by Emma Davies
The House at Hope Corner
The perfect feel-good holiday romance novel
Emma Davies
Books by Emma Davies
The House at Hope Corner
Lucy’s Little Village Book Club
The Little Cottage series
The Little Cottage on the Hill
Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill
Return to the Little Cottage on the Hill
Christmas at the Little Cottage on the Hill
Letting in Light
Turn Towards the Sun
Merry Mistletoe
Spring Fever
Gooseberry Fool
Blackberry Way
Available in audio
The Little Cottage series
The Little Cottage on the Hill (UK listeners | US listeners)
Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill (UK listeners | US listeners)
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
The Little Cottage on the Hill
Hear More From Emma
Books by Emma Davies
A Letter from Emma
Summer at the Little Cottage on the Hill
Return to the Little Cottage on the Hill
Christmas at the Little Cottage on the Hill
Lucy’s Little Village Book Club
Acknowledgements
To the growers of flowers and tenders of bees, thank you all.
Prologue
‘Are we completely mad?’ asked Flora, snuggling down into the sleeping bag. ‘Or only partially?’
‘Well that depends,’ answered Ned, picking his way across the dimly lit roof garden with a mug in each hand. ‘On how mad we were to start with, and how much this may have tipped us over the edge.’
Flora giggled. ‘Then I declare us to be a lost cause,’ she said. ‘Come on, get the drinks over here, I’m freezing.’
Ned grinned, stumbling as he tripped over his foot. He took two tumbling steps before his legs caught up with the rest of him, but somehow still managed to keep hold of the mugs and their contents.
‘We ought to be drinking champagne really.’
‘Why,’ asked Flora, ‘when hot chocolate tastes about a million times better? Especially when it’s got a drop of brandy in it.’
She waited until Ned had nearly reached her before snaking a hand out from beneath the covers to take the drinks. A blast of cold air filled the gap and she gasped as he began to climb in next to her. Even with her fleecy pyjamas, jumper and woolly hat on she was only just warm enough, but she didn’t care, because right now she couldn’t think of a nicer place to be.
Ned wriggled up against her before taking his mug.
‘We should raise a toast,’ he said.
‘What to?’
‘How about living happily ever after?’ he replied. ‘Us getting married, you selling your shop and your flat. It’s a brand new start, isn’t it? For both of us.’ His face grew sombre for a moment. ‘And are you happy, Flora? Honestly?’
‘I am,’ she replied without a moment’s hesitation. ‘I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.’
He beamed at her. ‘Which is fortunate really because I find myself quite convincingly and utterly in love with you. It shouldn’t even be possible given the short amount of time I’ve known you. But it’s true, and I cannot wait to take you home and marry you.’
‘But why me?’ queried Flora. She had asked the question a dozen times since he had proposed, but she never tired of hearing the answer. ‘Why not a farmer’s daughter with a face full of freckles like yours…? Someone who knows one end of a cow from another and has big sturdy hips to bear you lots of children?’
‘You know why,’ teased Ned. ‘Because all the farmer’s daughters I know think I’m soppy. And, whereas I think lying on my back on a freezing cold December night to watch a meteor shower is a great idea, they don’t.’
‘But it is a great idea.’
‘See?’ Ned laughed. ‘But now I want to know why you would even consider the offer, what with my two left feet and hands the size of dinner plates? Marrying me is a big step. It will take you away from everything you know, out of the city and into the middle of nowhere, which at this time of year is basically full of mud.’
Flora gazed up at Ned’s face as she sipped her hot chocolate. She thought of her flat below them and her shop below that, full of flowers, even in the middle of winter. She thought of all the reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this, how it was throwing common sense out of the window and taking the biggest leap of faith in her life, but despite it all, nothing in her life had ever felt this right. And, after all, it really couldn’t have come at a better time. She had to make this work, for her sister’s sake if nothing else. She would never forgive herself for what she had done, but perhaps this might be a way to atone for some of it, at least.
‘Because you knew that inviting me to look at the stars was far more magical than being wined and dined in some fancy restaurant. No one else has ever got that about me…’ She frowned slightly. ‘Or maybe they did, but they never had it within themselves…’
She swallowed the last of her chocolate, putting down the mug so that she could snuggle deeper under the covers and closer to Ned. She was about to add something else when a sudden spark lit the sky.
‘Oh, look…!’ She sighed. ‘Isn’t that beautiful?’
Ned pulled her close. ‘Promise me we can always do this, even when we’re old and grey?’
‘Especially when we’re old and grey,’ replied Flora. ‘Are the stars really beautiful where you live?’
Ned nodded. ‘The sky seems to go on forever when you look down the valley. And there’s no light pollution. It’s utterly black. Some nights I swear you can see the swirls of the Milky Way itself.’
