The legacy of longdale m.., p.1
The Legacy of Longdale Manor, page 1
“Filled with romance, family secrets, and forgiveness, Carrie Turansky’s dual-time novel, The Legacy of Longdale Manor, will stir your faith—and your desire to visit England’s Lake District!”
—Julie Klassen, author of The Sisters of Sea View
“In this enchanting romance, Carrie Turansky opens the door of Longdale Manor and invites readers to explore its vast collection of artwork and the secrets hidden inside. As the characters, both past and present, wrestle to forgive those who’ve wronged them, the beautiful manor house harbors deep sorrows and the sweetest of joys.”
—Melanie Dobson, award-winning author of Catching the Wind and Enchanted Isle
“Turansky explores building godly relationships while maintaining faith through serious trials and disappointments. Set amid the dramatic beauty of England’s Lake District, The Legacy of Longdale Manor is a romantic and deeply satisfying love story revealing our Heavenly Father’s shepherding grace. A beautiful book to warm and lift the heart.”
—Cathy Gohlke, Christy Hall of Fame author of Ladies of the Lake and A Hundred Crickets Singing
“Once again author Carrie Turansky inspires us in this beautifully written tale! Two broken women living a century apart seek healing and a sense of belonging. Yet only faith, family, and forgiveness have the power to change everything and open the heart to finding love. An unforgettable and uplifting story!”
—Kate Breslin, bestselling author of In Love’s Time
“The Legacy of Longdale Manor is a poignant story of broken family relationships set amidst the lush backdrop of England’s Lake District. Author Carrie Turansky weaves together a split-time tale that ties together generations dating back a century. A masterful plot dealing with issues that every reader will relate to.”
—Michelle Griep, Christy Award–winning author of The Bride of Blackfriars Lane
“Two women, one manor house, and a century of family secrets weave together to form a heartfelt journey to redemption and forgiveness. The Legacy of Longdale Manor is a beautiful story of faith, with a hint of English charm that will appeal to fans of All Creatures Great and Small.”
—Gabrielle Meyer, author of When the Day Comes and In This Moment
“Carrie Turansky weaves an intriguing tale combining old and new as two couples explore questions concerning family, identity, and what real love truly means. Set in the charming villages and surrounds of England’s Lake District, this is a story to savor over a nice cup of tea.”
—Carolyn Miller, award-winning author of Dusk’s Darkest Shores and the MUSKOKA ROMANCE series
© 2023 by Carrie Turansky
Published by Bethany House Publishers
Minneapolis, Minnesota
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2023
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-4371-0
Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations labeled NIV are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Author is represented by The Steve Laube Agency.
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.
To my husband, Scott, who has always supported me in my writing,
and who makes each day brighter as we walk through this life together.
I’m blessed and grateful for you and your love.
“For this is what the Sovereign LORD says: I myself will search for my sheep and look after them. As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and darkness. . . . I will search for the lost and bring back the strays. I will bind up the injured and strengthen the weak.”
Ezekiel 34:11–12, 16 NIV
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Back Ad
Back Cover
One
2012
London, England
The lift door slid open, and Gwen Morris stepped into the third-floor offices of Hill and Morris, one of the most prestigious art and antique auction houses in London. She still felt a thrill each time she walked down the dark paneled hallway toward her new office and took in the beautiful paintings, jewelry, and antiques on display.
The receptionist looked up as Gwen approached. The young woman’s eyes widened, and she quickly looked down at her desk and shuffled some papers.
Gwen’s steps slowed. “Good morning, MaryAnn.”
“Morning.” MaryAnn slowly lifted her eyes to meet Gwen’s. “Your grandfather—I mean, Mr. Morris—would like you to come to his office right away.”
A prickle of unease traveled through Gwen, but she quickly dismissed it. He probably wanted to discuss some new acquisitions, or perhaps give her feedback on her first month as junior specialist for art history and antiques.
“Thank you.” She started down the hall and glanced through Charlene’s open office doorway. As the older woman met her gaze, her expression hardened, and she turned toward the windows. That was odd. Charlene usually offered a “Good morning,” or at least a nod as Gwen passed.
She continued down the hall and received chilly looks from three other colleagues. What was going on? Certainly, the weather was gloomy, and they all had a heavy workload, but she couldn’t imagine why everyone seemed to be in such a dark mood this morning.
She approached her grandfather’s outer office, and Mrs. Huntington, her grandfather’s fiftyish administrative assistant, lifted her head, her face impassive. “Mr. Morris said you are to go right in.”
