Some Place Like Home: Richer in Love, #3

By F. E. Greene

Set in England's magnificent Lake District, this heartwarming autumn romance explores the delicious thrill of new places, new loves, and new beginnings.

"This is a book you can hardly put down. So worth your reading time." – 5-star reader review

She's just arrived. He's leaving in a week.

After moving to England to be near her sister, Amy Aucoin feels smothered in London and craves the independence she's valued all her life. In the quaint Lakeland village of Crossmere, she discovers everything she is searching for - including a potential boyfriend who leaves for London in a week.

Harry Richmond always has a plan which is why he's gobsmacked when Amy appears without any warning at his aunt's house next door. Captivated with her since their first meeting years before, Harry offers to serve as Amy's tour guide even though he should be packing to move back to London. As they explore the Lakes, and feelings deepen between them, Harry begins to wonder if some plans are made to be changed.

Some Place Like Home is part of the bestselling Richer in Love romance series which can be enjoyed in any order.

Romance Heat Scale: Mild/PG. No detailed sex scenes, profanity, or graphic violence.

What readers are saying:

"This book is perfect for escaping..."
"Great story from start to finish."
"Likeable, well-written characters, and a great storyline."
"I didn't want to put it down!"
"I absolutely get caught up in the story and the characters and am always sad when over."

Semi-Finalist in the 2020 Chatelaine International Book Awards

About the Author:

F. E. Greene loves coffee, castles, crumpets, and the cat next door almost as much as she loves writing. She is the award-winning author of multiple bestselling series including contemporary romance (Richer in Love), time-travel romance (Love Across Londons), and fantasy adventure (By Eyes Unseen). A novelist, songwriter, poet, and photographer, she has taught young journalists and coached creative writers in both scholastic and volunteer settings. Greene's novels blend feel-good romance, mild suspense, a touch of whimsy, and her steadfast affection for all things British.

Semi-Finalist, 2021 Chatelaine International Writing Competition (In the Sweet Midwinter)
2nd Place Winner, Poetry Category, 2021 Royal Dragonfly Book Awards (In Days Divine)
Semi-Finalist, 2020 Chatelaine International Writing Competition (Some Place Like Home)
2018 B.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree (The Never List)
Semi-Finalist, 2018 Chatelaine International Writing Competition (The Next Forever)
Finalist, 2017 Chatelaine International Writing Competition (The Best-Left Questions)
Semi-Finalist, 2017 Kindle Book Awards (The Never List)
Semi-Finalist, 2016 Chatelaine International Writing Competition (The Never List)

• Language: English
• Publisher: F. E. Greene
• Release date: Apr 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781946216106

F. E. Greene

F. E. Greene has been telling stories with words for more than twenty years.  A novelist, songwriter, poet, and photographer, she has taught young journalists and coached creative writers in scholastic and volunteer settings. Greene’s novels blend feel-good romance, mild suspense, a touch of whimsy, and her steadfast affection for all things British.  To learn more about the author and her books, visit www.fegreene.com.  Find questions for book clubs, author updates, giveaway information, sweepstakes details, and much more.  Sign up for F. E.’s newsletter and download a FREE e-book!

Book preview

Chapter One

RICHMONDS SHOP FOR BABY ON BOND STREET

SATURDAY, LONDON – Kip Richmond showered his expectant wife Lou with plenty of gifts and affection as they scoured the shops in Mayfair during an afternoon jaunt.

Once known as Britain’s uncatchable bachelor, Kip and his American better half enjoyed a posh afternoon tea in St. James Court before braving the brisk autumn weather in Bond Street. If the shopping bags are any indication, Kip will leave himself with no options for a push present when the Richmond heir arrives in December.

After a perilous beginning to their courtship, and a low-key wedding in New Orleans, some naysayers whispered that Kip would resume his playboy ways as soon as wedding bells had rung. Not so, says a source close to the family. The Richmonds, who currently reside in Stratford-upon-Avon, are still very much in love.