Flora pulled herself up into a more upright position so that she could look at Ned’s face. ‘Tell me again why it’s called Hope Corner Farm,’ she said.
‘No one really knows for sure,’ he answered. ‘But the story has it that the first farmer who settled there came from Worcester, driven out by some feudal disagreement over land, so he took off, with literally just the clothes on his back and a handful of cattle which he drove along the roads. He was headed further north but, starving, thirsty and exhausted, and with his cattle on the point of collapse, he realised he could go no further and stopped there to let them drink from the stream. As night fell, he made a rough shelter and, when morning came, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He awoke to find that his cattle had all crossed the stream and were grazing out in a pasture of the greenest grass he’d ever seen. Taking it as a good omen, he decided to stay and the rest, as they say, is history. Somewhere along the line, because the farmer always said that this was where his fate changed and he found hope, the bend in the road where he turned off became known as Hope Corner. The farm took its name from that point forward.’
Flor
a sighed happily. ‘And it will be all right, Ned, won’t it? Your mum and dad will like me?’
‘Of course it will, they’re going to love you…’
Chapter One
Was it excitement, or was it nerves? Flora wasn’t entirely sure which, but something had woken her. Ned had left their bed hours ago, kissing her on the nose before getting up to milk the cows, and she had rolled into the warm spot he had left, relishing his scent and the memory of him. She had fallen back asleep almost immediately, but now, though, she was wide awake. She wriggled her toes experimentally, feeling the weight of the old eiderdown that covered the huge brass-framed bed, and contemplated the day ahead of her.
They hadn’t arrived at the farm until yesterday evening, and though the house had been a shining beacon of welcoming light, the gardens, the fields, barns, and whatever else surrounded it had been hidden from view in the all-encompassing darkness outside. It was only her second visit but, as the pile of suitcases in the boot of the car attested, this time she wasn’t just visiting, this time she was staying for good, as the future Mrs Ned Jamieson.
The first time she had met Ned’s parents had been every bit as awkward as she had expected. But then, having their son bring home a complete stranger, telling them he was going to marry her, must have come as a huge shock. In fairness, back then, Flora had still been trying to get used to the idea of their engagement herself, so she couldn’t begin to imagine how Hannah and Fraser must have felt. Flora wasn’t absolutely sure that his mum had liked her choice of bright yellow tights either, despite what she’d said.
Yesterday, though, Ned’s parents both seemed more enthusiastic in their welcome and her nerves had finally begun to settle. This was her home now, they had told her, and today she had every intention of exploring it.
She flung the cover back from the bed, wincing at the chill that greeted her, and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. Even so, her feet still dangled several inches from the old oak floorboards beneath her and she had to shuffle forward just to put her feet flat on the floor. She regretted it the minute they made contact with the icy cold surface, and snatched them back up again, staring balefully at the huge expanse of wood around her, not a rug in sight. She lunged for her clothes which, discarded last night, were still hooked around the bedpost, and dragged them into the centre of the bed where she pulled them on hurriedly. She lay on her back and kicked her legs in the air to hitch up her tights, bright orange this time, and then wriggled her dress back down again. The sooner she got up and moving, the better. Slipping an extra pair of thick stripy socks on before her boots, she wasted no more time in the bedroom and headed down the stairs. She was starving.
The farmhouse kitchen was almost as big as her old flat. Back in Birmingham she’d only had a small galley and a tiny adjoining sitting room, but the glass that ran the whole length of one wall afforded a fabulous view over the city where Flora could sit and watch the twinkling lights and dream her dreams. To be fair, before she’d met Ned, those dreams had usually involved her being whisked away to a remote Scottish castle by a dashing Highlander in a kilt rather than by a burly red-headed farmer to an isolated farm in a Shropshire valley, but it was close enough. Flora was thirty-five, by her own admission a little bit weird, and not hugely enamoured by the prospect of being left on the shelf.
Apart from when the fire was lit in the main sitting room, the kitchen was the warmest room in the farmhouse by far. If you weren’t sitting at the enormous well-scrubbed pine table, then you were sprawled on the threadbare sofa which faced the window. A huge dark blue range cooker dominated the middle of one wall, and radiated heat around the room. An elderly chocolate Labrador named Brodie seldom moved from beside it and he thumped a lazy tail at her now as she crossed the room to scratch the top of his head on her way to fill up the kettle.
Tea was normally always the first thing on her agenda, but this morning her attention was caught by the view from the window and, totally distracted, she abandoned her task, the kettle only half full. Stopping only to grab a weather-beaten oilskin from a row of hooks in the scullery, Flora headed out the back door and into the garden.
