jerked into his arms again. But March merely led her to the parlour and drew her down on the sofa beside him. He looked down into her wary face for a long moment, then took her in his arms and kissed her very thoroughly. At the first touch of his lips all her anger and indignation vanished, and she leaned into him, returning the kiss with warmth he accepted like a gift, his arms tightening as the kiss rapidly grew more heated.
‘Is this the kind of persuasion you meant?’ he demanded against her mouth.
‘Not exactly,’ she whispered. ‘But I like it.’
He gave a smothered laugh, then kissed her again, his exploring tongue caressing hers. She shivered as his hands slid beneath her shirt, fingers outspread on her ribs just short of her breasts. She tensed, waiting, but his hands stayed still, the mere touch of them on her skin sending fire down to the part of her in full contact with his arousal.
March raised his head, breathing hard as he looked down into her eyes. ‘You are so lovely, Joanna Logan. I don’t know what my friendly persuasion is doing for you, but it’s playing hell with me.’
‘Then that had better be enough for now,’ she said, and forced herself to stand up.
March got up with her and caught her close. ‘You do realise I’ve wanted to kiss you senseless since the first time I saw you?’
Jo’s lips twitched. ‘Still not beating about the bush.’
‘I am. Because I want a hell of a lot more. As,’ he added dryly, ‘I’m sure you could tell.’ He smoothed her hair back from her face. ‘But pride—or pig-headedness, if you like—is part of the package with this famous pedigree of mine. Send me away this time, Joanna, and I won’t come back.’
She bit her lip, knowing he meant every word. And suddenly the thought of never seeing him again was so intolerable it simplified everything. ‘I’m not sending you away,’ she said abruptly.
His eyes gleamed with triumph. ‘You’ve changed your mind?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I like you, Lord Arnborough, even if you were a touch economical with the truth.’
‘So were you, Miss Logan,’ he retorted. ‘I like you too—so much that I don’t want to go. But perhaps I should, while I’m winning.’
‘And is winning very important to you?’
‘Of course. It is to every man.’ March tightened his arms round her. ‘But I want a lot more than mere friendship—in time.’
So do I, thought Jo. A couple of brief sessions in his arms had shown her that all too clearly. ‘I can live with that,’ she said, and gasped as his arms tightened enough to threaten risk to her ribs. ‘At least,’ she added with difficulty, ‘I might if you let me breathe.’
He chuckled, and released her slowly. ‘Joanna, I know your life is hectic at the moment, but I want to spend more time with you. Soon.’
‘At the weekend?’
‘Will you drive to Arnborough?’
Jo raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you didn’t want me there again.’
‘Only while I was incognito.’ March smoothed a hand down her cheek. ‘Now the gloves are off, so to speak, I thought you
might like to see over the house with me. If you come early on Saturday we can explore before the paying public arrives.’
Her eyes sparkled. ‘Will you show me the bits roped off from the public? Including your “sort of flat”?’
‘Everything,’ he promised.
‘Then I’ll come. I’ve already paid the entrance fee twice, by the way, so do I get in free this time?’
He leered theatrically. ‘There might possibly be a small charge—but it won’t be money.’
‘La, sir!’ She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘What can you mean?’
‘Exactly what you think I mean,’ he said, and kissed her.
Jo responded with fervour, leaning into him as he held her close. She was no stranger to being kissed, but this was different. When March raised his head at last she told him so.
‘Why different?’ he demanded, his eyes narrowed to gleaming slivers of amber.
‘Maybe because I haven’t been kissed by a lord before.’
‘In that case,’ he drawled, ‘I’d better make sure it’s a memorable experience.’
Jo found a pleasure in just kissing she had never experienced before. In the past it had always been a prelude, usually brief, to what the man in question hoped would happen next. But March took infinite pleasure in teaching her the joy to be found in only the play of lips and tongue, of kisses which roamed all over her face, and then homed in again on the mouth which responded to his with such all-out fervour March groaned at last and buried his face in her hair
‘I should go,’ he muttered. ‘Before I lose the territory I regained.’
