Re-read this classic romance by USA Today bestselling author Carole Mortimer
The loan of her friend’s studio should mean three blissful weeks of peace for artist Ryan to sketch and paint. But arriving at Montgomery Hall, she finds she’ll be sharing her stay with her friend’s arrogant and uncompromising brother, Grant!
Everything about Grant sends shivers of excitement through Ryan. But his misunderstanding of her situation evokes a response too powerful to ignore. Nothing she can say can convince Grant of her integrity. And resisting the Lord of the manor is more difficult than she thought!
Originally published in 1983
Heaven Here on Earth
Carole Mortimer
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU’LL love it there,’ Mark assured her. ‘I have the most fantastic studio.’
‘Yes, but Yorkshire!’ Ryan grimaced.
He frowned at her, a very good-looking man of twenty-four, with the overlong hair of their contemporaries, clear hazel-coloured eyes, dressed as casually as Ryan in denims and a loose-fitting shirt. ‘I’ll have you know Yorkshire is very beautiful at this time of year.’
‘Beautiful Yorkshire in April!’ she scorned, sitting opposite him in her flat while her flatmate Diana was in the bedroom preparing for her date with him. ‘You just want to get rid of me for a few weeks so that you can pursue Diana without me in the way!’
Mark began to smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his teeth very white against his dark skin. ‘How did you guess?’
‘It wasn’t hard!’ She made a face.
He sat forward in his seat. ‘Maybe my reasoning is partly selfish—’
‘Mainly,’ she substituted firmly.
‘All right, mainly,’ he sighed. ‘But I really do have a great studio. My brother had the whole of the top floor of the house converted for me.’
‘That’s another thing—your family. How will they feel about having a complete stranger foisted on them?’ Ryan frowned, looking younger than her twenty-one years with her long blonde hair and big blue eyes, her face small and heart-shaped. The deceptively youthful appearance hid a strong determination, a determination that had got her through art college against all the odds—that, as much as her talent, had won her a scholarship. It was at college that she had met Mark Montgomery, and while she had no romantic interest in him herself, he had been instantly attracted to her secretary friend and flatmate, Diana. The attraction was reluctantly reciprocated, as Diana doubted Mark’s sincerity.
Ryan and Diana had been brought up in the children’s home together, and both of them were a little wary of romantic relationships, although Diana more so, remembering her own parents and the bitter break-up of their marriage. In a way Ryan was a little luckier, she remembered nothing of her parents—if that could be called lucky!
Mark shrugged dismissively. ‘They won’t think anything of it, I often let friends use the studio. Besides, there’s only Grant and Mandy, my brother and sister. Grant’s always busy on the estate, and Mandy’s only eighteen, so you’d be company for each other. And you don’t have to stay in the main house, there’s a cottage you can use on the estate.’
Ryan knew that Mark came from a wealthy family, that far from having to struggle through like a lot of their fellow-students, he always had plenty of money. The existence of the family estate in Yorkshire had come to light since he had been dating Diana, an incentive for her to trust him, Ryan believed. It had been wasted on Diana, just making her more wary.
‘Besides,’ he added enticingly, ‘you don’t want to pass up the opportunity of seeing a whole room full of Paul Gilbert paintings.’
Her eyes widened, the deep blue of violets, her lashes thick and silky, naturally dark. ‘Your family have a Paul Gilbert collection?’ she gasped; Gilbert was one of her favourite artists, and had been popular for the last fifty years since his death.
‘Better than that,’ Mark said with satisfaction. ‘He was my great-grandfather. Encouragement enough?’
‘If it’s the truth,’ Ryan said sceptically.
‘Oh, it is,’ he told her seriously.
She frowned. ‘Then why haven’t you mentioned him before?’
He grinned, his eyes full of mischief. ‘One doesn’t like to boast.’
‘Doesn’t one?’ she taunted.
‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘Especially when “one” doesn’t have even a tenth of his talent,’ he added seriously.