The view took her breath away; staring down a valley, a sweep of dips and rises on either side stretched into the distance, and the colours – lime, olive, ochre, chestnut, heather, and something approaching teal – all leaped out at her. It was the middle of winter for goodness’ sake, where did all the colour come from? Closer to her, within the confines of the garden, were shades of ruby, verdigris, plum and honey… everywhere she looked, tiny patches of colour glowing in the morning sun. She turned back to look at the house, a solid red-brick building of jumbled rooflines, windows and chimneys. It was like stepping into a scene from a painting. Except it wasn’t, because, instead, this was now her home.
A gust of wind billowed Flora’s dress around her and she clutched the coat tighter, feeling the wild air tug at her hair. A sudden shiver of excitement rippled through her and she dashed back inside the house, letting the door crash behind her as her thoughts tumbled through her head. What did she need to do first? Eat? No, drink… put on some more clothes, grab her sketchbook, or her camera, although both would probably be useful. She gripped the back of one of the kitchen chairs and grinned at Brodie.
‘You didn’t tell me it was this gorgeous,’ she said, impulsively rushing over to throw her arms around the dog.
‘Does anyone ever take you for walks?’ she asked, cocking her head to one side. ‘Or maybe that’s supposed to be me? I don’t know… what do you think, Brodie?’
The dog gave her hand a tentative lick and got to his feet, tail swaying gently as he padded across the floor to the door.
‘Ah, so you do want to go out,’ she said, looking down at her clothes. She shrugged off the oilskin and deposited it on the table. ‘Back in a sec,’ she added.
She ran back up the stairs and into their room, grabbing one of her suitcases and heaving it onto the bed. Inside was an assortment of clothes, jumpers mainly, and Flora pulled several out before finding the one she wanted. It was bright red with pom-poms around the bottom edge and, most importantly, it was warm, which was all Flora really cared about. She pulled it over her head and down to where it reached almost to her knees, and looked around for her coat and hat. Both were slung over a chair in the corner, and she picked them up before leaving the room again, grabbing her phone at the last minute as she passed the dressing table. She looked at her reflection in the mirror for a moment – spiralling black hair, startling green eyes and rosebud mouth – and she grinned. It was definitely excitement, not nerves.
Brodie was back beside the range once more, his eyes following her as she began to systematically open cupboard doors.
‘So there must be some glasses, mugs or something, somewhere,’ she said out loud. ‘Ah ha ha! Found them,’ she added, taking down a glass. ‘And if I could just find something to eat as well then we’re in business, Brodie…’
She continued her search, stopping when she noticed a round tin on the counter top. She pulled it towards her and cranked off the lid, smiling at the sight of a large round fruitcake nestled within. She checked her watch. ‘What do you reckon?’ she asked. ‘Too early for cake?’ She grinned at the dog’s silent face. ‘Nah… that’s what I thought too.’ A further search elicited a plate and a knife and, moments later, Flora was chewing thoughtfully.
She should probably start exploring the house first, but with all that was waiting outside she really didn’t think she would be able to. She had all day, after all; there was plenty of time to see the house later. There was bound to be a huge number of things to do – everyone knew that farmers’ wives were always busy – but Ned had muttered for her to have fun as he had left their bed at the crack of dawn, and in Flora’s world that didn’t equate to spending the day inside dusting… Plenty of time for all that.
There was a carton of orange juice in the fridge and she hesitated for a moment before opening it, carrying i
t over to stand it beside the plate that held her now half-eaten slice of cake. Presumably the task of buying their groceries would now fall to her, so it surely couldn’t matter if she had some of the juice. Why put it in the fridge if it wasn’t for drinking? She stared at it for a moment longer before decisively wrestling off the top and pouring herself a large glass, which she drank almost straight down before glancing back out the window.
She would take some photos first, she decided; the process would be much quicker that way, and she could still capture some pretty good ones using her phone. The flowers and trees weren’t going anywhere, after all; she could always go back and take some more tomorrow if she needed to. She smiled to herself. She could go any time…
‘Right then, Brodie, let’s go and see what we can find… Are you coming, or what?’ She tipped her head at the dog. ‘I’ve no idea if you’ve been out yet, but it’s a beautiful morning.’ She waited until Brodie had got to his feet before pulling on her coat and, tucking her hair behind her ears, she jammed her red beret over her wild curls. They didn’t always stay put, but it was better than nothing.
Back outside, she stood still for a few seconds getting her bearings. To her left were more buildings and the pale open space of what must be the yard. They had driven past the house when they arrived yesterday and parked in some sort of barn, open on three sides. The road would probably lead on into the yard, she surmised, but for now the buildings could wait. The technicalities of how the farm worked would be something to get to grips with later. At the moment it was the garden and what lay behind that was drawing her forward.