Jo was in full agreement. She was all for getting used to March’s way of life by degrees. Degrees? Did that mean she wanted to do this again?
‘That’s a strange look,’ he commented. ‘Don’t worry. I promise you a proper meal this evening.’
‘I wasn’t worried. This soup is delicious,’ she assured him. ‘Are we going back to the Arnborough Arms tonight?’
‘No. I’ve booked dinner at Easthope Court. It’s a longish trip, but the food is worth it.’
‘And now you’ve shed your disguise I needn’t offer to go Dutch any more,’ she said tartly, and eyed him uncertainly. ‘But I’m not dressed for anywhere grand, March.’
‘You look perfect just the way you are,’ he said emphatically. ‘More soup?’
‘No, thanks. If we’re going to Easthope Court I’ll save myself for dinner.’ To her embarrassment, Jo yawned a little as she put her spoon down. ‘Sorry. It’s the after effects of catharsis.’
March looked at her steadily. ‘It was a privilege to hear your story, Joanna. Though it’s hard to imagine you as a horrible teenager.’
She smiled ruefully. ‘Believe me, I was.’
‘If you say so. Would you like some coffee now, or shall we go straight back up to the solar and we can have some tea later? I’ll light a fire, and you can put your feet up for an hour or two before we take off. It’s a fair drive, so I booked an early meal. We’ll leave about six.’
‘I’m full of soup, so I’ll go for tea later,’ she said, getting up. ‘You first. I need time for that spiral of yours.’
‘Built to repel the enemy. But we’ll take the kinder stairs this time.’
Once up in the solar again Jo felt warmer from sheer exercise. ‘You need to be fit to live here,’ she said breathlessly, ‘no matter which stairs you use.’
‘I am fit,’ he assured her.
‘I know.’ Their eyes met.
‘Right,’ said March huskily. ‘You wrap yourself up in that rug on the sofa until the room warms up, while I do what man has always done—provide fire for his woman.’
‘That was only so she would cook for him,’ retorted Jo, and gave a shout of laughter as he flipped a switch beside the cowled stone fireplace and ignited the deceptively authentic pile of logs in the fire basket into leaping flames. ‘What a cheat! I thought the fire was real.’
He grinned. ‘Did you really think I haul baskets of logs up those stairs?’
‘Of course not. I thought someone hauled them up for you.’
‘Parts of this house may date from the fourteenth century, but I live in the twenty-first, Joanna Logan,’ he assured her. ‘If you’re cold, there’s another electric heater in my bedroom.’
‘No. I can feel the heat from the fire already. I don’t even need the rug.’
‘My sister Hetty’s husband never ceases to marvel at life here. Cal is American, and his awe at the sheer age of the place is only outdone by his awe at its inconvenience.’
‘Where do they live?’
‘In LA, in a house with a pool and every convenience known to man. They also have a base here in this country—a house near the Thames at Sonning. But Hetty comes home to Arnborough regularly. Unlike Rufus, who does not,’ added March, sobering.
‘Does your brother live alone?’
He nodded. ‘As I told you, Hetty took him to stay with Italian friends of hers after the accident. Now he rents a small house on the edge of a lake on their property. They have staff who see that he’s fed, and Mario and Silvana get in touch if Rufus needs anything. Not that he does very often—other than more paint and canvas. And the money left to him by my grandfather more than covers that. So,’ said March with emphasis, ‘if you’re still harbouring any guilt about him, believe me, Joanna, you don’t have to. Rufus is leading his life in exactly the way he wants.’
‘It’s a relief to know that,’ she admitted, and leaned her head back against the sofa cushions, smothering another yawn.
March sat down and put an arm round her. ‘Lean on me and have a little snooze, if you like. I shan’t complain if you snore.’
‘I don’t snore,’ she said indignantly, then grinned. ‘Or maybe I do, for all I know.’
‘Relax, Joanna. Just close your eyes and float away for a while.’
‘I can’t do that,’ she protested sleepily, but the leaping flames and March’s warmth were too much for her. Against her will her eyelids drooped, and with a sigh she surrendered to sleep.
Jo woke to the rattle of teacups to find she was stretched out alone on the sofa under a rug, and shot up, eyeing March in dismay. ‘I do apologise.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Good heavens. Is that the time?’