She raised dark blonde brows. ‘Fishing for compliments, Mark?’ It was an accepted fact that Mark had been the most talented one in the class through the previous college year.
‘No,’ he laughed, dispelling the mood of seriousness. ‘Oh, be a love, Ryan! Three weeks, three lovely weeks, when you can have a studio all to yourself. You’re looking a little pale, the fresh air would put colour in your cheeks—’
‘All right, all right,’ she interrupted laughingly, ‘I’ll spend the Easter holidays in Yorkshire. But if you do anything to hurt Diana while I’m away,’ she sobered, ‘I’ll have you hanged, drawn, and quartered! Understood?’
‘Understood,’ he nodded happily.
And so it was that two weeks later Ryan found herself on a train bound for Yorkshire, her case in one hand, her empty canvases in the other.
As the train neared the station for Sleaton her trepidation grew. Mark swore he had made all the arrangements, that he had told his family she would be arriving today, that his brother and sister didn’t mind her visit in the least. But Mark wasn’t known for his reliability. What if she should arrive at Montgomery Hall only to be turned away?
Montgomery Hall—just the name of it was enough to make her feel nervous, and it wasn’t an emotion she usually admitted to. But Mark’s family sounded a little out of her league, despite Mark’s claim of how hard his brother worked on the estate, and how glad of her company Mandy would be.
Yes, Montgomery Hall sounded very daunting. And what would the Montgomerys make of Ryan Shelton?
She was wearing her newest denims, the ones with no paint splashed over them, and a light blue fluffy jumper that hugged her body and just touched the top of her denims, riding up a little if she should raise her arms. Despite it being April, and the sun shining brightly in a blue sky, there was a nip in the air, and although the jumper had shrunk a little in the wash, it was a pretty colour, and made her hair look like gold. It also emphasised the dark blue of her eyes.
The train drew slowly into the station of Sleaton, and she stepped down on to the platform, dragging her case off behind her, scratching it in the process. Not that it mattered, the case was battered enough already.
A couple of other people got off the train too, although they seemed surer of their destination, hurrying from the platform to disappear from the station building.
After dragging her case and canvases through the busy London station, with no chance of getting a porter, and Mark conveniently unavailable until the last minute, she had had no choice. But as the only person on this tiny station platform she should have been able to get help with her luggage now.
An old man leant on a broom a short distance away, bent over with age, looking as if he would fall down if someone were to remove the broom.
Ryan staggered over to him. ‘Is there a porter?’ she enquired politely.
‘Yes,’ he nodded, looking at her over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses, his hair and moustache a light grey colour.
She bit her tongue to stop her sharp retort. ‘Could you tell me where he is, please?’ She kept her voice light.
‘I’m the porter, miss,’ he told her in an important voice, as if daring her to challenge his claim.
She wouldn’t dare! ‘Would you mind carrying my case?’ she persisted brightly.
He looked down at the battered brown case at her feet. ‘It looks on the heavy side.’
‘It is,’ she nodded.
‘I’ve got a bad back, you know,’ he began to shake his head. ‘The doctor told me to lay off heavy lifting.’
Again Ryan bit her tongue, deciding silence would be better than any criticism she would care to make about a porter who couldn’t lift heavy objects. By the look of Sleaton it was a small community, and this man could be related to half the population! Upsetting the village people would be a great start with the Montgomery family.
She gave a resigned shrug and moved to the lady taking the tickets. She looked as if she could be the porter’s wife!
‘You mustn’t mind Jack,’ the woman confided. ‘He retires next month.’
Not before time, by the look of him! And that didn’t exactly help her now. She could see she would have to become used to a slower and less efficient way of life the next few weeks.
Still, as Mark had claimed, Yorkshire was looking very beautiful; the gorse was in full bloom, everywhere a deep rich green after the early April showers. Flowers were in bloom along the neat garden at the side of the station—although Ryan doubted if Jack kept it in that neat state. Too much bending!
