The Mistress of His Manor by Catherine George

otherwise the house is more or less as it was in the seventeenth century. My father’s priority was to get the roof done.’
    ‘The first time I came,’ said Jo, as they entered the emptyballroom, ‘I imagined myself whirling around under these chandeliers in a gorgeous dress.’
    ‘The next time I hire it out for a charity ball you can waltz with me,’ said March.
    ‘I’m not very good at that kind of thing,’ she warned.
    ‘You will be with me.’
    Joanna smiled doubtfully. ‘Where now? Portrait gallery?’
    ‘The state bedrooms first.’ March took her hand. ‘We can boast of sleepovers for one king and two queens here—though not at the same time.’
    ‘How impressive. I had to cut my original tour short before I got to the bedrooms.’
    ‘Which was good. Otherwise we wouldn’t have met again.’ March looked down into her eyes for a long moment. ‘We’ll start with the King’s Bedroom, where William of Orange once slept for a night—without Mary, his Queen.’
    Joanna was enthralled as March led her from one room to another, each one with some special feature. Linen-fold panelling in one, in another an amazing plaster ceiling dating from the Tudor period and a fireplace with beautiful carving. But the most impressive things of all to Jo were a coronet and the crimson and ermine robes worn at the Queen’s coronation.
    ‘You’re very quiet,’ said March, as they reached the long gallery.
    ‘I was thinking of the work it must take to look after all this.’
    ‘My practical training comes in handy, and most of the people who help me have been working here for years. They’re a good team.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Of course if I had someone to help me, as my father did, life would be a lot easier.’
    ‘Can’t you afford to hire someone?’
    ‘I was talking about someone to share my life, Joanna. Not hired help.’
    Joanna’s eyes slid away. ‘You must have a priest-hole?’ she asked, to change the subject, then flushed at his mocking grin.
    ‘In a Parliamentary household? Tut-tut, Joanna. Priest-holes are found in Catholic establishments.’
    ‘Of course. Silly me.’
    ‘Meet Aurelia—the heiress.’ He led her to a portrait halfway along the gallery.
    Jo gazed up at a young woman in a flimsy high-waisted dress, with dark hair in a knot at the crown of her head, and dangling ringlets escaping from it to soften a face the painter had failed to make beautiful. ‘She had lovely eyes.’
    ‘Plus a rich, social climbing father, who handed over a fortune as her dowry and gave the bridegroom a townhouse in Mayfair as a wedding present.’ March looked up at the portrait with affection. ‘Aurelia presented her husband with two sons and six daughters.’
    ‘I hope she was happy.’
    ‘Legend has it that she loved the Hall, so hopefully she was. If the weather keeps fine I’ll show you her special garden later.’ March went over to a window. ‘Time up. The first of the visitors are here. Let’s make a run for it.’ He took her by the hand and hurried her along the gallery to whisk her through a door marked ‘No Entry’.
    ‘Do you ever get caught by people demanding information?’ asked Jo breathlessly.
    ‘If I do I plead ignorance and hand them over to a steward.’ He glanced down at her. ‘How do you feel about lunch?’
    ‘Enthusiastic. Halfway through the tour I wished I’d eaten that other bun. I know now how little Tom feels when he’s crying for his milk.’
    ‘Is he keeping his mother up at nights?’
    ‘And his father. They take it in turns with him.’
    March shook his head in amazement. ‘Your father is such a forceful personality it’s hard to picture that.’
    ‘Jack missed out on my early years, so he’s making up for it with Kitty and Tom.’
    ‘Of course! I’d forgotten you were adopted. Though to see you together it’s hard to believe. He couldn’t dote on you more if he were your biological father.’
    ‘Actually, he is,’ said Jo, smiling wryly