‘Are we having a battle, then?’ Jo demanded.
He raised his head to look down at her. ‘If so, victory is mine.’
She smiled wryly. ‘But it’s a good thing you didn’t run into me at the Hall on Sunday. Once I saw your photograph I was ready to do murder.’
‘Which would be a pity,’ he said lightly, shifting her more comfortably. ‘Rufus has no intention of marrying, he tells me. So the only hope of succession lies with me.’
‘Then why haven’t you lined up some aristocratic fiancée, ready to carry on the family name for you?’ Jo paused, eyeing him narrowly. ‘Or maybe you have.’
‘At present, Joanna Logan, I have not.’ March’s eyes held hers steadily. ‘I did at one time. She was beautiful, came from the same background—everything I’d ever wanted in a wife. I was crazy about her at the time. Like a fool I believed that my sentiments were returned when she said yes to my proposal. But when the lady discovered just how little hard cash went with the rest, my ancestral home—and my person—suddenly lost their charm.’
‘Were you hurt?’
‘Of course I was—not least my pride. So I decided to avoid anything remotely like that kind of relationship in future.’
Jo eyed him curiously. ‘But there must have been other women in your life since then?’
‘Of course. I’m no monk. But light-hearted, no-strings encounters have been the order of the day since Lavinia.’ March eyed her curiously. ‘How about you? Anyone since young Peel?’
‘Of course. I was a student at college here as well as Oxford, remember? But I steered clear of anything heavy. Unlike you, I’ve never suffered from a consuming passion, and I hope to keep it that way. These days I feel happiest socialising with girlfriends, or with the Carey twins.’
March drew her nearer. ‘You could be happy socialising with me, too, Joanna.’
She smiled. ‘I know I could. So I’ll drive over to look round your home with you at the weekend.’
‘You said you liked the place,’ he reminded her.
‘I do.’ She frowned as something occurred to her. ‘But tell me something. If you’re family’s so old, how come you’re still just a baron?’
March gave a shout of laughter. ‘You were throwing my title at me like a dirty word earlier—now it’s not good enough for you?’
Jo grinned. ‘I meant, Lord Arnborough, that I thought a family as old as yours would have risen to a higher rank at some point.’
‘Ah, but we batted for Parliament during the Civil War.’
‘No!’ She stared at him, fascinated. ‘How extraordinary. I pictured you as a Cavalier.’
March shook his head. ‘Josiah Clement, the Lord Arnborough of the time, was Puritan to the core, and a respected politician. He did his utmost to help settle the differences between the opposing sides. He was no fan of Charles the First, but disagreed vehemently with regicide. He refused to endorse the sovereign’s execution, declined a seat in Cromwell’s parliament later, and afterwards lived in seclusion until Charles the Second came to the throne. At which point Josiah was pardoned, given a seat in the new parliament, and allowed to retain his barony. And barons we’ve been ever since.’
‘Do you ever feel weighed down by all that history?’ asked Joanna.
‘It’s just part of who I am,’ he said, shrugging, and got up. ‘And now, Miss Logan, I’ll take myself off and let you get to bed.’
‘I’m glad you came back,’ she confided, as she went with him to the door.
‘So am I. I hope you find your mother well tomorrow.’ March bent his head and kissed her. ‘Come early on Saturday morning,’ he ordered, and smiled.
N
EXT
day Jo found Kate sitting by her hospital bed, giving her son milk.
‘You look so much better,’ Jo said fervently, kissing her. ‘Is your blood count right back to normal?’
‘It certainly is. But not my milk supply—the same as with you and Kitty. So it’s the bottle for young Tom here, too.’ Kate smiled. ‘Jack’s coming in an hour to take us home. Poor darling—he got the shock of his life last night when he saw me hooked up to the blood transfusion.’
