by Laura Briggs
A Castle in Cornwall
By Laura Briggs
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2017 Laura Briggs
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Cover Image: “Azure Castle.” Original art, “Palace” by Alexey Bannykh. Used with permission. http://www.dreamstime.com/
Dear Reader,
It's the sixth book in A WEDDING IN CORNWALL, and Julianne is facing her biggest challenge ever ... only it's not in her work as a wedding planner. She's making a choice to help a friend, and doing it will tear her away from England and the village she's come to love — maybe forever.
Of course, it won't really be forever. This is the world of happily-ever-after (and there is a Book Seven in the series, after all); but it does mark the end of a chapter in Julianne's life. With each book, the characters have changed and grown a little, and it was time for a goodbye of sorts, to the Julianne who began both a little naive about her new life, and unconditionally in love with everything about it. Just like in real life, that love has to withstand certain challenges in order to grow stronger and endure, and there will be none bigger for Julianne than a forced separation from her beloved Cornwall. And just like real life, even in fictional Cornwall, work, obligations, and life's little problems simply can't go away because there's a bigger problem in life, so Julianne will have to come to terms with her choice gracefully while dealing with yet another zany event.
A Castle in Cornwall also brings resolution to another chapter in the series: the dilemma of Kitty and Nathan's romance. Just like Julianne and Matthew, there have been some obstacles between the series' two most contentious personalities and romantic happiness. But for those of you who have been waiting for their big moment, this novel literally 'sets the stage' for its dramatic finale.
For some of you, this book will be a farewell in itself: enough closure for your favorite characters that you won't continue reading about them in Julianne's next adventure in Cornwall. But I hope many of you will join her in Book Seven and discover what her return to Ceffylgwyn holds in store — and will embrace her new experiences and the new characters (along with the return of a few old favorites, of course).
Whether you can't wait to see what comes next in this series, or simply can't wait to see what's on the next page of this book, I hope you enjoy Julianne's latest story. And please, keep reading at the end for a special excerpt from A ROMANCE IN CORNWALL.
A Castle in Cornwall
By
Laura Briggs
I stood at the crescendo of the walkway, where the two biggest stones become a wall to the eye — a short one that only blocks you from taking two or three climbing steps down the plummet before it becomes sheer, yet jagged stone to the bottom. From here, the sea's restlessness is an ever-changing picture, one that I, Julianne Rose, never grow tired of watching, no matter how many times I come here.
No place is more special in all of Cornwall than this one, not to me. Here, I met the love of my life, who mistook me for a tourist the same instant I trampled his endangered native plant. Here, I would tell him I loved him only a few short months later, before we were temporarily parted. Best of all, it is the place where he asked me to marry him after we weathered various storms in our relationship.
I first laid eyes on the fierce and rugged beauty of the county's shore in this place, and it changed my life forever. Now, as I take a deep breath of sea air, and hear the wind and waves collide with the stones forming these heights, I ask myself how I could ever leave it behind.
But that, sadly, is exactly what I have to do.
***
Three Months Earlier
I hadn't the slightest intention of entertaining thoughts of going home. My life in Cornwall was — well — perfect. As the event planner for Cliffs House manor, I had the career I'd always dreamed of, right? Better than my old life in Seattle, where I'd been the bottom dweller on Design a Dream's staff. And the ring on my finger symbolized a relationship more amazing than any from my romantic past, too.
But it only takes a phone call from a friend to change things. And when that phone call is from your best friend, it's difficult to say 'no,' even if it means a major disruption in your own plans — which is exactly what happened to me. Aimee, my best friend in all the world, was having surgery and had no one else who could run her business during her recovery time. Months of lost revenue meant she'd have to close her shop unless someone could take over for her, someone she trusted and who knew the vision she'd been trying to create with her work ... and that's where I come in. Me, who helped her choose everything from wall color to business plan over five years ago when Aimee first dreamed of doing it.
"It would only be for a few months," I said, wrapping my arms around my legs, resting my cheek against my knees. A good huddling position when I was in need of some self-comfort. "She thinks she'll be back on her feet by next March, once her physical therapy is complete. But ... it'll be months. Definitely sure about that part." I bit my lip after these words.
"It's your decision, my love," said Matt. "But as strongly as you feel about it, I can't see you choosing any differently. We will make it work. I promise." From his place on the floor, where he had been drawing a garden layout, he leaned back against the sofa, his hand brushing against my bare foot.
"It's not me I'm worried about," I said. "It's you. What will you do in Seattle?"
Matt was going with me, of course. When I first explained the situation, I had tried to talk him into staying behind in Cornwall, but he declined. This time wasn't the same as our first separation, when we had barely been dating for three months with no commitments between us, as Matt pointed out to me. Even then, we had both been miserable while apart, proving long-distance relationships weren't our cup of tea.
