Shivering, she pulled the wet blanket around her shoulders, staring at the granite wall before her. The passage had led her here to the edge of a moat, where roses still bloomed, their glorious petals wild shades of peach, yellow and blood-red. She had always loved roses. Growing up, she had had a skill for nursing the weakest plant back to health. But these roses were like none that she had seen before. Despite her fear, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from the ancient weathered wall covered by vines. Every bud hung dense with petals, cupping inward in tight layers. These were nothing like the insipid hybrids so popular back in the United States. Even in the gusting rain, their perfume was overpowering. Rich and sweet, they reached out, calling Clair to a place that felt like… Home You came. You will be safe here, the house whispered. The muddy slope glittered in a flash of lightning as names flashed into her mind. Fantin Latour. Maiden’s Blush. Gloire de Dijon. Clair could see their colors now, even in the dark.
What do You think about Christmas At Draycott Abbey?