‘I know. He called in at Park Crescent to warn me. And met my hot gardener, by the way.’
‘Really?’ Kate’s eyes sparkled as she patted her son against her shoulder. ‘Were you feeding him again?’
‘I hadn’t intended to, but in the end I did.’ Jo took the chair on the other side of the bed. ‘March arrived while Leo Carey was there, and was noticeably uptight about it. Not that he had any right to be.
He
was the transgressor.’
Kate’s eyes widened. ‘Really? What had he done? Or shouldn’t I ask?’
‘Jack knows already.’ Jo gave a crow of delight as the baby gave a loud burp. ‘Oh, well done—clever boy,’ she said, stroking the downy little head. ‘Plug him into his bottle again and I’ll tell you what happened last Sunday.’
Kate listened, entranced, as Jo told her tale. ‘How amazing! So why did Lord Arnborough come to see you last night?’
‘Apparently the pub landlord saw me storming past the Arnborough Arms on Sunday and told March, who wanted to know why.’ Jo pulled a face. ‘I was furious because I felt like such a fool. I’d actually told him that first night in the pub that I liked the Hall so much I wanted to marry the heir.’
‘No!’ Kate shifted her son more comfortably and shot a sly look at her daughter. ‘Would you still like to do that?’
‘No way,’ said Jo fiercely. ‘Come on, Kate, discounting a dozen or so other reasons, can you see me as chatelaine of Arnborough Hall?’
‘Even so, you like this man a lot?’
‘Yes.’
‘So are you going to see him again?’
‘He’s taking me round the Hall on Saturday, before the public pay to do the same. Only I get to see the places they don’t.’
Kate frowned. ‘So where are you going with this?’
Jo shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Last night he said he wants us to be friends
at least.
If not Lord Arnborough was leaving and wasn’t coming back. And he meant it.’
‘Did he mean friendship, or something more?’
Jo got up restlessly. ‘He’s a man, so I suppose he’ll want something more. I quite like the idea too—and not because he has a title.’
‘I know that! You were smitten when you thought he was just a hot gardener.’
‘I wish he still was,’ said Jo sadly. ‘It would make life so much simpler.’
‘He’s still the same man.’
‘That’s what he said. But, Kate, the man has a pedigree a mile long, and a house he opens to the public!’
‘Something tells me you’re a little bit serious about him already.’
Jo sighed. ‘Just a little bit.’
Kate got up and handed Jo her baby brother. ‘Cuddle him for a minute while I get dressed. And don’t you dare let Charlie Peel get in the way of this thing with March.’
‘Well, since he almost killed March’s brother he’s very much in the way.’ Jo walked up and down, her hand cupped around the tiny head against her breast. ‘You know how I feel about the accident.’
Kate was silent for a moment as she packed the last of her belongings into a suitcase, then took her son from Jo. ‘Listen to me, Joanna Logan. Charlie ruined life at Oxford for you. Don’t let him ruin your relationship with March.’
‘I’m not doing that,’ said Jo, surprised. ‘I was just cross with March because he didn’t tell me who he was right at the beginning.’
‘Neither did you.’
‘It was hardly the same! My family tree is a mere sapling compared with his.’
‘But it’s good stock just the same, Joanna. You’re capable, intelligent, a pleasure to look at, and you can even cook! Lord Arnborough would be jolly lucky to have you as his chatelaine.’ Kate paused, smiling down as the baby began to object. ‘Sorry, my lovely boy. Was Mummy shouting? I was just telling your sister she’s good enough for any man.’
Jo rolled her eyes. ‘Thank you, Mummy!’
Kate looked up at the sound of a familiar voice outside. She smiled radiantly as her husband came in. ‘Are you ready to take us home?’
‘You bet I am,’ said Jack Logan, kissing her. ‘You look so much better, darling—thank God. How do you feel?’
‘Raring to go home.’
‘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.’
‘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.