by Laura Briggs
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance between characters and persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.
A Romance in Cornwall
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Laura Briggs
All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe used or reproduced without the author’s permission.
Cover Image: “Cornish Lighthouse.” Original art, “Lighthouse.jpg” by Marrishuanna. Used with permission. http://www.dreamstime.com/
Dear Reader,
Love is in the air as Julianne returns to Cornwall after months of life in Seattle. Only a few pages after she says goodbye to America once more, it's pretty obvious that coming home isn't always what one imagines, even in a fun, fictional world like Julianne's. Fortunately for her, she has a struggling romance writer to keep her busy, whose promise to immortalize the village in a bestselling love story has everyone abuzz with the news.
Things are a little different in A Romance in Cornwall. Juli has changed during her absence, as have her friends and the places she loves most; and her feelings about her return aren't as clear as she thought they would be. But the possibility of having her story inspire a famous novelist may help her revisit her connection with Cornwall and see it for what it truly is; and with Matt always there to support her, she'll surely find her answers.
Book Seven is a new beginning in the A WEDDING IN CORNWALL series. New characters emerge from sleepy Ceffylgwyn's population, and new challenges will test Julianne as an event planner and a person, so it's fitting that this beginning revisits the story's past, and what we remember best from the first book. And as we say goodbye once again to some familiar faces in this novel, guest appearances by some of our favorite characters in upcoming stories means no one is ever very far from a village homecoming.
If you love this novel—and just can't wait for Book Eight's adventure to be released—feel free to satisfy your cravings for idyllic village life in the meantime with my upcoming September release The Miss Marple Reading Circle for Mystery Lovers. Book Two in this American-based, literature-loving series will find spunky librarian Peg Turner drawn into a dilemma of the heart ... and into a mystery in the middle of Lewis Cove's spooky Halloween celebration!
A Romance in Cornwall
by
Laura Briggs
"It's nice to relax with just a cup of tea and a biscuit," I sighed, "especially on a rainy day." Between the fingers of one hand, I held a crumbly shortbread round, while the other held one of Cliffs House's standard white china teacups.
Busy had been the word for the past few days spent staging and hosting a nonprofit's conference on Cornish coastal preservation, which was a welcome change after coming back. It was also a good description of my life for the past month or so, settling into my old place in Ceffylgwyn after months of being absent...or maybe the word I'm looking for is 'crazy.' Everything wasn't the same as before I left, of course ... I knew it could never be, unless time had somehow frozen at that moment I said goodbye on the cliffs. But some things never change, and among them was the comfort I felt when stealing a moment at the manor's kitchen table after a hard morning's work. It was almost like home. And I needed to feel at home right now, every moment that was possible.
"Bit of a breather, eh?" said Geoff. He was savoring a cuppa himself, along with one of Michael's green tea and citrus biscuits, watching a spring shower patter against the window glass. "I'm sure you must need one. One never realizes how much thought goes into a relatively simple event."
"Simple," grunted Michael. "That is the word someone uses who doesn't have to cook for them." The manor's cook was a fierce, tattooed commando-like figure who formerly served hungry customers in Nice: he made setting down the teapot look like a china-rattling strike, without ever causing the slightest shiver in the delicate porcelain. "Businessmen eat biscuits and pastry as if they are sailors in lifeboats chewing hardtack."
"Well, these cookies deserved their appreciation," I said, taking a second one from the plate as I glanced over my mail — a woefully-large pile, thanks to how busy I had been the past couple of days.
"Someone has sent you a lovely card," commented Geoff, as I perused the back of a postcard of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. "Ms. Alderson, I would imagine."
"Kitty says 'hello'," I said. Even though the words weren't actually written there, they were implied, in Kitty's usual bristly way. "She and Nathan are both really busy. And there's a chance he might be taking a job with an overseas tour pretty soon." Nathan was currently working to promote a modern French ballet to American travelers, while Kitty's new job was with a contact made through the fearsome dowager Lady Astoria. "She thinks she'll go with him. Maybe find a place in New York."
"Ms. Alderson in America," mused Geoff, with a chuckle. "Do you think she'll make a success of it?"
"I think Kitty can survive anywhere," I said. New York City was worlds removed from either Land's End or Ceffylgwyn, but there was a tough and stubborn streak in my former assistant that couldn't be denied for long. Besides, I knew she wouldn't want to be without Nathan for all those months; no matter how tough Kitty was on the outside, she had a very definite soft spot for the American event promoter who had proposed to her.
She had been gone for weeks. But it seemed like longer, since I had scarcely had the chance to say goodbye to her first. A few days didn't seem like enough time, given how closely we worked together, and how long I had been gone from England.
I laid aside the card with a sigh, and took another sip of tea. Silently, Michael refilled my teacup the moment it was empty. He had a sixth sense for who needed a second one ... that, or he didn't like asking people, I wasn't sure which one. In this case, however, it was very welcome.
Geoff laid aside his paper. "Do 'big plans' await you, Julianne?" he asked me. "Now that you're nicely settled once more."