Matt laughed. "Don't worry about me," he said. "Haven't I told you before? I'll find something to keep myself occupied. There is a natural world in Washington as well as Cornwall, and, I have no doubt, plenty of opportunities for employment in either plant science or propagation."
I pictured Matt in wading boots, collecting botanical specimens from along Washington's rocky coasts. This wasn't exactly on par with Matt's Ivy League career from before in the U.S. It was true that Matt changed careers frequently — from classrooms to digging in the dirt in historical gardens, for instance — but I hated to tear him away from opportunities like his most recent one: designing a special landscape tribute to botanical artist Constance Strong's work, in honor of her gallery show opening in Marseilles.
America was a long ways from France. And I wouldn't have a lot of free time for travel while learning the business ropes before Aimee's surgery.
I sighed. "I just don't want things to change," I said. "I love our life. I love this place. And I feel like we're losing everything somehow, just by crossing the Pond ... even if it's only temporarily."
"That's normal," said Matt, softly. "Anyone feels that way when facing a decision like this one. But we can't change the fact that life changes, Juli. And we change with it. I'm afraid it's true. I've loved this place all my life, yet I still left it for a time after university ... and even after coming back, as you well know. Had circumstances been slightly different, I might never have come back at all."
I was indignant, thinking he meant had he gone to New York with Petal, the former model whom Matt had once loved in America — then
I realized he was probably talking about the career he gave up after their breakup, his teaching position and the historical gardens in Massachusetts. Even so, I didn't soften towards his suggestion that a few random choices meant he wouldn't have been on the cliffs path the day I took my first walk in Cornwall.
"Well, I'm not changing," I said, stubbornly. "There was nothing wrong with my life in Seattle, and nothing wrong with Washington ... it just wasn't what I truly wanted. It didn't make me happy the way this life does. You weren't there, for starters."
"But I will be now," he pointed out. "Happily combing the beaches of Seattle, and helping you stock boutique shelves when needed. Won't that make a difference?"
"It'll make it more fun," I conceded. "Compared to life at Design a Dream, anyway." Where my former boss had been all too eager to lay credit to any pathetic little bit of an idea she gave me the chance to share for any event we planned.
"You don't think you could change your mind about that life?" Matt raised one eyebrow. "You'll be home again, Julianne. The land of Starbucks and Coca-Cola, of Thanksgiving dinners and fall foliage like a fireworks display in nature —"
"You're thinking of New England," I said. "In Seattle, it rains nearly as much as England." I was exaggerating a tiny bit, maybe, but I stuck with my point. "In that respect, you'll feel as at home as you do in London, I suppose." I was desperately maintaining my pout. Trying very hard not to concede that Matt's argument was logical, and not entirely without possibility, no matter how much I wanted otherwise.
"Don't you think there's a chance you might someday want to return to Molehill?" He referred to my true hometown, the one I had left behind for Seattle in the first place.
"Not if I can retire to Mousehole first," I answered. To Matt, they both seemed equally small, but vastly different, I supposed. And even if I did miss landmarks from my past — my childhood home, my elementary school, the park where I used to play — would I ever miss them enough to live there again, the way Matt had come back to Ceffylgwyn?
"Still," he edged closer, now encompassing one of my hands with his own, "it's only fair that we give life on your side of the Pond a decent chance after the time we've given my home. I've never had a chance to see your former place in the world, since I was on the other side of the country."
Matt hadn't visited Washington during either our engagement or the first months of our marriage — my parents had flown to England twice, and Aimee had come once, but we'd never had the opportunity before to visit my old haunts in Seattle. The bookstore where I used to curl up with a cup of coffee ... the site of the very first wedding I had helped coordinate, be it in a very minor role ... the places where Aimee and Nate and I hung out, or even the spots where I had gone on an occasional date (not counting my rather fruitless relationship with Dwight, of course).
"I could show you around a little," I said, as Matt rose from our threadbare carpet of cabbage roses. "After all, it's only fair, as you said."
"We'll be there for Christmas," he said. "You can show me your family's traditions firsthand."
My family would probably insist upon joining us, I knew — we'd all cram into a small space and maybe forego my mom's usual pre-purchased ham dinner for something a little more special.
"Those traditions involve baking lots of cookies," I said, foregoing the word 'biscuit' since we were talking about America anyway. "And decorating the tree weeks early with really awful handmade ornaments and all the really beautiful ones we love ... and driving around the neighborhoods to see all the houses decorated. Maybe walking past a few — hand in hand, of course. And everyone's windows are lit up, and you see glimpses of parties, smiling guests and hear holiday music when the door opens ... and you dream about the evening your own home is full of friends and as alive as the one you've just admired."
I couldn't help the fact that my voice softened for these words; the picture in my head was an old one, but one I loved, even as deeply as I loved this cottage, and the view of the restless waters of this coast.
Matt's arms slid around my shoulders from behind; I rested my head against his shoulder.