Amy read the gossipy tidbit with a mixture of disbelief and unease. Her sister’s pregnancy was one of the top society stories on a British newspaper app. The photo of Lou and Kip had been taken from a distance by some paparazzi hack who got paid to skulk around London.

Amy noticed herself in the photo, too. Although her face was obscured by the shopping bags slung over Kip’s shoulder, her pale blonde hair stood out. People assumed it was a dye job, but her corn-silk coloring was a genetic gift from her mama. Her daddy had been pure Cajun, all swarthy and dark.

Just a few years earlier, the thought of any publicity would have sent her and Lou into a panic. They had designed their lives around hiding from men who chased a fortune that didn’t exist. Lou had lived off the grid in Stratford-upon-Avon, while Amy laid low in Santa Fe.

Now, Lou and her cute-as-a-button husband routinely made the gossip columns. Kip shrugged off the attention. Lou happily followed his lead.

Amy wished she could be so easygoing about the whole thing, but too many years of looking over her shoulder left her permanently on her guard. She hated that lingering paranoia, but old habits died hard. Even in London, where nobody knew her, she walked around feeling like she was on display. She loved being around people, just not so many.

That included nosy photojournalists.

Are you all right, Miss Améline?

Amy pried her eyes from the smartphone’s screen to meet Yannick’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Oh, I’m fine, she fibbed. Just catching up on the news.

Yannick frowned like he didn’t believe her. He was the Richmonds’ go-to guy for security and transportation. Bodyguard. Chauffeur. Bouncer. All-around intimidator. He had saved Lou’s life, and also Kip’s, when a fortune hunter cornered them in Stratford several years before.

Most of the time, Yannick was totally stone-faced, but Amy was learning to interpret his expression. Even if he was an employee, he cared deeply about the Richmonds, and there was no doubt they cared about him.

So why all the stuffy titles and full-length first names? Amy knew the reason. That didn’t keep her from lodging a subtle protest in her most agreeable voice. It wasn’t Yannick’s fault, however. He was just following orders.

You can call me Amy, she told him. Everyone else does. Well, everyone except for Lydia.

Her casual reference to the family’s resident CEO made Yannick crack a split-second grin. Mrs. Richmond prefers to maintain a sense of decorum.

I promise I won’t tell. Amy gestured at the town car’s unoccupied seats. How will she know if you use my first name?

A twinkle of wit danced in Yannick’s dark eyes. I assume Mrs. Richmond always knows.

Offering him half a smile, Amy examined the car’s interior. Was Yannick kidding? She certainly hoped so. She also wouldn’t put it past Lydia to hide a micro-camera inside the A/C vent. According to Lou, Richmond Tower had the same surveillance system as some maximum-security prisons.

We’ve nearly arrived, Yannick announced in a mild voice that didn’t match his pro-wrestling physique. This is the village of Crossmere. We’re in the high street.

As the car slowed to a crawl, Amy lowered the tinted window so she could have a clearer view. A charming montage of shops and restaurants flanked both sides of the road. Storefront displays contained bulging pumpkins stacked atop sprinklings of autumn leaves. People – but not too many – strolled at a leisurely pace.

No rushing. No jostling. No photojournalists.

This was the England she loved.

Not that she’d seen much of it. In the four months since she’d moved to the U.K., she stuck close to Lou and Kip. They divided their time between London and Stratford with occasional day trips into Surrey, south of London, where the Richmonds owned a mini-mansion called Farhaven. Kip’s brother Ben and his new wife Didi occupied it on the weekends. It was beautiful but a little too remote.

No more remote, of course, than a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it village buried deep in the Lake District – which would be a great place to hide if Amy still needed the option, but thankfully those days were finished. So why had she let herself be packed off to the sticks for a spontaneous holiday?

Short answer: Lydia Richmond. Her sister’s mother-in-law insisted that Amy spend a week alone in Lakeland. Their conversation had lasted all of two minutes and ended the way it began – with Lydia making a declaration which no one was permitted to dispute. Not even Kip could charm his mother into changing her mind. Smiling with empathy, Lou merely shrugged.

Lydia Richmond never took no for an answer. Unless it was the answer she wanted.

