The Mistress of His Manor

‘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. ‘So tell me, Joanna, what do you do with your life?’

She sighed. ‘You’ll laugh.’

His eyes gleamed again. ‘Why?’

‘Other men do.’

March sat erect. ‘I am not like other men,’ he assured her with grandeur, then eyed her speculatively. ‘Are you in entertainment of some kind?’

‘Nothing so exciting. Shortly after I qualified my father’s assistant left him to become a full time mother. He suggested I take over from her for a while until I decided what I wanted to do with my life. I liked the work from day one—still do—so there I am. Working for my father.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s a builder.’ Which was true enough. Up to a point.

‘And you get on well together, obviously.’

‘Professionally we make a really good team.’ She smiled wryly. ‘But my private life worries Jack. At times he gets all patriarchal and heavy about wanting me to live at home with him and Kate.’

His lips twitched. ‘Why? Are you addicted to wild parties?’

‘I wish!’ She sobered. ‘No, actually, I don’t wish. I did that bit as a student. These days I lead a pretty ordinary life in my own little house near the park in town.’

March eyed her with respect. ‘Your father must pay you well, then.’ He threw up his hand like a fencer. ‘Sorry. Rude. Forget I said that.’

‘Actually, the house was a legacy. Where do you live?’ she asked.

‘In a sort of flat.’

Wondering what kind of money gardeners made—or didn’t—Joanna changed the subject. ‘Do you work every Sunday?’

‘When I’m needed, yes. But not so much from now on. Then in December it gets hectic again.’ He got up to collect her glass. ‘Same again?’

‘Yes, but it’s my round!’

‘I’ll bring you the tab.’ But when he came back with their glasses he handed her a menu. ‘How about supper before you drive home? Or do you have something else on tonight?’

‘No, not a thing.’ She smiled warmly. ‘Thank you. I’d like that. What’s on offer?’

‘Mainly salads on a Sunday evening. I can vouch for the ham. Trish, the landlord’s wife, roasts it herself.’

Jo had eaten so little of the lunch she’d cooked for her family the prospect was suddenly very appealing. ‘Then ham salad it is, please! But only if we go Dutch,’ she added firmly.

She waited until March had strolled off to place their order, then to put her mind at rest rang Kate.

‘Two Trish specials coming up,’ March informed her as she put her phone away.

Jo smiled at him. ‘I’ve just had a word with my mother, who feels better now, which means I can enjoy my meal. I was so worried about her at lunch that for once I didn’t eat much.’

‘Are you a good cook?’

‘Yes.’

He laughed. ‘No false modesty, then.’

She grinned. ‘Not a shred. I’ve always liked cooking. I’m good at it. How about you?’

‘I won’t starve, but it’s not my favourite pastime.’

‘That’s obviously gardening.’

To her surprise he shook his head. ‘I merely follow orders from the tyrant who oversees the grounds at the Hall.’

‘Is he elderly and curmudgeonly?’

‘No. He’s youngish and highly qualified—also the brain behind the garden centre.’

‘So when he says jump you jump?’

‘More or less. I’ve learnt a lot from him. Especially about roses.’

‘I was told they’re quite a feature here.’

March nodded. ‘And not just in the gardens at the Hall. We sold a lot of them in bush form at the garden centre today, ready to put in for next year. You must come back in high summer, when the roses are at their glorious best. Though Ed underplants them with all manner of things to create colour and form in the beds all year round. He’s an artist with colours. Did you look round outside?’

‘I didn’t have time.’

‘Come back tomorrow and I’ll beg an hour off to give you a tour.’

Jo grinned. ‘Is that some kind of spin on showing me your etchings?’

He let out a snort of laughter. ‘No. Though I do have an etching or two you could look at some time. But only when I know you much better.’

Jo chuckled, then looked up in anticipation as the landlord appeared with plates arranged and garnished with artistry. ‘This looks wonderful!’

‘Enjoy your meal,’ said the man, pleased, and exchanged a look with March. ‘The place is filling up, so just give me the nod if you need anything.’

The salads were accompanied by a platter of rustic bread which looked so appetising Joanna’s stomach growled. ‘Oops—sorry!’

March grinned. ‘Never mind the apologies—dig in. I’m starving.’

‘This is delicious,’ said Jo, tasting the ham. ‘Do you eat here a lot?’

‘Not as often as I’d like. But I indulge on a Sunday evening like this sometimes.’