"I guess maybe it's worth seeing for one Christmas," I said. "I wouldn't want you to be deprived of some of our many American holiday traditions. And I shouldn't abandon Aimee to frozen turkey dinners for Thanksgiving." I smiled, even though Matt couldn't see it with his face buried against my hair.
It meant a year without a tree in our cozy corner in Rosemoor Cottage, of course. But we would bring along Matt's beloved childhood reindeer ornament, and hang it next to the souvenir snow globe I had treasured as a child. We would welcome his sister Michelle and her new husband in whatever place we called our own, if they wanted to come; and top our tree with her childhood handmade angel one last time before it returned to its rightful owner. We could learn to live without Dinah's fantastic puddings and a proper Cornish 'cream tea' for a few months while we contented ourselves with Seattle's amazing coffees and biscotti.
"We can come back," Matt whispered close to my ear, as if sensing my thoughts. "And we can give the life wherever we are a chance in the meantime, making the most of it. As long as I'm with you, I'll be content ... and you've already said the most important part for you is being with me."
"True," I whispered back. I closed my eyes, too, picturing the future we would have on the opposite side of the Pond. One that would create new memories, be captured in new photographs, and commemorated in all the 'bits and bobs' that would fill shelves, tables — and moving boxes — for the rest of our life together.
But it won't be the same as this life. And no matter how good it is, I know that I want to come back, because this is home for me.
***
"Happy birthday," said Nathan.
On Kitty's desk, he placed a white box tied with a glittery pink ribbon, an eager smile on his face as he waited, hands tucked in his pockets. Kitty eyed the gift as she lifted it, as if it might contain live insects, or maybe an unwelcome charge card bill instead of a present from someone who was obviously infatuated with her.
"How'd you know it was my birthday?" she asked. Her fingers tugged the ribbon loose.
"Dinah squealed," he said. "Come on, open it up." He sat down on the edge of her desk, looking as eager as if he was the one with a present to open.
He looked completely smitten with her at this moment. Frankly, it was almost adorable, which must be making it tough for Kitty to keep up her usual air of indifference towards him ... one which was rapidly revealing itself as a feint to anybody close to her these days.
She lifted the lid and from inside, lifted an intricate-looking Eiffel tower made completely of chocolate. The label on the box from a Paris confeterie, undoubtedly.
"Thanks," she said. Two pink spots invaded her cheeks at this point. "It's pretty." The tone with which she uttered those understated words was proof that she was secretly pleased. After all, Kitty's French was more than a little intelligible now after several weeks with books and online pronunciation guides, as our new cook Michael from Nice had admitted; this was no doubt the reason why Nathan had chosen this present.
"I, um, thought you might like it," said Nathan, who was blushing now, too. "There's more to the present than just the chocolate — the rest just didn't arrive in time."
"You don't have to get me anything," she said, although she was still turning the little tower ornament, taking in its ornate detail. It had a ribbon at the top, as if it was an ornament and not an edible — and highly meltable — object. "I mean, it's not obligatory, since we — since I didn't say anything about it, or whatever. Besides, Paris chocolate's not exactly cheap."
"So?" said Nathan. "Like I said, I wanted to get you something. And I wanted to stop by and see you today." Suddenly, he was very busy studying the carpet, and then the framed print of the Duke of Wellington on the opposite wall. "I thought maybe if you weren't busy tonight ... I'd take you somewhere. Since it's your birthday and all."
"Oh." Kitty's blush wa
s a little different now, and rapidly turned pale. "Thanks. But ... I've got a thing already. With the players."
It was Nathan's turn to look disappointed. "Right," he said. "The community theatre. I forgot that was coming up." He studied a random paperweight on Kitty's desk. "So ... is this time something important?"
"It's auditions," said Kitty. "I'm thinking about trying for a part this time."
She looked embarrassed, although she shouldn't — Kitty was a surprisingly good fit for Ceffylgwyn's amateur players. It had taken her weeks to work up the courage to attend one of their meetings, where the sullen looks that cover up her shyness had finally melted away in the theatre's diverse and sometimes eclectic society.
Then again, maybe that shyness was now about something different, since both she and Nathan seemed to be suffering from it. Their glances were brief, their body language that of two people who are trying desperately to not give in and let stronger feelings take charge.
"That's — that's great." Nathan still looked slightly disappointed, but undaunted. "Maybe later, then," he said. "I mean, I know that rehearsals always mean you don't have as much spare time, but I ..."
He hadn't seen me sitting at the table by the door, sending a few emails to a London bakery about an upcoming wedding's cake prices. Not until I rose and approached Kitty's desk with a list of vendors did he realize that I was in the office, too, leaping up as if the desk's corner was covered in hot coals.
"Hi," he said — too brightly to be a comfortable or genuine greeting, since it was obviously covering up his guilt. "Um, I just thought I'd stop by and catch up with things here — you know, discuss the upcoming wine competition —" He stuffed his hands in his pockets, since he had no idea what to do with them up to this moment.