The Mistress of His Manor by Catherine George Read Free Book Online Page B

confirmed that she looked like it. After a shower followed by hot coffee there was slight improvement, but Sunday lunch at Mill House was a prospect she just couldn’t face for once.
    ‘I’ve got the sniffles, Kate,’ she fibbed. ‘So I won’t come round for lunch. A cold is the last thing you need right now.’
    ‘Oh, darling, what bad luck. How did it go last night?’
    ‘Very well,’ lied Jo. ‘My date was impressed. Molly was on top form.’
    ‘Good. But I hate to think of you alone and sneezing today,’ said Kate, sounding worried.
    ‘I’m not that bad. In fact I might take my germs on a drive to Arnborough Hall again, and take in what I missed last time.’
    ‘And catch up with your hot gardener while you’re at it?’
    When she reached the garden centre Jo wandered around the various displays of alpines and winter-flowering plants, had alook at the rose bushes and beautiful pot plants on sale, and wondered where the grafting house was. Not that she could imagine barging into it if she found out. If she met March by accident, fine. But even if she did he might look down his nose in that daunting way of his and tell her to get lost. The mere thought sent Jo hurrying from the garden centre to pay for another look round Arnborough Hall, where she found the same woman on duty in the Great Hall.
    ‘Ah, hello again,’ said the steward, smiling. ‘You’re back to see what you missed last time!’
    Jo nodded. ‘As you see, I came early today.’
    ‘I’m afraid you’ve just missed a tour again, so you can either wait for the next in an hour, or go it alone.’
    Jo had no interest in a tour. She went straight to the long gallery and the Victorian portraits, for a second look at the strangely familiar Baron. He’d been painted in formal evening dress, his red-gold hair and side whiskers luxuriant. The feeling of familiarity grew stronger as she went on to the teenage sons flanking him in smaller frames. Her eyes narrowed ominously as the penny finally dropped. She hadn’t known Red very well, because Charlie had kept them apart from each other as much as possible. But she remembered him well enough to see that he was a dead ringer for the younger of the two haughty young men in the portraits.
    Jo’s heart sank as she faced the truth. If Red—Rufus—was in some way connected with the family, then obviously so was March. Though he looked nothing like these fair Anglo-Saxons. Maybe he was a half-brother, or illegitimate or something. Which would explain his job. Then her heart literally stopped for a moment in front a modern portrait of a beautiful young woman in formal evening dress, with a diamond tiara in her black hair and a smile in her very familiar eyes.
    Jo turned as a voice spoke behind her.
    ‘Lady Arnborough was the mother of the present Baron,’ a steward told her.
    ‘Really?’ She cleared her throat. ‘How interesting. Is there a portrait of her son anywhere?’
    ‘Not as such. There are only photographic studies of the present generation.’ The man ushered her towards an alcove, then left her to study the display at her leisure.
    A formal posed wedding photograph of Lord and Lady Arnborough took pride of place above a trio of camera portraits taken when each of the subjects was eighteen, according to the captions. First the Honourable March Aubrey Clement, the heir, image of his mother. Then came the Honourable Henrietta Frances Clement, to the left below him, her features cast in the same mould, and alongside her the Honourable Rufus Randall Clement, with the fair colouring and features of his father, though with more sensitivity in his face than his handsome, forceful sire. Below the formal portraits a series of informal snapshots showed the Clement youngsters playing tennis, cricket, riding, picnicking, painting—and, in the heir’s case, gardening.
    Jo stood rooted to the spot as angry humiliation was swamped by a wave of bitter disappointment. She could have fallen in love with