Spring Roses Under Topaz Skies

By Laura Briggs

The promise of spring brings unexpected changes to event planner Julianne's sleepy Cornish village in book three of the all-new series. Hen night planner Teagen breezes into Ceffylgwyn with a business scheme that sets tongues wagging and tempers flaring—and lands Julianne in a tough spot when it comes to keeping the peace. Meanwhile, Matt steps into the role of gardening mentor, and Cliffs House's gruff chef faces an unexpected dilemma of the heart as this newest installment in 'Return to Cornwall' fills the pages with laughter, romance, and heartwarming surprises.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Briggs
• Release date: May 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005239688

Laura Briggs

Laura Briggs is the author of several feel-good romance reads, including the UK best-seller 'A Wedding in Cornwall'. She has a fondness for vintage style dresses (especially ones with polka dots), and reads everything from Jane Austen to modern day mysteries. When she's not writing, she enjoys spending time with family and friends, caring for her pets, gardening, and seeing the occasional movie or play.

Book preview

Spring Roses Under Topaz Skies

By Laura Briggs

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2021 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: Cornish Village in Spring. Original art, Quaint Village Street with Water Scene by Terry Katz, and Spring Ribbon by Zandiepants. Used with permission. http://www.dreamstime.com/

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Dear Reader,

Seldom have Julianne’s adventures carried her from the cosy village she’s called home since that first novella years ago. Among the handful of exceptions was An American in Cornwall, which found her in a quaint village near northern shores, helping best friend Aimee rescue the fictitious St. Petroc’s village shops from a greedy businessman’s scheme. Fans of the series had mixed feelings about that change of pace—for some it was too far from the fictional world they knew and loved, while others found it to be a fun summer break. Either side fans chose, however, one aspect of the story proved to be a highlight: the hen night planner Teagen, whose party girl antics led to comic disaster for Julianne on a memorable night out.

Teagen’s return in this novel will be no less dramatic. From a clubbing catastrophe in Truro, to a wild caravan ride through the streets of Newquay, she’s wreaking havoc on poor Julianne’s sedate existence once more...and that’s just the stuff she gets up to outside the borders of quiet Ceffylgwyn! Just wait til you see what she has in store for those—and even Julianne won’t believe how far Teagen’s antics will go this time as she sets tongues wagging and tempers flaring all over town.

As usual, Matthew is largely understanding about Julianne’s latest crisis, but even he has his doubts about her tumultuous encounters with Teagen. But Julianne wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t believe that she needed to help someone somehow, even if it seems crazy.

And for those of you wondering if romance is on the menu for Cliffs House’s handsome chef after meeting Kimmie the baking presenter in book two, don’t worry – their story didn’t end with the bakeoff’s goodbye. Unfortunately, it’s complicated for them, with no clear path from ‘just friends’ to something more...and Michael is struggling to figure out where his heart belongs, as Julianne learns when she accidentally stumbles into his secret.

So kick back, grab a cuppa, and lose yourself in the latest happenings of a tiny Cornish village filled with excitement, warmth, and lot of laughs. Teagen’s latest ride won’t disappoint.

Spring Roses Under Topaz Skies

by

Laura Briggs

Chapter One

Country Weddings, City Weddings hit the stands on Thursday in Ceffylgwyn's post office, mixed in with issues on decorating cottages and garden landscaping on a budget. I thumbed past the cover of the couture runway model bride in her silvery-white gown, to a feature a few pages into the issue, on recent weddings that made small but notable splashes in the fashion world.

Number three on the list of small-scale elegance — investment adviser and entrepreneur Ravi Gutwara and notable architect Alexi Moswanda. Alexi's wedding photo was a sophisticated one from the long stone-pillared carriage hall with the gorgeous beds of white lilies.

Beside it was a tinier thumbnail-style photo of the reception hall decorated for the wedding breakfast, chrome tables dressed in white linen with globe vases filled with more white flowers. A magnificent crystal goblet vase of white lilies and pale green leaf blades in the middle of the top table, which Kitty and I had designed together after multiple visits to a top-tier florist in the city.

Not bad, said Kitty, who was reading over my shoulder. I like the bit about 'simple lines and symmetry.' She pointed to a place in the article talking about the wedding's vision complimenting the hotel's art deco modernism.

Is this the article? Amanda peered over her shoulder. It is — how exciting! You must be so proud. She squeezed a shoulder on each of us. It looks lovely on paper, doesn't it?

