Christmas in Cornwall Read online

  A Christmas in Cornwall

  By Laura Briggs

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2016 Laura Briggs

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Image: “Christmas Cottage.” Original art, “Winter landscape with a house” by Viktoriia Protsak. Used with permission. http://www.dreamstime.com/

  Dear Reader,

  I’m thrilled you’ve chosen to add A Christmas in Cornwall to your holiday reading list. It goes well with a cup of hot chocolate and a cookie (or a biscuit, if you’re in the UK!). But even if you read it on the train to work or on your lunch break, I hope it will add a little romance to your day. Just open your e-reader and let the story whisk you off to Cliffs House and the tiny Cornish village where American wedding planner Julianne is feeling more at home than ever—and falling hopelessly in love with the kind and handsome Matthew Rose.

  Doesn’t it seem like Christmas and love stories go hand-in-hand? Just ask The Hallmark Channel, with its Christmas in July movie marathon! It’s been the setting for more than one romantic comedy I’ve written … and the season for more than one character’s decision to say ‘I do.’ A Christmas wedding—or rather, two of them— makes for a hectic holiday for Gwendolen Lynch in The Holiday Bride, the third installment in my first-ever wedding planner series. It even found its way into my latest romance Table for Two, a feel-good story about friendship turning to romance at a cozy table in a café. Christmas appears twice in that novel—and both times, the characters find their love growing deeper amid the joys of the holidays.

  So, with or without hot chocolate, I very much hope that you’ll enjoy reading about Julianne’s first Christmas in Cornwall. Merry Christmas to you, and happy reading!

  The sequel to A Wedding in Cornwall

  "Goodness, I feel exhausted!" Lady Amanda pushed aside a stack of glossy tourist pamphlets and stretched out dramatically in her armchair. "Are there any more details we need to discuss? Or at long last, are we at an end?"

  "Just one more thing for today," I answered. "The Christmas tree in the main hall — red and white?"

  "Lovely. Throw in a bit of blue and we've got the Union flag and the American one," quipped Lady Amanda. "I'll be serious now, promise. Red and white would be perfect with the rest of the event's motif, so I'm sure those colors will do."

  I made a note in my planner. "And the staff Christmas party —?"

  "Oh, I'd completely forgotten." She smacked her forehead. "Do ask Lord William if he's arranged for a couple of geese yet. I suppose turkey is more traditional, but goose is making a bit of a comeback, isn’t it? And even though Dinah usually has powers of persuasion over the local butcher, William was hoping to surprise her with a fine pair to stuff for the party."

  "I'll talk to him," I promised. "We'll make certain it's a great event for everyone." I pictured the fun of the event — a real Cornish Christmas, something which Geoff and Dinah had hinted was a festive occasion.

  It wasn't anything like Tiny Tim's Christmas dinner in Dickens' novel, I was sure, but I couldn't imagine what a real English village Christmas was like. And since this would be my first one, I intended to make the most of it — and not just for the sake of sending a quaint postcard to my friend Aimee back home, either.

  I hurried away to get started for the day on the never-ending tasks of Cliffs House's event planner. Muffled voices greeted my ears from somewhere in the hall, and turning the corner, I encountered Gemma and Pippa hanging a festive wreath in the main hall. Glass balls of gold and red shone cheerily beneath the lights as both girls giggled, trying to balance the heavy creation until it was secured in place on the wall.

  "Don't let go yet!" shrieked Pippa, as Gemma released her half of the wreath.

  "Sorry!" squeaked Gemma. "Is that better?" She shifted it more to the left.

  "You two be careful," scolded Dinah. "Someone's going to end up on their backside if not." She had bustled forth from the kitchen passage, a tray of cookies in her hands — three different kinds, all of them tempting beneath decorative piping or colorful sprinkles.

  "What do you think?" she asked me. "I've tried six different recipes, but these are the best. Ginger first, then the butter biscuits, then a nice cinnamon lace."

