A Christmas Miracle is the fourth book in the Winsford Green series but it can easily be read as a standalone. It’s a short novel/long novella and I loved it so much that I read it straight through without stopping. This whole series is fantastic and if you’re looking for another good Christmas story, I can highly recommend the first book in this series, Dances Long Forgotten, as well as this newest one.

Ruby Moone’s writing has a way of gutting me in places but never fails to put me back together again and A Christmas Miracle is no exception. I loved how Alfie has created a safe place for his found family and could appreciate how they all felt threatened when a new owner came to Darley Hall.

Jolyon is still suffering from the trauma of war and his inheritance of Darley Hall is an unexpected but welcome blessing. He’s wary of Alfie and his obvious lack of experience as a servant but it doesn’t take long for Jo to realize what a gem Alfie and the others are.

There are many tender moments in this story, many that brought tears to my eyes, but there are also some very light-hearted moments that made me smile. There is a scene having to do with a baby and it’s explosive and smelly event that was really entertaining.

I loved everything about this story and can’t recommend it highly enough. I hope Ruby Moone continues to write more books in this wonderful series.

Reviews for Ruby Moone

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It was the distinct lack of deference in the servant standing before him that alerted Mr. Jolyon Mortimer Devereaux that all might not be well in his newly discovered ancestral home, Darley Hall. Granted, no-one had expected him to inherit. It had taken a war with France and an outbreak of fever to dispense with several members of his extended family, leaving the entire estate to someone from a largely unknown cadet branch of the family: him.

Jo looked at the man standing before him, Mr. Hope, if he recalled correctly. The man would be better suited to prize fighting or running a tavern in the seedier side of London. A tall, burly young chap with straggly dark hair roughly scraped back in an unfashionable queue with one strand hanging by his cheek. Shifty, dark blue eyes and a blade of a nose that had clearly been broken, more than once, completed the ensemble. A potentially charming dimple lurked in one cheek when he smiled, but Jo paid it no attention. He was far too exhausted.

“Mr. Devereaux.” Hope nodded his head in some approximation of a bow and shifted uneasily on his feet. “We only received word of your arrival yesterday, but we have made every effort to ensure your comfort.” His words were as stilted and uncomfortable as his bow. Had Jo been a stickler, or less exhausted, he would have been significantly more concerned than he currently was.

“A light meal and a bed will suffice. We can discuss arrangements tomorrow.”

“Have you brought staff, sir?”

Jo shook his head. “Are there staff in residence?”

Hope looked even shiftier and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes sir, we’ve kept the place tidy and stopped it falling apart as best we could, but no-one has been here this last five years. Old Mr. Mortimer lived in London and never came here.”

“There’s a cook?”

Hope nodded with a smile.

Thank God for that. If he’d have had to mess about finding staff… Jo sighed. “Then I’ll manage.”

“Um… I can take your bags to your chamber and arrange for some refreshment?” Hope hesitated. “Sir,” he added after a moment.

“If the room is ready, I’ll take refreshment in there.” He sincerely hoped that there was a good fire in the bed chamber, for the weather was damnably cold even for November and the parlour in which he stood was perishing despite the fire crackling in the grate.

Hope gave him a nervous smile. “Um… it will be … Have a seat and I’ll bring you some tea whilst I sort it out.” He gestured to a chair by the fire.

Jo blinked and quelled the bubble of hysterical laughter that threatened at the sheer informality of the man.

“Thank you. Most kind.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Dear God, what on earth had he got himself into? The man was barely civilised and certainly didn’t recognise sarcasm. “Mr. Hope?”

The man turned around with eyebrows raised in enquiry and a smile that revealed the dimple. Despite his exhaustion, Jo didn’t miss the fact that the man’s gaze took him in from head to foot.

“What did you say your role in the household was?”

“Me?” He laid a hand on his chest. “Well, I suppose I am the … ah… um … estate manager.” He scratched his head. “Yes, that’s it, estate manager.”

“We don’t have a butler?”

“That’s … probably me too.”

Jo couldn’t say he was entirely surprised. He waved the man away and slumped into the chair closest to the fire and closed his eyes.

Winsford Green Series

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