Christmas at North Hill: A Dickens Holiday Romance, #23

By Jan Scarbrough

The small town of Dickens is alive with Christmas activity. Joni Smith shares the infectious joy spreading through the shoppers. There had been a time when she'd been desperate to be loved and had nearly lost her mind when it didn't work out. Thanks to insight gained in a Sunday church service, she's found contentment. Joni's happy working as a home health aide for wealthy Mrs. Northrop. She doesn't need a man in her life. She's done looking for love. But Mrs. Northrop's grandson, Christopher Northrop the Third, sets Joni's heart fluttering in a way that says that maybe love isn't done looking for her. 

 

Chris Northrup has always done what his mother wanted. He's worked in the shipping part of his family's company, even though there's no chance of him inheriting the family estate, North Hill. But he has dreams of his own. One of them is to be a writer. The other is to marry Joni Smith.  

 

Sparks flew from the moment they met, but Joni's independence has Chris wondering if he could ever be enough for her. Joni knows God loves her, but is she ready for a different kind of love? Together Joni and Chris might discover that, just like Christmas presents, love comes wrapped in all kinds of different packages. But they must be willing to open the gift that's offered and open their hearts to each other. 

Author Note ***This is a small-town sweet Christmas romance. It can be read as a stand-alone but features cameo appearances of characters from other Dickens Holiday Romance series written by other authors in this anthology. ***

• Language: English
• Publisher: Saddle Horse Press
• Release date: Dec 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798989350339

Jan Scarbrough

Whether it is the Bluegrass of Kentucky, the mountains of Montana, or Medieval England, Jan Scarbrough brings you home with romances from the heart. Jan Scarbrough is the author of two popular Bluegrass series, writing heartwarming contemporary romances about home and family, single moms and children. Living in the horse country of Kentucky makes it easy for Jan to add small town, Southern charm to her books and the excitement of a Bluegrass horse race or a competitive horse show. Leaving her contemporary voice behind, Jan has written paranormal gothic romances: Tangled Memories, a Romance Writers of America (RWA) Golden Heart finalist, and Timeless. Her medieval romance, My Lord Raven is a story of honor and betrayal. A member of Novelist, Inc., Jan self-publishes her books with the help of her husband. She has published 26 romances. Jan lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with one rescued dog, one rescued cat, and a husband she rescued 23 years ago. When she isn't writing, she loves to ride American Saddlebred horses, drive grandchildren to activities, and volunteer with Alley Cat Advocates. There is nothing she enjoys more than curling up with a good book. Subscribe to Jan’s monthly newsletter and receive a free eBook.https://janscarbrough.com/contact/

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Mrs. Christopher J. Northrop, Jr., drummed the teal-colored dip powder nails of her left hand on the white linen tablecloth. Her right hand held a message written on cream letterhead from her mother-in-law’s lawyer at Matthews and Gates, Attorneys at Law, one of Dickens’ most reputable firms. Thomas Gates, though working parttime, remained Caroline Northrop’s lawyer. The old woman had known him for years. Thank goodness he’d also been friends with her late husband.

Sandra’s body tensed as she scanned the letter. She felt heat flush her face. That doddering old woman.

Her son, Christopher the Third, glanced up from his plate of eggs benedict and threw her a questioning look. He was a handsome boy with his college-athlete good looks—her pride and joy, the savior of her sanity after so many miscarriages and tragic births.

What’s wrong, Mother?

Your grandmother, she said as anger pulsed through her. She plans to disinherit you.

What?

You’re her only living relative, her heir. I can’t believe it. Sandra flicked the letter across the table, and it fluttered just short of Chris’ reach.

He leaned over and stretched out his hand, securing the letter. His eyebrows furrowed with confusion as he read it. This says Grandmother Caroline is going to change her will.

No, she’s already changed it. Sandra’s words were harsh, an indictment. She simply has to sign it in front of a notary and the lawyer.

So, basically, it’s a done deal.

No! This couldn’t be true. Sandra drew a shallow breath. That old witch had never liked her. Damn Yankees! Sandra Mosely from Knoxville, Tennessee, had never been good enough for the honorable New England Northrop family, but that was no reason to cheat her only grandson out of his inheritance.

Christopher still looked confused. Why would the lawyer tell you about Grandmother’s will? Isn’t that a violation of client confidentiality?

Thomas Gates liked your father. I’m sure he’s standing up for what is right, what your father would have wanted.

It says Grandmother’s estate is going to her home health aide. Chris placed the letter on the table, bewilderment evident in his eyes.

No! I won’t let it go to some nobody. Rage pounded in Sandra’s ears. You, darling, must do something about this. You must spend Christmas at North Hill with your sweet, old grandmother.