I smiled. "Nope," I said. "Not a thing." As I savored my cup and the — well, third — biscuit I sneaked from Michael's serving plate, and told myself that everything was just fine.
***
Four weeks ago, I had set foot on English ground again after saying goodbye one more time to my old home in Seattle, and to my best friend Aimee. Now that she was fully on her feet again, and business was better than ever, the only thing she needed from me was a once a week phone call full of silly stories and the latest news.
Matt's roses and tools would return where they belonged, in Rosemoor's hothouse — the cottage, thankfully, had had no tenant during our absence except a very temporary tourist who had no desire to pull up plants during his stay. My favorite quilt would once again cover the mattress of our old iron frame bed, brightening the tiny bedroom. We would unpack the knickknacks and souvenirs we loved of old, along with a few new ones, including a beautiful mantel clock I had found while browsing Seattle's junk sales on Aimee's behalf.
It was home. My heart knew it, yet it felt different from before. Because everything does change, especially people. And, somehow, I felt as if the same Julianne Rose hadn't come back to Cornwall. Me, the estate's event planner, Lady A's 'plucky' American employee, wife of botanist-turned-gardener Matthew ... was feeling strangely lost in the place I loved most.
Matt had bought our plane tickets home five weeks ago, meeting me at the mall after he delivered his final research report to the Seattle biopreservation program that had hired him during our six months stay in the U.S. He found me in the food court, shamelessly devouring an Auntie Anne's soft pretzel covered in toasted sesame seeds. Yes, I know, hanging out at the mall is cheesy and cliché — and so very nineties �
�� but I had a soft spot for this one, where Aimee and I had window shopped on the occasional dull Friday night. Beside me was a shopping bag, containing a farewell gift for Aimee, a cardigan I knew she would adore — Aimee goes through cardigans and jumpers the way some people go through jars of hand cream.
"Everything is ready," he said, sitting down at my table. "We'll need to tape closed the boxes that Aimee is sending after we're home, but that's really all we have left to worry about."
"Perfect," I said. That's when Matt texted our plane tickets reservation to my phone. It appeared on my screen — two seats on a morning flight to London.
"Ready to go home?" he asked me, softly.
"Me? Of course," I said. "Haven't I been begging to go from the start?" Even before we boarded a plane for America — even with all my loyalty to Aimee — I hadn't been thrilled about this plan at all. Friendship and loyalty pulled me here, family ties and familiar places made it easier, but my heart still belonged to the cliffs and the gardens. Didn't it?
"I know. That's why I made our reservation for the earliest possible date," answered Matt, smiling. "I spoke to Mathilda, and she said she'll air the cottage before we arrive. It might be a bit stuffy at first, but our being home will improve it in no time."
"That's so sweet of her," I answered. Grateful that Mathilda had been kind enough not to install a permanent tenant in our absence, so the cottage had been standing empty for the past couple of weeks, awaiting our return. No other place would do, I felt, since it wouldn't have Matt's wild-and-wonderful English gardens or the worn, slightly unstuffed armchair in the parlor.
"I won't have to report to Falmouth for at least a week. But I trust you'll be back in Amanda's company by Monday morning?" asked Matthew, one eyebrow lifting in challenge.
Lady Amanda, a title used by the estate's staff affectionately, not formally, was my immediate boss at Cliffs House, and would probably be overwhelmed as usual with both the manor's daily operation and her own tourism promotion business in the village. The first few weeks in Seattle, I had called her and my former assistant Kitty almost daily, as if I was afraid they would collapse under the weight of it all without me. Me, who never seemed all that vital in my own opinion until fate pried my fingers free of my beloved job.
"Of course," I repeated. "I can't wait. After all, it's been months. I'm dying to see the schedule and help stage the perfect tea, or arrange some flowers, after all these months of wrapping up gifts for Aimee's customers."
Those were just the right words, and exactly how I expected myself to feel after I returned. So why was there a tiny twinge of uncertainty? A teeny, tiny hesitation whenever I said the word 'home,' or talked about things being 'back to normal'? But it was crazy of me to think it would be anything else, right?
Matt didn't seem to notice. He took my hand, at the same time stealing a bite of my pretzel with his other one. I made a pretense of slapping his fingers away.
"Mine," I said, in Finding Nemo-seagull fashion.
"Mine also, since we are one in the eyes of the law," teased Matt, popping it in his mouth. "Besides, you shouldn't deprive me. There are no mall pretzels like these in the village, are there? My last taste of Seattle, as it is."
"Something you won't regret, I'll bet," I told him. Matt had been used to American cuisine, having lived in Boston in the past, but I knew he never quite developed a taste for American fast food.
"Perhaps not greatly," said Matt. "Not after more than twenty years of solid English food. But I will miss coffee and American biscuits; and I'll miss the Seattle shore, which has come to feel very familiar after so much time spent combing its beaches for specimens. I'll miss our friends here ... I think I'll even feel a little regret for parting with the city's skyline."
I toyed with my remaining bite of pretzel. "I'll miss Aimee, of course," I said. "And I might miss the atmosphere a tiny bit. I did spend a lot of years living here." Fair was fair, after all. This had been my home, once, and the place where my first adventures as an adult took place, from finding a job to pursuing a serious relationship. Granted, one that turned out to be rotten and pointless, but still ....
