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    Ghosts of Grace Cottage
    Ghosts of Grace Cottage
    Ghosts of Grace Cottage
    Ebook87 pages59 minutes

    Ghosts of Grace Cottage

    By Carolyn Wren

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    About this ebook

    Two is good. Sometimes three is better.

    Returning home for Christmas and a new start, Eloise Waters settles on a small country cottage in a sleepy English village, despite the fact its previous owner was a recluse, the original owner was supposedly a witch, and it's now rumoured to be haunted!

    On the first night in her new home, sensual erotic dreams surprise and delight her. Only these aren't dreams. The rumours are true. Two handsome Regency ghosts inhabit the cottage, becoming corporeal at night, trapped by a curse, compelled to satisfy every desire of the new owner. Elly begins to fall in love with Anton and Phillipe, her charming ghostly lovers.

    But is there more? Can the curse be broken? Or does Elly risk her own soul? As Christmas approaches, and memories surface, how will Elly choose? How can she possibly leave behind the Ghosts of Grace Cottage?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGumnut Press
    Release dateJul 3, 2019
    ISBN9780648372981
    Ghosts of Grace Cottage
    Author

    Carolyn Wren

    Carolyn Wren was born just outside of London and moved with her family to Western Australia when she was four.  They returned to England when she was eight and came back again when she was eleven, all by cruise ship, meaning Carolyn had traversed most of the words oceans before she became a teenager.  The resulting passion for travel has never left her.  ​After a working life in the finance sector, Carolyn began writing fiction in 2009, for fun.  She won the very first writing contest she entered which gave her the incentive to keep going.  As of 2019, she’s published over a dozen stories through USA and Australian publishers, with upcoming releases through a UK publishing house.  Her award tally so far is 6 wins and 14 finalist placings from all around the world.  The trophies and certificates are displayed with a great deal of pride. ​She’s a proud member of the Romance Writers of Australia.  Australian Romance Readers Association.  Australian Society of Authors, and the KSP Writers’ Centre. ​Carolyn doesn’t like to limit herself to one genre, preferring to let her characters take control. The resulting stories can range from light hearted comedic contemporary through to sexy, action packed romantic suspense and emotion driven urban fantasy.  Because she’s a true romantic at heart, one thing remains constant in all her books, she loves a happy ending. You can find Carolyn at the following links: ​https://carolynwren.com/ https://www.facebook.com/carolynwrenauthor https://www.instagram.com/carolynwrenauthor/ https://twitter.com/carolyn_wren

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      Book preview

      Ghosts of Grace Cottage - Carolyn Wren

      CHAPTER 1

      A re you sure?

      Elly grinned at her friend. "Sal, I think you’re doing this wrong. You’re a realtor and I’m looking for a house. Your job is to talk me into buying, not out of it."

      Sally, her lifelong buddy and trainee real estate agent, looked dubious. It’s old.

      Elly let her gaze wander over the deep red bricks of the cottage, which were almost obscured by the climbing white roses. She saw the faded paint on the window frames and doors, the cracked tiles on the roof. None of that mattered. Something about this place called to her, tugged at her. Imagine it with snow on the roof.

      I’m imagining the roof collapsing.

      Just look at those flowers. Whoever heard of roses blooming so close to Christmas?

      It’s a freaky property. The climbing white roses bloom all year round. The bushes in the front garden don’t bloom at all, ever.

      Imagine lying in bed and letting the fragrance waft over you.

      Imagine lying in bed and letting the freezing cold wind waft over you from the cracks in the wall, caused by the climbing roses penetrating the mortar between the bricks.

      You do realize, Sal, you have no romance in your life.

      I have plenty of romance in my life. It’s six inches long and comes with batteries. Sally turned to her. Are you sure you want to rush into something now? So close to Christmas?

      Yes. I’ve spent the last twelve months travelling. It’s time to come home.

      But.... Sally’s words trailed off.

      Elly put an arm around her shoulder. I know it’s the first Christmas without my parents. Life goes on.

      You’re so brave.

      No, I’m not. Even after a year. Maybe it’s because I know I’ll see them again one day. You can’t avoid bringing up the subject of Christmas with me. It’s everywhere I look. She gestured to the fairy lights in the trees and the snowman in the garden next door. Just because I’m not up to all the festivities this year doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer.

      I don’t know why you don’t buy a lovely, new place with the life insurance money.

      My folks always wanted a country cottage. Maybe, in some way, I’m fulfilling their dream.

      Sally yanked the collar of her coat higher as a chilly breeze flew along the quiet country lane. You know she died there, she whispered. The previous owner, I mean.

      Miss Hardy was ninety-two years old. She had to die somewhere.

      Doesn’t it freak you out?

      Nope, from what I hear, she had a long and happy life.

      Really? Sally shivered. I don’t know where you get that idea. She was a recluse who wouldn’t let anyone inside the house to do repairs or renovations. That’s why it’s so cheap. Did you hear the rumors? Some people say she used to talk to herself, and strange noises came from inside late at night. Her voice dropped back to a whisper. Maybe it’s haunted. I heard another rumor, too. They say a witch might have lived here a couple of hundred years ago.

      Elly laughed. Sal, honey, I think you need to go back to realtor school. Your selling method leaves a lot to be desired. Her eyes turned once again to the faded beauty of the old home, and her voice was determined. I want it.

      WATCH THE LAMP, ELLY called out to the moving man.

      With his work-worn shirt hanging over a large stomach, his trousers drooped alarmingly over a pair of what looked like canary-yellow boxer shorts. Sorry. He looked back at her with a grin, sidestepping the glass Tiffany lamp to place a box of her kitchenware on the counter.

      Why are you keeping all this stuff? Sally asked, staggering through the front door, carrying another box and blowing a lock of hair off her forehead.

      It’s my stuff.

      No, I mean Miss Hardy’s furniture and things.

      Elly glanced around the sunlit room, with its elegant furnishings and photographs on the mantel. She walked over and picked up a silver, gilt-edged frame. The house came fully furnished. You know that. The furniture is lovely, much nicer than mine. Why shouldn’t I keep it?

      Sally huffed out a breath and dropped the box on a walnut coffee table. That isn’t furniture. She gestured to the photo in Elly’s hand.

      Elly traced the frame with her finger. I know. I can’t just throw it away. This was her life, her story. The black-and-white picture in her hand featured a dark-haired woman in her thirties with sparkling eyes. Is this Miss Hardy?

      The mover turned, wiping his face on his shirt. Elly tried not to look at the vast expanse of stomach the action revealed. Yes, that’s her, not that I ever met her. My dad did, though.

      She’s beautiful. Look, Sal. Isn’t she beautiful?

      Was, Sally said pragmatically. She’s dead, and her stuff is now cluttering up your ancient, falling-down house when you should be in a shiny new apartment, bought with your inheritance. Sally squeezed her friend’s arm. Sorry. That came out horrid. I didn’t mean to bring up your parents’ death again.

      Elly gave her a warm smile. Poor Miss Hardy’s death is fine to talk about, I guess? She put the photo back on the mantel and pulled her friend close for a hug. It’s fine, Sal. Yes, I miss my folks. The car accident was a dreadful shock, but don’t worry about me. I adore this house.

      Sally peered

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