Publication date 25th March 2019
About the book
All roads lead home…
When Holly Dryden fled Penhallow Sands nearly a year ago she was determined to put the past – and Rich Turner – behind her. But now an unexpected loss and financial trouble has led her back to the family vineyard and it’s time to tell Rich the truth – he’s a father.
Surrounded by the memories of what they once shared Holly’s anger fades in the glow of Rich’s undeniable love for their son and the way he selflessly steps in to help the vineyard out of trouble. As Holly watches Rich flourish in his new role as father to baby Luke, she realises that though they can’t change the past, the future is still theirs to write…
An uplifting, emotional romance set in Cornwall perfect for fans of Holly Martin and Phillipa Ashley.
Surrounded by the memories of what they once shared Holly’s anger fades in the glow of Rich’s undeniable love for their son and the way he selflessly steps in to help the vineyard out of trouble. As Holly watches Rich flourish in his new role as father to baby Luke, she realises that though they can’t change the past, the future is still theirs to write…
An uplifting, emotional romance set in Cornwall perfect for fans of Holly Martin and Phillipa Ashley.
About the Author
Darcie Boleyn has a huge heart and is a real softy. She never fails to cry at books and movies, whether the ending is happy or not. Darcie is in possession of an overactive imagination that often keeps her awake at night. Her childhood dream was to become a Jedi but she hasn’t yet found suitable transport to take her to a galaxy far, far away. She also has reservations about how she’d look in a gold bikini, as she rather enjoys red wine, cheese and loves anything with ginger or cherries in it – especially chocolate. Darcie fell in love in New York, got married in the snow, rescues uncoordinated greyhounds and can usually be found reading or typing away on her laptop.
Darcie Boleyn has a huge heart and is a real softy. She never fails to cry at books and movies, whether the ending is happy or not. Darcie is in possession of an overactive imagination that often keeps her awake at night. Her childhood dream was to become a Jedi but she hasn’t yet found suitable transport to take her to a galaxy far, far away. She also has reservations about how she’d look in a gold bikini, as she rather enjoys red wine, cheese and loves anything with ginger or cherries in it – especially chocolate. Darcie fell in love in New York, got married in the snow, rescues uncoordinated greyhounds and can usually be found reading or typing away on her laptop.
Twitter: @DarcieBoleyn
My Review
As Darcie Boleyn is my favourite author ever I was so excited to read her latest novel and my goodness just when I think she has written her best book yet she comes back with another bestseller!
The opening chapter had me hooked, I was trying to work out the story and what was going on and who was who and it didn't take long. There is a whole handful of characters in this book and I adored every single one they were all lovely and I would love to know them all but the main character Holly she had to be my favourite. She has been hurt in the past and has been through a hell of a lot most on her own so I just really felt for her. Its so nice to see her returned to the family home and business and see her slot back in as if she had never been away. Baby Luke is such a wee cutie too! Of course it wouldn't be a Darcie Boleyn book without a dog and the wee pup in this is so lovable. You know this whole book has just captured my heart and I have loved every single page. Such a beautiful story!
Extract from The House at Greenarces
‘Here we go …’
Holly Dryden took a deep breath, then placed her free hand on the heavy wooden door and pushed hard. It groaned loudly as it swung open, making her cringe, and the tiny bundle in her arms wriggled in protest at the noise.
‘It’s okay, Luke,’ she whispered, before kissing the downy head then pressing him tighter to her chest. She closed the door, keeping her eyes down, delaying the moment when she would have to look at the scene she’d had nightmares about.
But eventually she had to look …
The flames of votive candles flickered in their red glass holders on a rack to her right, under the shadow of a large iron cross. Tall, heavy candles burned in stone holders fixed to the windowsills that ran the length of the building, and the air was thick with their liquid wax scent. The old stone church was full, the congregation mid hymn. Every pew was occupied by mourners in a uniform of black coats, trousers and skirts.
She made her way along the aisle, avoiding eye contact and keeping her son close to her body, until she reached the front.
Then she froze.
Because there it was.
The coffin that held the body of her grandpa.