But there was a longer answer that sparked Lydia’s campaign to see Amy in Cumbria by sunset. This wasn’t some random vacation. Amy had a purpose, if not a plan.

Setting her phone on the back seat, she dug through her purse for the photograph from her mother’s childhood. Time had stolen its vibrancy, dampening its colors like twilight on the bayou. Her mama stood in front of a cottage with her best friend Moggie by her side. Dressed in summertime clothes, they linked arms, laughing, with daisy chains adorning their heads.

A wistful mixture of gladness and guilt stirred within Amy’s chest. Mama was gone, taken by cancer, and Amy hadn’t been with her when she died. It was Lou who bore that burden alone, who cared for their mother until the end, while Amy remained in New Mexico hiding from unscrupulous men.

And then it was Lou who fell in love with a billionaire businessman just in time to pay Amy’s medical bills. Cancer had buried their mama, and Lou was hellbent on making sure it didn’t get her sister, too. She hadn’t married Kip for that reason, but it was a well-timed perk for Lou.

For Amy, it was a debt she could never repay, not even if she spent a lifetime trying. After the medical bills came more money for rent and food, for time and space to recuperate, for making ends meet with indulgent ease. Then Lou announced she was pregnant, and Amy knew it was time to move to England.

She longed to be a tante. She couldn’t wait to hold her baby nephew.

She also couldn’t keep living off the Richmonds.

We are here, Miss Améline.

As they pulled into the driveway, Amy almost dropped her mama’s picture in shock. This was Lydia’s quaint Lakeland getaway? It looked big enough to house everyone from the village they’d just driven through. A carved wooden sign was mounted beside the front door.

Journey’s End

That was a thing in England, apparently, to name houses like they were people. Did her mother’s mystery cottage also have a name? Was it even still standing? Or had someone like Lydia torn it down and built an extravagant new home on its grave?

When Yannick opened the car door, Amy got out and groaned with relief as she stretched her arms and legs. She was thankful to see the rain had stopped. It had been a dreary six-hour drive across England.

Now, it was close to sunset – and dinnertime. They’d eaten fast food for lunch at a rest stop near Stafford, but that meal was long gone. As a reminder, Amy’s stomach let out a growl that rivaled a jumbo jet’s engines at takeoff.

Yannick didn’t pretend to ignore it as he unlocked the front door. I’m not sure if there is food in the house. Should we go back into Crossmere for takeaway? I know there is a Co-op in Ambleside if you’d rather buy groceries. It’s an easy drive down the A591.

Stepping inside, Amy hummed with uncertainty. She hadn’t considered the logistics of hanging out in someone else’s house. She did know Yannick was supposed to head straight back to London that evening, which put him at Richmond Tower around midnight.

That scenario sounded insane to her. Why the big rush to return? The Richmonds owned a fleet of town cars, along with two helicopters, and they had their pick of chauffeurs.

Same answer: Lydia Richmond.

Are you sure you don’t want to crash here? Amy asked. I can’t imagine making that trip twice in one day.

Yannick offered her the front door key. I am expected in London.

Accepting it, Amy wiped her feet on a shag entry mat that probably cost more than her shoes. It’s such a long drive to tackle after dark.

I will be fine, Miss Améline. Her concern seemed to soften him. Let’s get you settled. I’ll collect your luggage from the car.

Amy wanted to laugh. Luggage? Try one old duffle bag packed with nothing special. She hadn’t brought any of the clothes from her recent shopping sprees with Lou, and she ignored the designer suitcase that had appeared in her suite at Richmond Tower.

Admittedly, U.S. Army camo wasn’t really her style. The duffle bag was a high school graduation gift from her Nonc Jacque who used it during the Gulf War. It was built for combat, literally, and withstood the worst treatment any airport baggage handler might dish out.

Durability aside, Amy carried it for sentimental reasons. It reminded her of her tough, raw uncle who had retreated down the bayou south of New Orleans after too many tours of duty. Like him, the duffle bag survived no matter what abuse life threw at it.