Gwen’s stomach tensed. This did not bode well. She straightened her shoulders, stepped into her grandfather’s office, and closed the door.
Her grandfather looked up, his gray eyes cool and assessing. He sat behind his large wooden desk, with his back to the tall windows behind him. Dark gray clouds draped the buildings on the opposite side of St. James Street, and rivulets raced down the glass in a dizzy dance. The downpour outside seemed a perfect reflection of her grandfather’s shadowed expression.
He nodded to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Gwen.”
A shiver raced down her back as she lowered herself into the chair. She should ask what was wrong, but she couldn’t seem to force out the words.
“We have a situation . . . a very serious situation, I might add.” His gray eyebrows drew down into a deep V. “One of the Impressionist paintings we auctioned last Saturday”—he glanced at his computer—“Avenue of the Allies, which you listed as a copy of Childe Hassam’s painting by the same name . . .”
Gwen nodded, remembering the painting clearly. Hassam was an American Impressionist who painted in Britain and France as well as the US. His work was copied by many artists in the late 1800s and early 1900s.
He focused on her again. “It was an original.”
A shock wave jolted Gwen, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
“The buyer is thrilled to have purchased an original Hassam at one-tenth of its true value,” her grandfather continued. “But the seller, Ivan Saunders, is irate. He’s threatening a lawsuit and promising to spread the story of our incompetence far and wide.”
She stared at her grandfather and tried to swallow, but her throat seemed blocked by a huge boulder. How could she have made such a terrible mistake?
Her thoughts raced back to the last week of February, when she’d started in her new position. After one year as an intern, stepping into the role of junior specialist had been a huge transition. That same week, she’d gone through a painful breakup with her boyfriend, Oliver St. Charles. She’d lost hours of sleep over that heartache, and her mind had been in a fog. Was that why she’d failed to realize s
he was evaluating an original Hassam?
“Well, Gwen, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“I . . . I don’t know what happened. I checked the painting’s provenance. Then I compared it to other paintings by Hassam, looking at the style and brushstroke, the color choice, and size of the work. They all seemed so different from his other paintings, and there was no signature, so I assumed—”
“His signature was revealed when the frame was removed. It’s been verified as the original.” Her grandfather steepled his fingers, his serious gaze drilling into her. “Why didn’t you remove the frame and look for the signature?”
“The frame was beautiful. I thought it might possibly be worth more than the painting, and I didn’t want to damage it. And the fact that there was no visible signature made it seem most likely it was a copy.”
“Did you check the catalogue raisonné?”
“Yes. It said the original was part of a private collection owned by . . . someone. I don’t remember the name, but it wasn’t Ivan Saunders.”
“If you had any question, you should have spoken to Charlene, or run your findings past others who have more experience before you catalogued it.”
The burning sensation in her stomach rose, singeing her throat. “Charlene was unwell that week and not in the office.”
He gave a brief nod. “Charlene and a few others are looking at the pieces you’ve evaluated since then. Nothing else glaring has come up, but that doesn’t excuse the mistake you made with the Hassam.”
Gwen lowered her chin, wishing she could melt into the floor. She had seriously disappointed her grandfather. Worse than that, she’d confirmed what she’d always suspected: She wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t ready. She might never be. This position had only been given to her because she was Lionel Morris’s granddaughter. And now that she’d made this colossal error, she faced losing the position she’d worked so hard to attain.
She looked across at her grandfather, pain and regret squeezing her heart. “You’re right. There’s no excuse. I should’ve done more research and consulted with others, rather than trying to handle it on my own.”
“I imagine you were trying to prove yourself, but I’m afraid that was a very costly error in judgment. You’ve tarnished your reputation in the art community and with your colleagues at Hill and Morris.”
He didn’t add and with me, but she could feel the weight of those silent words. “I’m sorry.” Her voice came out a rough whisper.
“This is a very difficult way to start your career.”
That went without saying. “What will happen now . . . about the painting?”
“I’ve spoken to our legal department.”
Gwen’s heart clenched. Oliver worked in the legal department. Now he had even more reasons to be glad he’d broken up with her. Everyone at Hill and Morris would consider her a foolish upstart who’d proven she didn’t deserve the position she’d been given.
“They’ll work out a settlement with Ivan Saunders,” her grandfather continued, “but it will be costly and not soon forgotten by anyone.”
Gwen acknowledged his words with a slow nod. How could she have let this happen? Was it her pride or lack of experience that had taken her down that path . . . or both?