  I took a bite of the ginger biscuit. It melted in my mouth after one crisp bite. "Heavenly," I declared. "I don't think any guests will be able to resist."

  "These aren't for the charity ball," said Dinah with a laugh. "These are for the Christmas party. Proper to save the best for our own celebration, isn't it?" She winked at me.

  "Julianne, coming to the pub tonight?" Gemma asked, looking over her shoulder. "There's a quiz tonight — all American television programs. My bloke Andy says you could beat anybody there." Andy was Gemma's latest boyfriend — one who bore more than a passing resemblance to one of the rugby player posters she adored, albeit a thinner, more awkward version.

  "Not tonight," I answered. "I'm having dinner out." My voice shrank a little for these words, trying to go unnoticed — but my cheeks both had a very bright pink spot in the middle of each.

  "Ooh...with Ross, I'll bet," teased Pippa. She and Gemma exchanged glances — I had been on the receiving end of more than one good-natured joke recently regarding things between me and Matthew. "Is he taking you someplace nice?"

  "I'll bet he looks the part of a proper gentleman, all dressed up," mused Gemma, dreamily. "Imagine him in a tuxedo, like James Bond."

  "It's just dinner at a restaurant he visits sometimes," I answered. Trying to sound casual about it. "He says it's one of the best examples of South Cornwall's seafood."

  All things said, I was getting used to the constant teasing over Matt and me. Matthew Rose, former professor and brilliant horticulturist, now a consultant gardener at Cliffs House — but the two young girls employed at the country house had nicknamed him after the handsome hero from Poldark due to his looks.

  I had only seen pictures of the actor from the series, but the biggest proof of Matthew's looks was in the reaction of women to him. Women in Ceffylgwyn teased Matthew every bit as badly as Pippa and Gemma when it came to his looks. Even at a quiet restaurant just outside the village, I detected a couple of admiring glances cast in his direction by female patrons. And I could see the blush on Matt's face whenever he detected one, too.

  He pretended not to notice as he sat down across from me at our table. "What will you have?" he asked, as I glanced over the menu. "Would you like a recommendation from me? A favorite dish?"

  "No, I want to select it completely on my own," I answered. "I think I'm even going to point randomly to an item and eat whatever it is."

  "You're risking ordinary fish and chips with vinegar," he said. "Or even boiled calamari." I could tell he wasn't being entirely serious, due to the glint of humor in his eyes.

  "I'll take the risk," I said, smiling. "Besides, I need a risk. I have to be prepared for the upcoming charity ball. Surprises keep event planners on their toes, you see."

  I found the idea of a ball on Christmas Eve a little surprising at first, I had to admit. Until I learned the primary sponsor for it was a business based out of Tokyo, Japan, where Christmas isn’t quite the phenomenon it is in other parts of the world. And since the proceeds were going to an international program dedicated to bringing clean water sources to impoverished nations, it seemed rather a lovely wa
y to spend the eve of the most charitable holiday on the calendar.

  "Your life sounds exciting compared to mine," Matt answered. "All I've done is coddle a few grafted roses through their first frost."

  "Lord William appreciates it," I said. "The rose garden is definitely short on varieties since the previous gardener had an all-consuming passion for herbs and annuals, I've been told."

  "On the other hand, I might have an opportunity for a tiny bit of excitement myself," he said. "The university has invited me to give a lecture in the spring. A review of my work in breeding disease-resistant antique roses during the Massachusetts project."

  "Really?" I said. "That is exciting, Matthew! You must be so pleased."

  "I am," he admitted. "Until their invitation arrived, I hadn't realized how much I missed the academic world. Yes, it's less hands on than what I've been doing these past few years ... but there's something about exchanging ideas in a classroom that can't be dismissed."

  I detected a little note of eagerness, and maybe yearning, deep in Matthew's voice. I hadn't thought about him regretting his decision to leave his Ivy League post after his broken heart. He had said more than once that he didn't regret Petal's decision to leave him, and all that happened as a result of it; but I knew that leaving his life behind, even for the place he loved most, had probably been hard.