It ought to. It was a proper job, putting that lot together, said Kitty — not using the 'proper voice' she used when we were negotiating with high-end florists and the hotel's crack wait staff. The cake took ages to sort out. And those melon and lime sorbet topiaries on ice were a step away from disaster.

Amanda would understand that kind of delicate situation more than most people, as lady of the local manor and hostess to more than one society wedding — which, of course, is how she became friend and employer to the likes of two event planners like us, in the years before we were bold enough to open our own business in this sleepy Cornish village we call home.

I'm buying an issue just so I can brag that I know two of the planners behind some of this gorgeousness, said Amanda, selecting a copy for herself. Enjoy yours, lovely girls. I expect to see it framed in your headquarters before too long.

Kitty snorted a laugh. Yeah, right. That'll be next on our list, she said, glancing at me for agreement. My return laugh didn't quite make it.

Well ... I began.

Kitty didn't know I had already bought a frame, anticipating this mini-feature in the bridal mag because of Alexi's great taste and semi-famous reputation. Not to put it on display front and center in our office space, but for a discreet display in the back room, where I could look at it with pride now and then. Save the Date's first big wedding client, spreading the word far and wide that we could create a beautiful ceremony under nearly any deadline, and not for outrageous fees — the beginning of a trend, I hoped.

We'll take three copies, I said, selecting two more issues. Kitty shook her head with a faint smile, one that clearly assumed I was crazy.

In the workspace behind the curtain that divided Save the Date's chicly-decorated public space from our big work table, flower sink, and assorted shelves and stacks of event supplies, I adjusted the frame on the wall, below a framed invitation from the first wedding we planned, and a little group of smaller, personal photos — one of the love of my life, Matt, in the middle of his professional renovation work on Giles's garden, and one of Kitty and Nathan near the Eiffel Tower on their Paris honeymoon.

It looked good. I was admiring it — on my own, I thought — until a voice behind me interrupted. I think it looks as beautiful in photographs as it did in person, said Cherish Dennai, who was standing on the other side of the parted curtains. You are to be congratulated, because the editors only choose perfection when they decide which wedding to feature, so they're paying you a compliment.

Technically, they're paying it to Alexi and Ravi, I said. We just executed the vision and negotiated the terms between the dream and reality. Still, it was a little bit us, I thought, glowing inside with pride as I noticed the finer details in the photographs, which brought back memories of nail-biting deadlines and brain-teasing conundrums over how to disguise features in the room that clashed with the wedding's theme.

"Alexi was so impressed by your work. She took a chance, of course, even if she did know I have impeccable taste, said Cherish, gesturing towards herself. But you and Kitty exceeded expectations, exactly as I knew you would, and it was her dream wedding."

Cherish had been the friend championing our opportunity to plan this grand-scale elegance against all odds, so I was relieved that we hadn't disappointed her, but had created the best possible version of Alexi's perfect wedding.

That's the best compliment you can pay us, I said. Now, if people believe that about our work, I'll be happy.

Are you joking? You'll have people flocking to your door in no time, said Cherish. Maybe bigger wedding clients than Alexi will be begging to hire you.

Any wedding clients will do, I answered. Especially if they want to be married in a rustic barn. I laughed. Anything to keep us busy and our event space from getting too dusty.

I wouldn't worry, said Cherish, with a hint of a smile. Anyway, I stopped by to tell you that I'm having a little drinks party on the twentieth, and I may need some help — notably to persuade Michael to cater. It's for the new charitable committee to discuss fundraising strategies. Kitty has the best powers of persuasion over him that anybody does.

If you have a concept for the menu, she'll talk to him, I promised. But you don't need us, because he's really easier to persuade than most people think.

Not for me, said Cherish, looking skeptical. Just let me know if he says 'yes', and I'll send my ideas for the nosh trays. Ta, lovely girl.

The other two issues were shelved in a place of honor with our collection of bridal magazines and floral catalogs behind our reception desk. Kitty was leafing through one after lunch as she finished her yogurt cup, looking at the other weddings featured in the social spotlight, including one which took place near the vista of a Welsh mountain.

I flipped our sign to 'open' again and raised the shade to allow more sunlight into our main room. Look at that beautiful day, I said, gazing outside.