Her legs weakened and she stumbled forward, her cry swallowed up as the organ chimed the final notes of ‘How Great Thou Art’. All heads turned at once, and Holly felt the weight of every eye in the church upon her as she scanned the pews, hoping desperately for a space to squeeze into, however small. She felt lost, afraid and exposed, and the seconds that she stood there felt like hours.
‘Holly!’
A figure emerged from her left, tall and broad in his dark wool suit, and Holly’s throat closed up.
Dad …
He hurried towards her, wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and led her towards the front pew.
‘I didn’t think you were going to make it,’ he whispered, his familiar features etched with concern.
‘I’m sorry. I got held up.’
A cough that travelled through the microphone at the altar and echoed around the church signalled that the service was about to begin. Bruce Dryden nodded his understanding at his daughter, then squeezed her hand. They’d have time to talk after the service, and she could explain then why she’d been late, why she’d almost missed the final farewell she’d ever get to say to her grandpa. Although of course she’d never really said farewell at all; she’d missed his last moments and the chance to say a proper goodbye.
***
‘Thank you so much for coming.’
The phrase was repeated over and over as Holly’s dad shook hand after hand, accepting condolences and nodding sombrely. Holly stood at his side, her arms around her baby son, her grandmother flanking her, smiling and nodding at people she knew and those she didn’t recognize, aware that her grandpa, Henry Morton, had been a well-respected man, and that some of the congregation would have travelled far to attend his funeral in the old stone church set on a Cornish hillside. Some of the faces that passed made her determination not to cry waver, especially when Rich Turner’s mother, Lucinda, paused in line and peered at little Luke. Holly knew that her ex-boyfriend’s mother would be wondering if there was a chance the baby was his, and that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have at the moment. Thankfully Lucinda had offered a brief smile then moved on, but not before Holly had seen the burning question in her eyes.
Holly glanced at Granny Glenda, and the older woman squeezed her arm. Holly was full of admiration for Granny’s bravery, for how she’d kept her pointed chin raised high throughout the service, and for how she was, even now, the epitome of elegance and composure as she shook hands with those who had known her husband of sixty-six years.
Finally the church had emptied out and the only people remaining were Holly, her dad, her granny and the elderly vicar.
‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ Granny said, rubbing a shaky hand over her eyes.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Morton?’ the vicar asked.
‘Yes, I’m just tired.’
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No thank you. I’d like to get this day over with.’ Granny pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose, then tucked it away again. ‘We need to get my granddaughter and great-grandson home. I suspect the baby will need a feed before long.’
Holly nodded, although she’d fed Luke just before the service, which was one of the reasons why she’d been late. Arriving outside the church right before his next feed was due had been poor timing, part of a morning of poor timing, with the train from Exeter being delayed, then the taxi driver taking the country lanes from the station to the church at a frustrating crawl. She had hoped to go to Greenacres first to drop off her suitcase, but it would have meant missing the service altogether, so instead she’d tucked it behind a bush around the side of the church, along with Luke’s three-in-one pram with its detachable car seat. With it being such a quiet spot and a serious occasion, she hoped no one would think about taking her belongings, even if they did spot them. But then who would want a battered suitcase on wheels filled with her clothes – a lot of them maternity garments, since her body hadn’t exactly pinged back into shape – and a pram that wasn’t anywhere near top-of-the-range, as she’d been very careful with her money since leaving home?
‘Ready, Holly?’ Her dad slid an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, just as he’d done since she was a little girl. It was such a caring gesture and she leant into him, glad to accept his comfort.
‘I guess so.’
‘Let’s say goodbye to Grandpa, and then we can get you home.’
Holly followed her family out into the spring sunshine, thinking that going home to Greenacres sounded like a very good idea indeed.
Holly Dryden took a deep breath, then placed her free hand on the heavy wooden door and pushed hard. It groaned loudly as it swung open, making her cringe, and the tiny bundle in her arms wriggled in protest at the noise.
‘It’s okay, Luke,’ she whispered, before kissing the downy head then pressing him tighter to her chest. She closed the door, keeping her eyes down, delaying the moment when she would have to look at the scene she’d had nightmares about.