She looked up and met her grandfather’s gaze. “What can I do? How can I make this up to you?”
He tapped his index fingers together for a few seconds as he studied the rain-washed windows to his left. “I have an old friend, Lilly Benderly. She wants to sell some of the art and antiques in her home, Longdale Manor, near Keswick. She can’t afford our usual fees, but there’s the possibility of a future investment there, and I’d like to help her.” He shifted his gaze back to Gwen. “I want you to go to Longdale, evaluate the pieces she’s interested in selling, and make the arrangements to have them shipped to London and prepared for auction.”
Hope surged in her chest. “Of course. I’d be glad to go.” She had no idea where Keswick was located, but she didn’t want to admit that to her grandfather. She’d look it up later. “Did she say how many pieces she wants evaluated?”
“No, she didn’t. But this will give you time away from London until the storm blows over. I think that is the best way to avoid embarrassment.”
His embarrassment, or hers? She closed her eyes and suppressed a sigh. Why hadn’t she been more careful? Couldn’t she do anything right? She pushed those questions down, opened her eyes, and focused on her grandfather again. “When did you want me to go?”
“As soon as we can make the arrangements.”
Gwen nodded, but questions swirled in her mind. What type of art and antiques did her grandfather’s friend want to sell? If she handled this project well, could she regain her grandfather’s trust?
“Take your time, and be sure you evaluate each piece correctly,” he said. “Lilly is a recent widow, and a bit eccentric. But I want her to receive the best sale price possible. Can you do that, Gwen?”
She gave a firm nod. “I’ll do my best and run all my work by you and Charlene.”
“Good. Mrs. Huntington will give you Lilly Benderly’s contact information. Let her know you’re coming. Stay in Keswick as long as needed to do a thorough job.” He paused and looked toward the door, indicating the meeting was over.
She rose on wobbly legs, then willed strength into them and faced her grandfather. “I know my mistake has put you in a difficult position. I’m truly sorry for that. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
His stern expression softened. “We all make mistakes, Gwen. It’s what we learn from those mistakes and how we recover that’s important. I hope you’ll take this lesson to heart.”
His gentle words sent new courage flowing through her. “Yes, sir. I will.”
“You’ve been given a great opportunity at Hill and Morris. I hope you’ll do all you can to make the most of it.”
Gwen lifted her suitcase onto the bed in her small London flat, pulled the zipper around, and flipped open the top. Her hand stilled, and she looked out her bedroom window as the painful events of the morning replayed through her mind. She’d let her grandfather down in the worst way and made a costly mistake that was going to follow her for years to come.
She blinked and tried to shake off the dazed, disappointed feeling coursing through her. This was not the end of her career. It couldn’t be. Somehow, she would find a way to rebuild. She crossed to the dresser and took a shirt from the top drawer.
The front door opened, and footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. Lindsey Winters, her roommate, looked in from the hallway. “Gwen, what are you doing home?” Her gaze darted to the suitcase on the bed. “What’s going on?”
Gwen sighed. “It’s a long story. You might want to sit down.”
Lindsey lowered herself into the chair next to Gwen’s bed. “What happened?”
Gwen sank down on her bed. “I made a huge mistake evaluating a painting, and my grandfather is sending me away until the dust settles.”
“What kind of mistake?”
Gwen poured out the story, her eyes burning as she repeated what she’d done and the response of her grandfather and coworkers.
“Oh, Gwen, I’m so sorry. It’s no wonder you’re upset. But he didn’t sack you. He’s giving you a chance to show him you can do the work.” That was just like Lindsey, always looking for the positive side in any hard situation.
Gwen gave a reluctant nod. Lindsey was right. Her grandfather had offered her the opportunity to redeem herself and prove she was worthy of her position at Hill and Morris.
“Where’s he sending you?”
“He wants me to evaluate some pieces for an old friend who lives in Keswick, wherever that is.”
Lindsey’s eyes lit up. “That’s in the Lake District.”
A distant memory stirred Gwen’s mind at those words. “The Lake District?”
“Yes, up north. Oh, it’s so lovely this time of year.” Lindsey smiled. “Mum and Dad took me to Windermere on holiday when I was sixteen. That’s not far from Keswick. We went hiking in the hills. They call them fells up there. And we took a boat ride across Lake Windermere and visited Beatrix Potter’s Hill Top Farm.”
The Lake District . . . Gwen rose and crossed to her closet. Her mum had mentioned painting in the Lake District when she was younger. She reached up to the top shelf, pulled out a large round hatbox, and carried it back to her bed.