She thought of the next three weeks, three weeks of peace and quiet, three weeks of sketching and painting as much as she wanted to. Heaven on earth!
Once she got outside the station she looked around for possible transport to Montgomery Hall. There wasn’t any! She doubted this sleepy little village, with its homes all grey-brick thatched cottages, sported a local taxi. And Mark didn’t seem to have taken into account the fact that she had to get from the station to the house. The idea of a holiday in this remote part of Yorkshire suddenly began to lose its magic, the white-painted cottage that had the look of a picture-postcard beauty seeming perhaps too much of a drastic change from London. Well, it was too late to change her mind now!
She went back to the ticket-collector, who also seemed to double as the ticket-seller!
‘Going straight back, are you, love?’ she quipped. ‘The shortest stay on record,’ she smiled at her own joke. ‘We usually keep our visitors a little longer.’
Ryan smiled back, beginning to feel weary now. ‘I was wondering if there’s a local taxi…?’ She hardly dared voice the question.
The woman frowned. ‘Bert Jenkins from the village used to do a bit of driving, but he’s got a funny leg.’
‘Funny leg…?’ Ryan returned resignedly, beginning to think the whole village had one medical complaint or another.
‘Arthritis, I think,’ the woman nodded.
‘So there’s no taxi?’
‘Not any more.’ The woman shook her head.
Ryan pursed her lips and straightened her shoulders determinedly. ‘In that case, could you direct me to Montgomery Hall?’
The woman’s interest deepened. ‘Friend of the family, are you?’
‘Er—yes.’ She was taken aback at this open questioning, being used to the surliness of London transport workers.
‘Would you be the friend of Mr Mark’s they’re expecting?’
Her eyes widened even more. ‘Er—yes, I would. How did you know?’
The woman laughed. ‘Not much is a secret in Sleaton! Besides, my sister-in-law helps out in the house.’
‘I see,’ Ryan nodded. ‘The directions?’ she prompted.
‘Oh—of course.’ The woman looked disappointed that she didn’t want to stay and chat. ‘Turn right out of the station, it’s about three miles down that road—’
‘Three miles?’
‘Mm,’ the woman nodded. ‘You can’t miss it. A big old manor house on the right-hand side of the road, set behind high iron gates.’
Ryan thanked the woman and moved off a little way down the road. Three miles! She couldn’t remember the last time she had walked that far—and certainly not with a heavy case and half a dozen canvases.
It looked a very long winding road, with a stone wall either side, the same grey stone the cottages and farmhouses were built from, and she began to see several of the latter as she walked along, the occasional dog barking in the distance, lambs bleating to their mothers in the fields. Ryan had never seen so many sheep in her life, they seemed to be everywhere, and most of the ewes were accompanied by one or two young frisky lambs. Spring was a beautiful time, a time of new beginnings, when all the world seemed fresh and new. Maybe it would be a new beginning for her too?
It was over a month since she and Alan had decided they weren’t suited, and yet she still hadn’t been able to accept the fact that he was gone from her life. Her break-up with him was partly the reason she had been so easy to persuade to come here, although after the first mile or so she was beginning to more than regret the decision. With no obvious public transport and no car of her own, she was going to be very tied to Montgomery Hall for the duration of her stay here.
In that moment she forgot all about how tired she was, and how much her legs ached, as a huge dog suddenly bounded down the road towards her! It looked enormous, a dirty grey and white colour, and Ryan looked around desperately for somewhere to hide. There wasn’t anywhere, and she held her case and canvases protectively in front of her. So much for the pleasure of the countryside; she was going to be attacked by a wild dog now!
But instead of attacking her the dog put its front paws on her thighs, looking up at her expectantly, its tongue hanging out, its stumpy tail wagging in a friendly manner.