‘You’ve been out for the count for two hours,’ he informed her, and handed her a cup of tea. ‘Your life has been so hectic lately you obviously needed the rest, Joanna.’
‘Bad manners in the circumstances,’ she said, embarrassed.
‘I’m flattered that you felt comfortable enough in my company to enjoy a little sleep,’ he assured her.
‘If you say so.’ Jo sipped gratefully. ‘This is nectar. Thank you, March.’
‘My pleasure. And now you’re awake I shall hand you today’s paper to read while I get ready.’ He bent down and dropped a kiss on her hair, then slid back the panel and went down to his quarters on the floor below.
Jo made no attempt to read. She finished her tea, then folded the rug and sat back on the sofa, her eyes on the authentic flames as she wondered about the woman March had asked to marry him. He had obviously been madly in love with the unknown Lavinia. The woman must have been plain mad to turn a man like March down. After all he was no pauper. He was also the most attractive man Jo had ever met in her life—not only physically, but in every way possible that a woman could want in a husband. If she wanted a husband—which she herself did not. Falling madly in love with a man did not equate with happiness. Something she knew only too well from her parents’ experience. Kate and Jack were together now, but they’d travelled a thorny path apart before reaching their present state of bliss.
And love as a consuming passion was not for everyone. She could, Jo admitted, fall in love very easily with March Aubrey Clement. In fact, if she were honest, she already had. If only he wasn’t part of all
this
! Jo got up restlessly and walked over to the windows to watch the light fading over the rolling green hills of Lord Arnborough’s domain. She looked down on the formal lawns, where people were making for the gatehouse and the car park as the last of the visitors left, then turned abruptly away and went back to the sofa to stare into the flames again. March wanted a wife, and he was giving out signs that she qualified for the post. But he wasn’t madly in love with her, as he had been with Lavinia. And, because she’d been kept in the dark about her true origins until she was in her teens, Jo had a tendency to be wary about all romantic relationships, let alone the kind March wanted.
She had one last dark secret she had not told March and never would. Nor anyone else. Even now she felt sick with shame at the memory of her jealousy when her parents had told her they were expecting a baby. Jo, at twenty-one, had been appalled at the prospect of sharing her mother with another child. But she had managed to hide it so well neither Kate nor Jack had suspected it. And when Kitty arrived the jealousy had changed to euphoric relief that her mother was safely through the birth. At first sight of her baby sister Jo had fallen so completely in love with Kitty it was impossible to believe, now, that she had ever been prey to jealousy. But a couple of years later the news that Kate was expecting another child at her age had filled Jo with emotion of a different kind. She had been furious with Jack—who had been well aware of it. Kate had been aware of it too, and had told Jo in no uncertain terms that it took two people to make a baby, which was the result of two people’s love for each other, not a deliberate ploy to annoy their senior daughter.
Jo had come to terms with it mainly because Jack had not. He had been so frantic with worry about Kate right through the pregnancy that Jo had soon put aside her own qualms in her efforts to comfort him. Because, in spite of the stormy passages in their relationship, she loved her father very much. And calling him Dad for the first time had been a conscious effort to let him know that. Something Jack had been swift to understand and appreciate.
‘You look deep in thought,’ said March, startling her. ‘Penny for them?’
Jo got up quickly, surveying his elegant suit and snowy shirt in admiration. ‘Wow, don’t you look gorgeous, Lord Arnborough?’
‘I do my best,’ he said modestly, and took her in his arms to kiss her so long and so hungrily her lips were swollen when he released her. He smiled into her startled eyes as he raised his head. ‘I knew I wouldn’t have a hope of that once you were ready.’
‘You’re right,’ she said breathlessly, then looked down at her dress, relieved to see it had survived her nap remarkably well. ‘Are you sure this will do?’
March gave her an all-encompassing scrutiny from head to toe. ‘Oh yes. I’m sure.’
E
ASTHOPE COURT
had once been the very grand home of a social-climbing Victorian industrialist. Now it was a privately owned hotel, recently refurbished to such splendour Jo wished she was wearing something more in keeping with her surroundings. Her dress fitted her to perfection, and it had been so expensive Kate had hidden the price tag, but it was nevertheless a black knit dress. Which would have looked a lot better with the new shoes she’d worn to Molly’s, which had heels two inches higher than the black suede boots she was wearing.