  "Spring, huh?" I said. I took a sip of my wine. "I guess it seems kind of far away right now, doesn't it?"

  "It gives me plenty of time to prepare," he said. "I've been in touch with the president of the university. We've been emailing quite often. Maybe this will open the door to more lectures in the future, at some of the other colleges as well."

  "I'll bet they miss you," I said. "Miss having you teach and lecture full time. Definitely miss your input in landscape architecture and plant propagation on their historic grounds." I swirled the wine in my glass, imagining the liquid's whirlpool was a tight spiral of rose petals — almost the same color as the blossoms Matthew had given me for an apology after our first meeting/argument.

  "You think they're trying to lure me back?" Matt teased. He took a sip from his own glass. "Coax me back into their fold permanently, so I'll give lectures in the mornings and treat diseased begonias and wayward rose canes in the afternoon?"

  "They wouldn't be so scheming," I replied, with a pretend scowl of indignation. "Besides, all they would have to do is ask. I'm sure that no one has to bribe you to use your gifts."

  Matthew flushed, briefly. I wondered if a tiny part of him almost wished our made-up scenario was true — if it would seem like a rescue, now that he had no real gardening challenges to pursue in South Cornwall. In fact, he had little to do right now, between consulting jobs, short of completing a few odd jobs on Lord William's behalf.

  "Perhaps if I apply my gift correctly, I can force that carefully-coaxed rose into blooming in time for Christmas," said Matt, setting aside his glass, and changing the subject at the same time. "The first time in many years."

  "The one you brought back from the brink of death?" I echoed.

  "That's the one," he said. "It's developed a flower bud or two already. It's a matter of keeping it healthy, warm, and well-watered so it can bring them into fruition."

  The rose was a rare antique variety that had been left neglected in the greenhouse for years. Lord William had discovered it languishing there when he and Geoff Weatherby took over managing the grounds — a pitiful brown and green stick with only a few leaves, he had claimed. But in Matthew's hands, it had begun to slowly recover its life, sprouting new green canes, and unfurling reddish-green leaves.

  "Lord William says his mother was probably the last person to see it bloom," I said. "Decades ago. How long do roses live, anyway?"

  I had the bare minimum's knowledge of botany, horticulture, or plant taxonomy despite my attempts to memorize plant names and gardening terminology since arriving in Cornwall. Matt had done his best to teach me a little more, loaning me books from his shelves, but I was still a hopeless beginner.

  "Roses can live long, rich lives, just like human beings," he said. "Providing they have the right care. But it depends on the variety. Some live less than twenty — some live a veritable century."

  "So Lord William's rose might outlive me?" I asked, jokingly.

  "Probably not." Matt's smile was one of amusement. "It already has a good thirty years' advantage. And it's rather amazing it lived so long, given its condition."

  I wanted him to tell me the variety's name again, so I could commit it to memory, along with other things he'd taught me lately, but the waiter appeared with our food just then. So I settled for praising the dish set before me, grilled fish in a chef's sauce, steamed asparagus beside it.

  I glanced at Matthew as he ate, half-expecting him to tease me about my luck in randomly selecting my dinner. Lately, he teased me more often when we were talking. A lot of barriers had come down between us since that night I kissed him impulsively in the garden.

  What were we, exactly? Tonight felt like a date, as had the other times we'd been out together — less than a dozen over the past few months, from casual evenings at the pub to a couple of restaurants like this one, with both of us in 'posh' clothes and on our best behavior.

  We were comfortable together, even though there were still little awkward moments, where separate cultures or personalities collided; and there were moments of attraction, where I thought that I could lose myself in those dark eyes as we gazed into each other's. And there had been more kisses...but not the words that would mean no going back for either of us, emotionally-speaking. Even with all the butterflies and sparks of electricity that Matt's touch produced in me, not being quite sure where we were — or what we both wanted this to be — was definitely a problem we couldn't escape.