CHAPTER ONE

The day was dreary, uninviting. Rain drizzled from an overcast sky. The weather certainly mirrored his mood. Chris didn’t want to take this trip, and his jaw was so tight it ached. He’d secured a Nissan Maxima rental car at the Boston Logan Airport for his long, boring drive, making good time even with the wet roads.

Inhaling deeply, his nostrils flaring, Chris fought the resentment and frustration that tensed his muscles. He didn’t want to do this. Felt that he didn’t need the money his mother thought was so important or want the inheritance that had lost significance for him since his father died.

Besides, money didn’t mean much to him. Maybe because he’d always had it. Sure. He was a rich SOB. His friends told him that. Made fun of him. He’d even laughed along with them.

Yet, he owed his mother respect because she was his mother and loved him. Yet, they had their differences. She was active with the elite, old money, social climbing crowd, and Chris knew his lack of vocation disappointed her. She nagged him enough for him to be aware of his shortcomings. He didn’t want to follow in his father and grandfather’s footsteps and run Northrop Enterprises, the company his father moved to Tennessee from New England in the early nineties. They had a very effective CEO, Clark Gardner, who was well compensated and kept the corporation operating like clockwork. Why would the company need him muddying the waters?

Chris wanted to do something creative with his life, things his mother found a waste of time because those avocations didn’t make money unless that person became famous. Writing had always interested him, and he had majored in creative writing at college, much to his mother’s chagrin. She had pushed for him to take business classes, so he’d be prepared to take over the reins of Northrop Enterprises one day. And besides, writing wouldn’t keep him in a manner his mother thought acceptable.

But she was wrong. His mother was wrong. Chris had already finished a novel—a thriller—and had ideas for more. A high-powered agent was already shopping his book around. Good things would happen. He simply needed a lucky break. And keep on writing.

Sighing, he raked his fingers through his hair as he drove. The only son, he’d always tried to be the good kid. Even now, he would grant his mother’s wish and make this trip to his father’s ancestral home. He would do his danged duty as he’d always tried to do.

Before he was emotionally ready to return to North Hill and see his grandmother, he reached Dickens, the small New England town where she lived. Feeling a slight lump in his throat, Chris entered Dickens and drove around the Common. It looked like an old-fashioned postcard or the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie. Its historic downtown area was already cheerfully decorated for the holidays, the gazebo festooned with white lights and huge evergreen wreaths, and a cut pine decorated with bright, twinkling lights and topped with a white star. He’d missed the tree lighting ceremony that took place the first Saturday of December, a tradition he remembered all too well.

As a child, he loved visiting his grandparents in Dickens. Summers swimming in their backyard pool, practicing on a tennis backboard, or riding horses from his grandparents’ full, established stable. He’d darted through splendid rooms, slid down the staircase banister, and explored the woods behind the estate. At Christmas he enjoyed the festive atmosphere that was Dickens with its ice skating, horse-drawn sled rides, presents under the tree, and snow, always plenty of snow.

He'd been thirteen during his last visit to Dickens and had gone down to the tree-lighting by himself, joining up with a group of town teenagers. When the light switch was thrown and the Common blazed with Christmas spirit, every guy grabbed a girl for a good-luck kiss. That night he’d kissed a cute little redhead. Or she had kissed him, to be more precise. She’d captured his face with her hands, stood on tiptoes, and locked lips with him for what seemed like an eternity.

He’d been shy even then. Yet, the kiss had been a kick in the pants. A real blow out. Something he’d never forgotten, maybe because it had been his first kiss.

Chris had never been back to Dickens after that holiday. Avoided it, just like he’d avoided the house on the hill where his widowed grandmother lived. The house where that winter night when he was thirteen, he’d found his father dead in bed.

North Hill, the Northrop family estate, was located near the Barrett House, home to the owners of Wil-Bar toy factory, one of Dickens’ largest employers. Built in the late eighteen hundreds, the colonial revival home was the symbol of his family wealth, a reminder of past New England grandeur. Chris parked his rental car in the circular driveway and rested his hands on the steering wheel, shutting his eyes against the painful memory that had defined the whole rest of his life. There were too many ghosts from the past here.

Chris opened his eyes. Through his unfocused gaze and the constant drizzle North Hill now looked shabby. Sad. The shrubbery was out of control, probably no longer manicured by a staff of gardeners. The paint on the gray clapboard house was chipped. In the evening gloom, the three-story mansion was dark and silent. What had happened here? Grandmother Caroline had plenty of money to maintain the house so why had the exterior fallen into such disrepair.

He knew he was late. His grandmother was expecting him, but it appeared no