Relieved of her coat in a ladies’ room tricked out in Hollywood boudoir style, Jo touched up her lipstick, wished she’d worn more jewellery than just a watch and the plain gold studs in her ears, then, impatient with herself, went out into the foyer, where March was chatting with a man he introduced as the manager. The man personally led them through the palatial room, which was only half filled this early in the evening. He seated Jo at a window table, wished them a pleasant evening and left them to the care of a brace of waiters.
They were provided with huge menus, and their order was taken for wine, but Jo’s eyes were riveted to the view of floodlit lawns and tree-fringed lake.
‘Glitzy place,’ she said, when they were alone.
March eyed her closely. ‘You don’t like it?’
She laughed. ‘What’s not to like? Fantastic view, and if the food lives up to the surroundings it should be wonderful.’
‘It usually is. Though no better than the dinner we had at your friend Molly’s restaurant.’
Jo smiled warmly. ‘That’s a kind thing to say.’
March touched a caressing finger over the back of her hand. ‘It’s the truth.’
Feeling the touch right down to her toes, Jo took refuge in her menu. ‘What do you recommend?’
The dishes they ordered were exquisite to eat, and works of art to look at, but Jo’s pleasure in the evening came to an emergency stop halfway through her main course when a husky female voice exclaimed, ‘March! How lovely to see you.’
March rose to his feet as a blonde vision in sapphire-blue silk swept up to kiss him on both cheeks. ‘Hello, Lavinia.’
The woman eyed Jo with interest and beamed at March. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me, darling?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled down at Jo. ‘Allow me to present Miss Joanna Logan. Joanna, meet an old friend of mine—Lavinia Fox-Hatton.’
‘How do you do?’ said Jo politely, with the warmest smile she could muster, and won a brilliant smile in return.
‘So nice to meet you. A pity you’ve eaten already—we could have joined forces.’ A slender arm adorned with a diamond bracelet waved imperiously. ‘Over here, Jerry.’
A tall, heavily built man came strolling to join them. ‘Hello, there,’ he said, shaking hands with March. ‘Haven’t seen you in ages.’ He smiled at Jo and gave her a graceful bow. ‘Jeremy Fox-Hatton.’
After another introduction, and a few minutes’ chat, he announced that he was ready for his dinner and took a noticeably reluctant Lavina away to a table on the far side of the room.
‘Sorry about that,’ said March when they were alone again.
‘Why? Was it painful to meet up with the love of your life again?’ said Jo tartly.
He shook his head, surprised. ‘It’s a long time since I thought of her like that, but, since you ask, it wasn’t painful in the slightest. I meant I was sorry that our meal was interrupted. Won’t you finish your dinner, Joanna?’
She looked at her half-empty plate and shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Then you must have a pudding.’
‘I won’t, if you don’t mind.’ Jo glanced at her watch. ‘In fact, could we start back now? I have to drive home to my place after we reach Arnborough.’
‘As you wish,’ he said formally, and held up a hand to summon a waiter. ‘I’ll pay the bill while you get your coat.’
In case she met any more of Lord Arnborough’s friends on the way out, Jo redid her face and hair in the powder room before she took her coat which the attendant brought. With a feeling of doom she braced herself as Lavinia rushed in.
‘Off home this early?’ she said, looking disappointed. ‘I’d hoped we could all get together for coffee after dinner.’
Joanna smiled brightly. ‘Sorry. Long drive home.’
Lavinia fiddled with her perfect blonde hair as she looked at Jo in the mirror. ‘Have you known March long?’
‘No. Not long.’
‘Did he tell you he was engaged to me once?’
‘Yes.’
‘Seeing him again, I can’t imagine how I brought myself to break it off. He was
so
in love with me, poor darling.’
‘I know. He told me.’
‘
Did
he?’ Lavinia smiled like the cat who’d stolen the cream, then fixed Jo with a steely blue eye. ‘Are you in love with him?’
‘We’re just good friends.’ Jo smiled, doing her best to look coy. ‘Forgive me, I must go. March can be so impatient. I hope we meet again,’ she lied. ‘Goodnight.’