Ceffylgwyn's quiet lanes had the usual barely-there thrum of traffic, foot pedestrians with shopping, a couple of young babysitters pushing infant strollers along the pavement. High Street's shops would have a straggle of lunchtime shoppers, hungry customers at the Fisherman's Rest and the fish and chips shop further down the lane, and a few tourists looking for the right path to the harbor, watching a boat or two drift on the water.

Look at that instead of our pride of place? teased Kitty. My cheeks flashed red, briefly, knowing she must have caught me admiring the clipping, much like Cherish had.

I'm just feeling extra cheerful, I said. "We're turning a corner, finally. People were booking events at the barn, and we had a steady trickle of wedding clients, but I'm excited to think that this means more for us. Now we'll be hard to miss in the field, between the society wedding getting a tiny bit of notice and the Grand Baking Extravaganza episodes coming in summer."

We'll be busy, if so, said Kitty. She set her empty yogurt cup under the counter for washing out later, then straightened her back, resting her hand on her belly as she eased herself into normal posture again.

I could have taken care of that for you, I scolded.

Stop fussing, I'm all right, she said. Just with a ruddy six pound basket under my shirt.

Kitty's pregnancy was un-missable now — a child's beach ball was inflated underneath her overalls and t-shirt, making it a challenge for her to bend down to retrieve stray leaves while arranging flowers and nixing the lifting of all heavy loads. Probably anybody else would be ready to take a break, given the baby's delivery was mere weeks away, but not my business partner, who would probably be willing to work until five minutes before the baby popped into the world. Sore feet, fatigue, and a baby kicking impatiently for freedom were obstacles that others, including myself, had surrendered to, but surrender wasn't in Kitty's nature.

Is that the latest weight? I asked. Six pounds?

It's my guess, she answered.

What did the doctor say last visit? I asked.

He said I looked like a roly-poly pudding with stick arms and legs, she answered, snarkily. I can't find my waist anymore, so I reckon it's true. It's like having a sack of feed strapped to my torso.

It's not that bad, I said. Not in appearance, though it might feel like one. Kitty was on baby number one, for one thing, and she was also one of those women who carried mostly the baby's weight and fluid and the most spare of extra padding to see her through to delivery. I'll bet Nathan says you look beautiful. Kitty's messy black curls were escaping from her ponytail, and her face was flushed from too much energy and concentration, the kind of look that Nathan had fallen in love with when he first met her.

There's the proof, she grunted. A tiny bit of her mum was showing in that statement, but if I pointed that out, Kitty wouldn't speak to me for the rest of the day. She put the magazine away.

Her mother was probably part of the reason Kitty would rather work than rest in the period leading up to the soon-to-be-born baby Menton's appearance: Bets was the type who would probably drop by and tell her more horror stories about motherhood. I'd heard enough of them to make me rethink motherhood, and I was already two kids into the process.

Maybe you were always confident our business was going to make it, but I had some doubts now and then, I said. This is going to give us solid footing in the event planning world, plus bring in more weddings, so we can do for them what we did for other clients. Deirdre came to mind with her last-minute disasters, and a young girl locally whose military deployment date moved up and necessitated that her wedding do so with short notice, too.

You know weddings are your favorite too, not just mine, I reminded her.

Maybe a little, conceded Kitty, pretending it wasn't so. It's a challenge — better than the wine club, at any rate. Far and away our pickiest client so far, Kitty handled their annual list of demands without letting on how annoying it was that they tended to change their minds more than once about menu arrangements and which of the manor's sites they wanted to utilize.

I couldn't help being happy about those glossy pages in the magazine, or looking forward to our rustic event space appearing in episodes of the ever-popular Grand Baking Extravaganza's summer wedding series. Our business was finally ready to bloom fully, like the roses pictured in the calendar on our desk, a gift from Matt in remembrance of a different rose between myself and him. After how hard Kitty and I had worked, hoping to prove that others like Matt, Nathan, Amanda, and Cherish had been right in believing and supporting us, this future felt well-deserved. We could finally breathe easily and enjoy this moment.

Chapter Two

Cefflygwyn wasn't my first home — anybody who heard my American accent knew straightaway that I wasn't a true native of Cornwall, let alone a small country village with a contentious battle over the true 'old Cornish' nature of its name and occasional kerfuffle over the rightful champions of the local quiz night. I had been folded into its embrace by love, not only that of a quietly tolerant village but of the man to whom I was now married, who had come here in childhood and returned here after establishing a celebrated reputation for himself in the world of academics and botany.

