Christmas at Rosewood. Sophie Pembroke

       Looking for the perfect Christmas? Then take a trip to Rosewood this winter and watch the snow fall – the perfect festive getaway!

      All Freya Hollis wants to do is hide from the world, instead she’s spending Christmas Eve driving her son and nagging mother through the snowy countryside to spend the holidays at Rosewood, with her brother’s new family.

      Already nervous about trying to merge two family traditions together, Freya is shocked to find out that Rosewood has an extra guest for Christmas… Aiden, her brother’s best friend and the – almost – love of her life.

      She’s never told anyone about the Christmas they spent together and has no intention of dredging it up now! Except Rosewood has a way of drawing out even your most buried secrets and Freya might discover that this ghost from Christmas past could just be a part of her future…

       Spend your Christmas at Rosewood with this gorgeous novella and prepare yourself for family, snow and romance!

       Christmas at Rosewood

      Sophie Pembroke

       SOPHIE PEMBROKE

      has been dreaming, reading and writing romance ever since she read her first Mills & Boon as part of her English Literature degree at Lancaster University, so getting to write for a living really is a dream come true!

      Born in Abu Dhabi, Sophie grew up in Wales and now lives in a little Hertfordshire market town with her scientist husband, her incredibly imaginative seven-year-old daughter, and her adventurous, adorable baby boy.

      In Sophie’s world, happy is for ever after, everything stops for tea, and there’s always time for one more page…

      Get all of Sophie’s latest news first at www.SophiePembroke.com.

      For my Gran, Lesley Kathleen Stella Cannon

      and in memory of my Grandpa, William Charles Cannon

      with so much Christmas love xxx

       Contents

       Cover

       Blurb

       Title Page

       Author Bio

       Dedication

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Excerpt

       Endpages

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      The local radio station, the only one we could get decent reception for in the car, was playing Driving Home For Christmas. Outside, tiny flakes of snow were just starting to flutter down from the stone-grey clouds, coating the bare branches of the trees that lined the country road. It was one of those quintessential, perfect Christmas Eve moments.

      Except we weren’t driving home for Christmas. We were driving to Rosewood House, and that made everything feel different. All I could think about was how different this Christmas would be to all the others – all the familiar little traditions and rituals that wouldn’t happen, and the strange new ones we’d have to adopt. Not to mention the people who wouldn’t be there to share it.

      Christmas always made me a little nostalgic, wistful for the better years gone by – which probably weren’t as brilliant as I remembered them anyway, really. But this year it was hitting me harder than ever. All I really wanted to do this December twenty-fifth was curl up in a cocoon of blankets with a bottle of fizz and It’s a Wonderful Life on the telly. Mostly because it hadn’t been, lately – a wonderful life, that is.

      Oh, I had faith that it would be again – whatever my mother said. But still, I wasn’t much in the mood for socialising with strangers – let alone strangers who were apparently my little brother’s new family.

      Edward and his girlfriend, Saskia, had invited us to Saskia’s family home for Christmas three months ago, and it wasn’t really the sort of invitation I was in a position to say no to. Mum was so excited to see Edward happy again, and the cocoon plan would probably have meant sending Max to his dad’s for the festivities, and that wasn’t an option, either. If a man walks out on his family in September, you don’t reward him in December with the company of his only son for the big day itself. That’s a basic rule, right?

      Next year, maybe. If, by some freak chance, next year brought with it calm and order and less of the constant buzz of what happens next, what do I do now?

      Maybe by then my mother would have stopped going on about how important it was for a boy to have his father around, and mumsplaining why my marriage had failed and how she thought I should win it back. That would be nice.

      Anyway, the point was, even with all the family drama I had going on, nobody turned down an invitation to Rosewood. Especially now.

      So that’s how I found myself indicating to turn onto yet another long and winding country road that apparently led to Rosewood House, Mum in the passenger seat beside me and Max in the back seat.

      Mum’s phone rang in her hand, and she pressed the end call button without even answering. Instead, she reached out to fiddle with the radio dial, losing us Chris Rea in the hope of getting a decent reception for Radio 4. ‘Sales call,’ she said when I gave her a questioning look.

      Right. The third one she’d ignored since we left London.

      ‘You should change your number,’ I suggested, but she ignored me, still adjusting the static.

      ‘Anyway. All I’m saying, Freya, is that it’s never too late,’ Mum said, talking over the buzz.

      I glanced up at the rear-view mirror. Max sat in the back, eyes glued to his tablet the way they had been since we left