The bleak wilds of Yorkshire in February are not an appealing destination by any standards and to Julian Hurst, a sheltered and spoilt artist from London, the prospect was daunting. Furthermore, on his arrival at the house where he was to catalogue a collection of paintings, he made two disconcerting discoveries... He found that the owner, a miserly old man, rationed the coal for heating what was, in Julian's view the coldest, gloomiest mausoleum he had ever encountered. Next he met the cook, a pretty young lady named Alexandra Bell with whom he was forced to bargain for the very blankets on his bed.
For the first time in his life, Julian Hurst suddenly found himself accepting defeat in the face of a pair of cool blue eyes that seemed to be laughing at him...
The Cuckoo in Spring by Elizabeth Cadell here
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