As Jo hurried through the foyer a young man in hotel livery intercepted her, armed with a large umbrella.
‘Miss Logan? Lord Arnborough is waiting outside in the car. Allow me.’
The journey home on the cross-country route was unpleasant. The rain was so heavy they drove through sheets of water in some places.
‘You’re very quiet,’ said March after a while.
‘I was afraid to distract you. It’s not fun driving in these conditions.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll get you there safely.’
Jo had no doubt of that. It was the prospect of her own journey home afterwards that worried her.
‘I met Lavinia again in the cloakroom,’ she said, after a while.
‘I know. I saw her go in. Did she upset you?’
‘Of course not. Why would she do that?’
‘God knows,’ he said darkly. ‘I thought she might be responsible for the
froideur
between us.’
‘She did tell me you’d been very much in love with her.’
‘But you knew that.’
‘Yes. I told her so. She seemed very pleased.’
‘It was a long time ago, Joanna. Lavinia has been married to Jerry Fox-Hatton and his millions for years.’
‘How nice for her,’ Jo said, in a tone which put an end to further conversation. Which, she assured herself, was just as well when the rising wind had begun snapping debris from the hedgerows to add extra hazard to the driving conditions.
‘I should have brought the four-by-four,’ said March, after swerving to avoid what looked like half a tree in the headlights.
‘Afraid you’ll hurt the car?’
‘No,’ he said through his teeth, ‘I just want to get you home safely.’
But by ‘home’ March meant Arnborough Hall. When they arrived, Jo made for her car the moment he helped her out of his.
‘I’ll take off right away—’ she began, but he seized her arm and ran with her towards the main door.
‘Not in this,’ he said flatly, and rushed her into the Great Hall which, despite its size felt like a haven of calm after the storm outside. All the lights were on, to Jo’s surprise, and she experienced a surprising feeling of homecoming as she looked at the big, comfortable furniture which blended so well with the background of stone walls and ancient portraits, even with the suits of armour in their niches. She watched as March locked the doors, then smiled at him uncertainly.
‘I’d better be on my way.’
‘No. Stay the night. Please. You can’t drive all that way in this.’
She glanced at the rain blowing in gusts against the windows, hating the very though of an hour’s drive in this weather.
March looked at her steadily. ‘There’s no shortage of bedrooms. Will you stay?’
So he didn’t expect her to share his, which took the pressure off. ‘I want to,’ she admitted, weakening at the persuasion in his eyes. Then a particularly wild gust hurled rain against the windows and made her mind up for her. ‘That does it. Thank you. I’ll take you up on your kind offer.’
‘Excellent.’ March took her hand to pull her to her feet. ‘How do you feel about four-poster beds?’ he asked as they went up the main staircase.
‘I’ve never slept in one.’
‘Now’s your chance,’ said March. At the other end of the landing from his bedroom he opened a door and switched on lamps to show her a room with similar windows to the solar, but here they were softened with damask curtains which matched the hangings round the bed and the skirt on the dressing table. A buttoned blue velvet chaise stood at the foot of the bed, with a vast double wardrobe and a bow-fronted dressing chest providing masculine notes of contrast in the feminine room.
‘How lovely,’ said Jo softly.
‘This was my parents’ room. Although my mother died in hospital, Father could never bear to sleep in here again,’ said March. ‘But he always kept the bed made up, and I’ve done the same.’ As the words left his mouth a crack of thunder followed a lightning flash, and March grinned. ‘Glad you agreed to stay?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said thankfully, and looked round the beautiful room. ‘Has anyone of note ever slept here?’
‘Only my parents. And Hetty sometimes, on her own. She loves this room, but Cal’s a bit long in the leg so they use Rufus’ room, which has a bigger bed like mine. My grandparents used the King’s Bedroom.’
Jo removed the damask silk cover and folded it carefully to leave on the chaise.
‘No wonder your sister loves sleeping here.’
‘Hetty will be delighted I’ve brought someone like you to sleep in it. Dinner invitations to the house in Sonning are fraught with danger because she usually invites some scary single female for me.’
‘What do you do?’ asked Jo curiously.