  No one called us 'boyfriend and girlfriend' yet, I noticed — and we didn't even call ourselves that. It was as if something was standing between us, some final barrier that kept us both from planning a future together. Pieces of our different pasts were still in the way, somehow.

  In a way, I was hoping tonight would change that, but it didn't. Matt was handsome in his suit, charming as always, and deep inside, I knew I was falling in love with him — desperately and helplessly so. But the words that would make everything between us fall into place — well, those feelings couldn't seem to become words in my brain. And they didn't seem to be coming from Matt's lips, in between the jokes and stories, no matter the tenderness and longing in his eyes. Lock glances, deep stares of emotional desire and unspoken feeling, look away — could this be an actual routine in our romance? And leading to what?

  At least I knew it wasn't Matthew's formerly-broken heart that stood in the way. And I was pretty sure it wasn't my own romantic mishaps, either. So maybe it was something as simple as our unsettled goals: my life of less than six months in Cornwall, and Matt's tenuous career as a horticultural consultant.

  Or maybe we were both just a little afraid what would happen if one of us admitted we were really, truly falling in love.

  Matt poured a second glass for both of us. "What shall we drink to?" he asked. "It's been six months to the day since you arrived in Cornwall, you know."

  I felt as if he'd read my mind. "Really?" I said. I hadn't kept up with the exact date — the anniversary of my arrival at Cliffs House last summer.

  "I'm certain of it," he said. "Even if I did have to ask Geoff Weatherby to be certain." There was a twinkle in his eyes as he lifted his glass. "Well, Miss Morgen?"

  I thought about it. Nope, no toasting to a future as Matt's one and only love, I decided, even jokingly. "To a bright and happy future, I guess," I answered. "And to a happy Christmas in Cornwall."

  "To your happy future, then," he said. "Now and always." His glass clinked against mine, and we both took a sip. Our eyes met, and I looked deep into his own, seeing the gentleness and the passion that had taken my breath more than once in our time together.

  There was something
so clear, so alive in that gaze. I wanted it to become words, so I could tell him I loved him. If it wasn't true yet, it wouldn't be long before it was; the more time I spent with him, and the better I knew him, the harder it was to resist that feeling. The real him — the passionate gardener, the chivalrous gentleman, the kindhearted friend, and the veritable genius, among his many sides — was breaking down every defense of friendship that still held me in place.

  Dusk had given way to darkness when we walked to Matt’s car outside the restaurant. I could hear the restless water in the dark, and see the movement of the waves by moonlight. Moonlight transformed the coast into something both beautiful and menacing — the jagged edges of an island of dark rocks rising from the waters, a sheen of pale light on the waters rising and falling with the tide. A flash of navigation light was visible from the point where we stood in the harbor, from a fisherman’s vessel at sea.

  “What are you thinking about?” Matt asked me. His hand rested on my back, the passenger door of his car opened for me as I gazed towards the sea.

  “I’m just imagining a lighthouse somewhere near that outcropping. The one that looks like a little peninsula,” I said. “It seems like the perfect spot.”

  He laughed. “But not very practical,” he said. “This isn’t the shore for deep-sea fishing vessels or commercial ones, either. I’m afraid the romantic lighthouse you’re picturing is the Lizard’s lighthouse. It’s a bit further south.”

  “The Lizard,” I said. “That name always sounds so weird to me. I’m picturing a big desert lizard, the kind with all the little spiky horns on its back.”

  “It has its share of spiky rocks,” said Matt. “And it is covered in a type of rock known as ‘serpentine.’ But most historians agree its name is really derived from the Cornish language. ‘Lys Ardh’ means ‘high court’ in Cornish. It’s a beautiful place, full of rare plants and natural wonders…but its waters can be treacherous for vessels to navigate sometimes.”