While Yannick grabbed her sad excuse for luggage, Amy opened a door to her left. A spacious closet contained several pairs of rubber boots and one olive green raincoat that would swallow her whole if she tried to wear it. Umbrellas hung from wooden pegs. The scent of cedar infused the air.

To Amy’s right, the open-air kitchen was rimmed by a countertop bar with six swivel stools, all high-backed and padded. Past the kitchen and bar was a great room so massive, she could park her old double-wide trailer inside it. The farthest wall contained nothing but windows stretching from floor to roof. Lou had said the view was spectacular. Too bad the sun was on vacation.

Moving to stand at the great room’s central point, Amy rotated slowly. The open floor plan performed double duty as a den and dining room. A U-shaped sectional couch and detached ottomans looked marshmallow comfy and spotless. Close by the fireplace, a reading nook contained a wide recliner, side table, and bookcase.

The décor reminded Amy of a Colorado lodge built by owners who spared no expense. It had cream walls and wood floors and a stone fireplace big enough to heat a castle. Someone – no doubt a high-dollar decorator flown in from another country – had chosen neutral furnishings with splashy accents in warm and welcoming colors. Sizable mirrors and family portraits hung strategically on the walls.

On the dining side of the great room, a rustic rectangular table could accommodate ten. Booth-style seats, with custom-made cushions, were built into the exterior wall. Charming as it was, the vibe seemed pretty informal for a highfalutin crew like the Richmonds. Was a ritzier dining room hidden behind one of the other doors?

After Yannick was gone, she’d snoop around. That could be her entertainment for the evening.

The lake house was a far cry from the opulent office building that the Richmonds called home in London. There was nothing homey about Richmond Tower. Every one of its umpteen floors screamed money.

Journey’s End whispered comfort. And not on a budget. It was the kind of comfort only rich people could envision, commission, construct, and maintain. And it was all hers until Saturday when Kip and Lou drove up from Stratford to join her.

Until then, she would spend four days making do with nothing but a photograph and a borrowed credit card. Absently, she fingered the pendant hanging from her neck. She could work with this. She had to.

Mrs. Richmond recommends the Daffodil Room for your stay.

Amy turned to see Yannick holding her duffle bag. She had an assigned room? Really? A prickle of resistance made Amy want to refuse. Then again, it wasn’t her house.

Lydia likes to be large and in charge, doesn’t she?

Since the answer to Amy’s question was obvious, Yannick didn’t bother to respond. His expression remained pleasant as he waited.

Amy sighed in defeat. She’d lost control of her life right after Lou married Kip. This week, she felt ready to reclaim it.

Okay, lead the way, she acquiesced. But I can carry my own bag.

As though he hadn’t heard her, Yannick was halfway up the stairs before she could catch him. Despite his size, he moved with a speed and grace that took Amy by surprise. While she climbed in his wake, she reminded herself that Yannick wasn’t the problem. He was doing his job. And being polite. Just like she would if she were in his shoes.

After one more attempt to help her rustle up some food, Yannick gave up trying. He wasn’t thrilled about leaving Amy with nothing to eat, but he needed to get on the road. She wasn’t thrilled, either, about his refusal to stay, but they weren’t the boss of each other.

Through one of the front windows, Amy watched him pull out of the drive. Maybe the town car was Yannick’s domain. Maybe there, he felt in control of his life.

When her stomach rumbled for attention, she refocused. She was hungry. Time to forage.

In the kitchen, she found a box of Weetabix that wasn’t expired or stale. The icebox contained half a dozen labeled meals, all coated with freezer-burn stubble. If anyone else had stayed at Journey’s End recently, they must have eaten out. Thank heaven she’d tossed a few protein bars in her bag. Those were her go-to survival food.

She did discover a cornucopia of tea bags in a cabinet next to the stove. Naturally. This was England. A British household without a cup of tea was like the French Quarter without café au lait.

Amy filled a tall white kettle and pushed down its lever, then reached into her purse. Now that she had arrived, Lou would expect a text. Maybe they’d facetime later.