‘I listen politely, make equally polite small talk, and make it clear I’m not on the lookout for a wife.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Surely they can’t
all
want to marry you?’
March gave a snort of laughter. ‘True. But one or two have hinted that dinner and a sleepover would do for starters.’
‘And you never take up the offer?’
‘No. I prefer to make my own choices.’ He looked at her steadily. ‘Where a wife and all other aspects of my life are concerned.’
‘You lead a strange life in this great house of yours,’ said Jo. ‘You’re Lord of the Manor, yet more self-sufficient than any single man I’ve ever met.’
‘The shock of death duties tends to do that for one,’ he said soberly. ‘I had to find some way to keep this place. So economy,
like charity, began at home. I do the land management side of things myself, and a surprising amount of revenue comes from letting the Hall out as a location. Also the dining room and ballroom are very popular for weddings—particularly in summer, when the garden is in full bloom. It’s a photographer’s paradise.’ He smiled wryly. ‘My father drew the line at weddings, but I live in the real world. As my practical sister said, if they do it at Blenheim Palace, why not at Arnborough Hall?’
‘She’s right. But the other thing you could do,’ said Jo sweetly, ‘is to follow in your father’s footsteps and marry an heiress.’
‘Like you?’ he said swiftly, and gave her a look which set her hormones dancing. ‘Rather than marry for money I’d prefer to wait until I find a wife willing to share this strange life I lead. One who cares for me enough to help with it.’
‘So, instead of socialising with these importuning females your sister finds,’ asked Jo, ‘what do you do with yourself in the evenings?’
‘I pop up to town and stay with friends sometimes. At home here I go over to the pub, catch up with paperwork, or even watch TV. Cal wanted to make me a present of one of those great flatscreen things, but even he had to admit defeat on that one. There’s no place to put it. I keep mine in the oak cupboard by the fireplace.’ March grinned. ‘Cal’s a really great guy, and oddly enough quite fond of me. I think the charm of my British eccentricity really gets to him.’
Jo had an idea that March Clement’s charm probably got to most people he came in contact with—including the unimpressionable Molly and, that hardest of men to impress, her father. ‘He sounds rather charming himself.’
‘He is. Cal’s no film star when it comes to looks, but he swept Hetty right off her feet just the same. He met her when he was checking out Arnborough for a film.’
‘Did they get married here in your beautiful church?’
March chuckled. ‘No, in Las Vegas.’
Jo rounded on him, grinning. ‘You’re joking!’
‘I kid you not. Hetty was staying with a friend in Nevada, and Cal flew from California to meet her there. Like me, he believes in seizing the day. He railroaded her into saying yes, and then rushed her off to Las Vegas before she could change her mind.’
‘Not in an Elvis chapel!’
‘Unfortunately not. The ceremony was in some mock Victorian set-up Cal thought suitable for his English bride.’ March smiled indulgently. ‘But Hetty didn’t feel quite married enough after that, so they came back here for a blessing in the church, and a reception for family and friends afterwards.’
‘In the ballroom?’
‘Yes. Though otherwise we do most of our entertaining in the Hall. Which is mainly when Hetty comes home. Cal spends Christmas here with us, instead of with his family, so I’ve solved that problem by asking the Sterns to join us for the past couple of years. It works well, because Cal takes Hetty home to California for Thanksgiving to even things out. Where do
you
spend Christmas, Joanna?’
‘At Mill House, naturally. And this year I’ll make sure I do everything possible to help Kate.’
‘So you’ll cook the turkey?’
‘I’ll do the entire meal. It’s no hardship.’
‘But you’ll party a bit too?’
‘Of course. I’ll also babysit for Kate and Jack.’
March leaned against the bedpost, smiling. ‘In short, you’re a model daughter.’
‘Now, maybe. But it wasn’t always the case.’ She flushed. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so Goody-Two-Shoes. It’s just that my family means a lot to me.’
‘Because you were late in getting together as a unit,’ he said with understanding, and sighed. ‘My family means a lot to me, too, but it’s just Hetty and Cal these days. My parents were both only children, so I’m a bit short of relatives. And I’m damned
if I can get Rufus to come home since Father died. I get over to the Parisis’ place to see him when I can, but he’s—I don’t know—remote. He’s been like that ever since—’