He was nursing a broken heart and temporarily gardening professionally to 'reset' his life for better things — or so I thought, until I knew him better. Then it was too late to do anything but fall in love with him and vow quietly to marry him even before he asked me to be with him on a forever kind of basis.

Ten years and two kids later, Matthew Rose, former professor and botanical disease consultant, was trying to be famous as a landscape architect and not a professor these days. He was still lecturing part-time, simply because the calls continued and he was always popular with students — especially female ones who happened to be fans of the lead role in the series Poldark.

Amazingly, he managed to thumb through his reference materials and write his university lecture on a tight deadline while ignoring the morning chaos of Sylvia and Heath arguing over a missing jersey before I hurried them off to school before they were late. He flashed a quick smile my direction — one of gratitude — as I herded them out.

Today was my morning to open the shop, since Kitty had reluctantly agreed to cut her schedule down by two mornings per week, since Nathan was anxious about the baby's arrival. I unlocked the shop after leaving my kids in the hands of their teachers, and turned Save the Date's sign to 'open.'

Our shop diary had a note for me to follow up with our current client, who had decided that late spring blossoms like larkspur and bluebells mixed with purple-blue delphiniums were exactly what she wanted for her bouquet. I had already tacked a potential invitation design to the wedding's vision board in the back room, with a little blue floral design printed at the top. It looked like a perfect match for Chrissy's love of blue, and I planned to email her a copy this morning, in hopes of making arrangements with the printer this week.

The photo of Matt on the neighboring wall was hanging crookedly, so I fixed it, the tip of my finger stroking his face. His bravery in pursuing his passion despite success elsewhere had helped me realize that I didn't want to remain attached exclusively to events at Cliffs House, even with celebrity events and local fetes on its roster. Kitty and I were both ready for new opportunities — the kind of thing we had both tasted in the past, when I made the leap from Seattle to Cornwall, and when she climbed from being a local streetwise youth of troublemaking past to the savvy young personal assistant of an elderly dowager living in Paris.

Time for new things to unfold. This spring felt ready for the bud of our potential to burst into full bloom at Save the Date. I took a deep breath from the bouquet Kitty was working on for the local Sunday service, spotting a few little blue blossoms that would be just right for Chrissy's color scheme. I added Lord Lieutenant Anemones to the list, capping my pen as the shop bell rang.

Be right there, I called. I stepped through the curtain, looking for a new customer and seeing the last person I expected. A trim, Barbie-like blonde in a tailor business suit, the skirt a smidge too short, and the matching high heels a smidge too high. She was tapping a pair of French-tipped nails softly against the counter, her gaze taking in the whole of the room with a calculating look before those blue eyes landed on me with a similar decisiveness. The overall effect was of a mannequin posed in a high-end fashion window.

It had taken me two seconds to place her in my memory, and one more to feel astonishment when I did. Teagen?

In the flesh, love, she answered, cocking her head to one side with a smile.

__________________

Once upon a time, approximately seven years ago, my old Seattle best friend Aimee spent her summer 'shop-sitting' for an online friend from Newquay, during which time I visited a tiny village called St. Petroc and became acquainted with Aimee's various acquaintances there. This included a very brash, impulsive hen night organizer who led me and Aimee on a wild evening's journey across the town's landscape of nightclubs.

I hadn't seen Teagen since that night, and seeing her now was something of a shock. Wow, I said. What a — surprise. Was this a coincidence? I couldn't believe she would remember me after all these years.

Don't be so shocked, she said, pouting. Miss me? You never did come back to visit after our mutual little friend scurried home to the States. Who was it? Anna? Alli?

Aimee, I said.

Right. She tapped the side of her head as if logging it in place. "Memory is such an iffy proposition, she said. To be fair, however, I hadn't thought of her or either of you in ages, until I saw this."

With a dramatic flourish, she produced a magazine from the purse slung across her shoulder, slapping it onto the desk, pages folded open. It was an open issue of Country Weddings, City Weddings, featuring Alexi's wedding.

That's why you're here? I said, lifting an eyebrow. Not to congratulate me on making a magazine's text, surely.

The little credit for the planner — Julianne Rose of Save the Date, she said. It came to me instantly. Alli —

Aimee.

"— Aimee's friend the