Her fingers recognized all the familiar items. Lip balm. Wallet. Hand sanitizer. Photograph of her mama and Moggie.

Amy froze, her muscles tensing, as she realized what her fingers didn’t feel. She’d left her cell phone on the back seat of the town car. It was with Yannick on its way to London. She couldn’t text Lou to tell her she’d arrived. Couldn’t receive baby updates and send details about the next four days. Couldn’t call a taxi or search the internet for directions. No list of contacts. No maps. No email.

Her frantic search for a landline yielded nothing. Amy knew the house had Wi-Fi because Lou had texted her the password. Which was useless without her phone.

After a brief search, she found the home office behind a door adjacent to the great room. Inside were enough plugs, surge protectors, and USB ports to satisfy a team of NASA engineers. The only thing missing was the technology to use them. No laptops or tablets. No desktop.

The lack of computers made sense. The lake house might be remote, but it wasn’t secure, and the Richmonds had all kinds of professional fingers in all kinds of corporate pies. Losing even one smartphone could result in data breaches and compromised business deals. The financial world was cutthroat, and her sister’s in-laws were anything but careless.

Returning to the kitchen, Amy resigned herself to a phone-free week as she fixed a cup of tea. She’d done it before. No big deal whatsoever. She’d survived off the grid for years.

Besides, she could buy a burner phone in one of the larger towns. But why waste money on something she already owned, even if the money wasn’t hers?

Which brought her back to the number-one task at hand. She needed a job – and fast.

It didn’t have to be a great job, just something to get her out of central London and in a place where she felt more at home. She could share an apartment if necessary. Find a roommate who seemed halfway sane. Split the rent and the chores and live simply. Lord knows, she’d done it before.

As Amy dunked her tea bag into the steaming water, she heard a dog bark in the backyard. It was a happy bark, not an alarm or a demand for attention. Life was good, it implied. Just saying.

Curious, Amy crossed the great room, heading for the wall of windows that surrounded a sliding glass door. The lake house’s backyard wasn’t a yard at all but an enormous wooden deck with a raised firepit, movable benches, and cushioned outdoor recliners. Next to the patio table was a cantilever umbrella for dining al fresco on sunny days.

Built-in lanterns exuded a serene, gauzy glow even though Amy hadn’t flipped any switches. The bulbs must be the dusk-to-dawn kind. Was she expecting anything less?

She wasn’t expecting to see a West Highland terrier staring up at her like she had treats. He wagged a snowy white tale, and his eyes were kind. Was he lost? Or did he belong to the neighbors? Whatever his story, she’d adopt him in a heartbeat, but he wore a collar, so she probably wouldn’t need to.

She set down her tea, unlocked the glass door, and used both hands to slide it open. When the dog tried to enter, she blocked him with one foot, then squeezed her way outside to join him.

Squatting down, Amy extended her right hand, palm down and fingers limp. One quick sniff of her knuckles was all the dog needed to decide that she was safe.

Aren’t you a handsome fella? she gushed.

As he nudged closer, Amy patted his back. She sensed the westie’s contentment and shared it. In less than an hour, she’d made a friend.

Where was his owner? Only one other house occupied the stretch of land on the narrow road out of Crossmere. It sat close to Journey’s End – uncomfortably close since there was plenty of lakeside to go around. Like Lydia’s house, it sported a tricked-out deck. Did it also have a self-important name?

The door to the other deck opened. A man stepped through and called out. Over his clothes he wore an apron, its front spackled with flour.

Charlie!

Amy squinted at the man. Did she know him? She did, but how and from where? Her brain worked double-time to place the face with the name. She’d met this guy, talked with him. It was on the tip of her tongue.

Charlie! he called again. Do your business and come along. Supper’s almost ready.

The westie barked with more urgency and bolted down the deck’s stairs before galloping up an identical flight on the other side of a boggy patch of grass. It obviously wasn’t the first time the dog had taken that path. He seemed comfortable coming and going.

The man approached the edge of his deck. Sorry.

Amy did the same. For what?

"For invading your privacy. Charlie thinks