"You'll miss being close to your family," said Matt. "On the same side of the pond, at any rate."
"That's true." We had spent the holidays together, something which hadn't been possible when I was in England. "It was nice to have everybody together for Christmas."
"Ah, yes," said Matt. "The great goose caper. I had never before eaten Chinese takeaway General Tso's chicken with walnut herb stuffing."
I wanted to smack his arm, but I didn't. "It's not my fault," I answered, defensively. "I had no idea something was wrong with Aimee's oven. She should've warned me about its quirks in advance." I was blushing three shades deep in crimson for the memory of Aimee's smoke-filled apartment kitchen and a goose who looked as if he'd been a victim of arson. "Thanksgiving's bird turned out great, after all."
"It did," Matt chuckled. "And I enjoyed every bite of it. You would've made Dinah proud."
Dinah, the former chef at Cliffs House, was now running a bakery of her own. Like me, she had moved on from Cliffs House ... but I was coming back, of course. Unlike Dinah's or Pippa's cases — heavens, what was wrong with me? I sounded like Gemma and Pippa, who had been mourning the gradual split in the manor's staff at my goodbye party. Their dismal prediction wasn't coming true in the slightest, since I was only a few weeks away from going home.
Home. I gazed around me, at the bustle in the mall. Loads of American brands on display in the windows, posters with American slang on the doors, the first floor's central island filled with spicy-smelling ferns and glossy-leafed tropical plants and ringed by teenagers sitting on its walls, perusing their smart phones. It was a drizzly day in Seattle, with plenty of wet umbrellas in the possession of customers entering this place. It was a familiar, generic scene from an American shopping center, but it was just that — decidedly familiar, decidedly American.
It was a little fragment of my old life, part of the routine that I knew and loved back when this city was the first exciting opportunity I had ever been given. I was saying goodbye to it once again, and to places and things which mattered more. The coffee shop where I picked up my morning brew, the antique stores where I hunted for bargains for Aimee, the art galleries and the theater scene, and the park where I watched dogs fetch plastic balls, and savored a personal slice of pizza that never tasted quite the same on the other side of the sea.
A different home than Molehill, where I grew up years ago. But, in a way, it had been home for a pivotal part of my life, which had changed me almost as much as England itself.
Matt caressed my hand. "You're ready, aren't you?" he said. "You're glad to be going back?" A question asked in playfulness, but I could treat it honestly if I wanted to. Nearly a year ago, Matt had asked me if I didn't believe I could come to a crossroads in my life, and have to choose between here and Cornwall. I told him there was absolutely no chance. Not in a million years would I ever want to trade the life we shared in England.
And I was still sure. The only reason I was feeling doubts was because I was still on this side of the pond, and I knew they would melt away the instant I was home again. Life would be back to normal — the moment I stepped into the place I belonged, everything would feel the same as before.
It would be wonderful, being home again. Nothing had really changed, not because I had built a new life the past few months, and I would see that as soon as we returned. In a matter of days, it would probably seem like we never left at all.
"Ready," I answered him. I smiled and squeezed his hand with this word.
***
Matt and I landed in London on a drizzly day, too. A friend of Matt's met us at the airport, then shuttled us to the train station. A long ride to Cornwall, but no London hotel for us — home was waiting, even if it might be a little stuffy after a few weeks of standing empty.
"Here we are," said Matt, as we emerged from the passenger seat
of an obliging lorry driver and neighbor who had given us a lift from the station. In the twilight, Rosemoor Cottage looked quiet and dark, but exactly as it always had. That much gave me relief.
Monday morning, I woke up early beneath the spare blanket we had tossed across the bed until our household goods arrived, with the smell of Matt's morning coffee filling me with energy. A beautiful morning outside — my first morning home, and I intended to savor every part of it from the color of the garden flowers in bloom to the first glimpse of Gemma's friendly face at the manor.
"Can't wait to be off?" Matt teased me. His unruly curls needed a comb's help, and his old gardening shirt was carelessly buttoned, since he had no place to be this morning. Whereas I was tearing through my toast like an eager maniac, shoving my feet into a pair of high heels with impatience to be gone.
"No time like the present, is there?" I replied, kissing his cheek. "Wish me luck. Not that I'll need it. There's probably nothing for me to do except help Kitty sort through some mail."
I relished the idea. A quiet morning at my desk, hearing Kitty tell me a few stories that wouldn't be at their best in a phone call or a text. Gemma popping in with her latest news, Michael growling a little as he brewed us all a cuppa ... it could almost be my last day at Cliffs House, not my first one back.
As I walked briskly up the driveway — as briskly as a pair of Prada heels would let me — it looked the same as the first time I had stood here, admiring the manor. The wide green lawn, the garden plants and hedgerows moving in the breeze, the calm and stately face of the manor gazing at the sea.
Home. I smiled. Everything was just fine. I had only been feeling the natural 'jitters' that come with change. Now I could relax and let those little feelings of insecurity and uncertainty just melt away inside me.