But eventually she had to look …
The flames of votive candles flickered in their red glass holders on a rack to her right, under the shadow of a large iron cross. Tall, heavy candles burned in stone holders fixed to the windowsills that ran the length of the building, and the air was thick with their liquid wax scent. The old stone church was full, the congregation mid hymn. Every pew was occupied by mourners in a uniform of black coats, trousers and skirts.
She made her way along the aisle, avoiding eye contact and keeping her son close to her body, until she reached the front.
Then she froze.
Because there it was.
The coffin that held the body of her grandpa.
Her legs weakened and she stumbled forward, her cry swallowed up as the organ chimed the final notes of ‘How Great Thou Art’. All heads turned at once, and Holly felt the weight of every eye in the church upon her as she scanned the pews, hoping desperately for a space to squeeze into, however small. She felt lost, afraid and exposed, and the seconds that she stood there felt like hours.
‘Holly!’
A figure emerged from her left, tall and broad in his dark wool suit, and Holly’s throat closed up.
Dad …
He hurried towards her, wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and led her towards the front pew.
‘I didn’t think you were going to make it,’ he whispered, his familiar features etched with concern.
‘I’m sorry. I got held up.’
A cough that travelled through the microphone at the altar and echoed around the church signalled that the service was about to begin. Bruce Dryden nodded his understanding at his daughter, then squeezed her hand. They’d have time to talk after the service, and she could explain then why she’d been late, why she’d almost missed the final farewell she’d ever get to say to her grandpa. Although of course she’d never really said farewell at all; she’d missed his last moments and the chance to say a proper goodbye.
***
‘Thank you so much for coming.’
The phrase was repeated over and over as Holly’s dad shook hand after hand, accepting condolences and nodding sombrely. Holly stood at his side, her arms around her baby son, her grandmother flanking her, smiling and nodding at people she knew and those she didn’t recognize, aware that her grandpa, Henry Morton, had been a well-respected man, and that some of the congregation would have travelled far to attend his funeral in the old stone church set on a Cornish hillside. Some of the faces that passed made her determination not to cry waver, especially when Rich Turner’s mother, Lucinda, paused in line and peered at little Luke. Holly knew that her ex-boyfriend’s mother would be wondering if there was a chance the baby was his, and that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have at the moment. Thankfully Lucinda had offered a brief smile then moved on, but not before Holly had seen the burning question in her eyes.
Holly glanced at Granny Glenda, and the older woman squeezed her arm. Holly was full of admiration for Granny’s bravery, for how she’d kept her pointed chin raised high throughout the service, and for how she was, even now, the epitome of elegance and composure as she shook hands with those who had known her husband of sixty-six years.
Finally the church had emptied out and the only people remaining were Holly, her dad, her granny and the elderly vicar.
‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ Granny said, rubbing a shaky hand over her eyes.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Morton?’ the vicar asked.
‘Yes, I’m just tired.’
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No thank you. I’d like to get this day over with.’ Granny pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose, then tucked it away again. ‘We need to get my granddaughter and great-grandson home. I suspect the baby will need a feed before long.’
Holly nodded, although she’d fed Luke just before the service, which was one of the reasons why she’d been late. Arriving outside the church right before his next feed was due had been poor timing, part of a morning of poor timing, with the train from Exeter being delayed, then the taxi driver taking the country lanes from the station to the church at a frustrating crawl. She had hoped to go to Greenacres first to drop off her suitcase, but it would have meant missing the service altogether, so instead she’d tucked it behind a bush around the side of the church, along with Luke’s three-in-one pram with its detachable car seat. With it being such a quiet spot and a serious occasion, she hoped no one would think about taking her belongings, even if they did spot them. But then who would want a battered suitcase on wheels filled with her clothes – a lot of them maternity garments, since her body hadn’t exactly pinged back into shape – and a pram that wasn’t anywhere near top-of-the-range, as she’d been very careful with her money since leaving home?
‘Ready, Holly?’ Her dad slid an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, just as he’d done since she was a little girl. It was such a caring gesture and she leant into him, glad to accept his comfort.
‘I guess so.’
‘Let’s say goodbye to Grandpa, and then we can get you home.’
Holly followed her family out into the spring sunshine, thinking that going home to Greenacres sounded like a very good idea indeed.
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