Free The Mistress of His Manor by Catherine George

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 inthe 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