‘Why, you’re just a big softie!’ Ryan went down on her haunches beside the dog, roughly patting its neck. He didn’t have a collar on, she ascertained that much. She also realised that his fur was all matted, besides being dirty, as if he hadn’t had a good brush in weeks. In fact he looked neglected altogether. ‘Where’s your owner, boy?’ She looked about them for an angry farmer demanding she leave his dog alone, but all she saw were the inevitable sheep in the neighbouring fields. ‘Are you lost then, hmm?’ she allowed the dog to jump over her excitedly. ‘I think you are,’ she nodded, standing up to brush down her denims, the dog’s dirty paws having put dusty marks all over them. ‘Maybe we’ll find him on the way,’ she reassured the bright-eyed animal as he gazed up at her adoringly. ‘You walk along with me. I could do with the company anyway,’ she added ruefully.
The dog needed no second bidding, but trotted along happily at her heels. Just having him along with her lightened her own mood, the sun suddenly seemed brighter, the birds sang happily in the trees.
She glanced down at the dog occasionally, realising that underneath all that dust he was probably an Old English Sheepdog. It seemed a shame that someone had let him get into this state. A good wash and brush-up and he would be a beautiful dog. And he had a lovely friendly nature, occasionally running off to chase an unsuspecting butterfly, coming back to her side quite happily once the creature flew out of his reach.
He was still at her side when a Land Rover appeared on the road behind her, the first vehicle to pass down the road either way.
‘Careful, Ragtag,’ she soothed as the dog began to growl at the approaching vehicle. ‘Mm, it suits you,’ she said ruefully as she realised the name she had unwittingly given him. ‘Now behave,’ she warned. ‘And if we’re lucky we may get a lift the rest of the way. I’m already beginning to fear for my sanity—this is the first time I’ve had a conversation with a dog!’
The Land Rover went straight past her, giving her a brief glimpse of the man behind the wheel, the peaked cap he wore concealing his face. The vehicle suddenly came to a halt a few yards past her.
She ran eagerly to the passenger side, and the man in the
driving-seat leaned over to wind down the window.
‘Like a lift?’ he offered; he was a man probably in his early thirties, with hair as blond as her own, with warm blue eyes, very attractive in an outdoor sort of way. ‘Don’t worry,’ he smiled at her hesitation, ‘I’m the local vet, so if I attacked you the whole area would know about it in ten minutes!’
She laughed, instantly liking him. ‘I’m going to Montgomery Hall—’
‘Mark’s friend,’ he nodded, already climbing out from behind the wheel.
Ryan followed him to the back of the vehicle, watching as he opened the double doors. ‘Does everyone in Sleaton know I’m coming here?’ she asked with a sigh, handing him her suitcase. ‘No, I’ll keep the canvases,’ she clung to them.
He smiled. ‘Okay. And the answer to your question is yes. There isn’t much that’s a secret in a place this size. I’m surprised Grant didn’t send someone to pick you up,’ he frowned.
Ryan grimaced. ‘Well, I thought that was because Mark had forgotten to tell them that I was coming, but that’s been firmly ruled out.’
‘Not necessarily,’ he shook his head. ‘He could have forgotten to tell them when you were arriving.’
‘That sounds like Mark,’ she nodded.
‘Yes,’ the young vet laughed. ‘My name’s Peter Thornby, by the way.’
‘Ryan Shelton,’ she introduced herself.
‘Nice to meet you,’ he shook her hand. ‘Where’s your dog gone? I thought he could go in the back with your suitcase, I have a wire mesh up.’
Ryan looked down in surprise. Ragtag seemed to have disappeared! She frowned, looking up and down the road. He had gone. She felt strangely alone again.
‘He wasn’t my dog actually,’ she explained huskily, already missing him. She had never had a dog make friends with her before, and the liking had been mutual. ‘He just followed me. You haven’t seen him before?’ As the local vet he might have come across Ragtag in his work.
Peter Thornby shook his head. ‘I didn’t get a good look at him, but I don’t think I’ve had him as a patient. Still, that isn’t surprising, he could be living wild. He didn’t look very old.’
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