Excerpt from Black Rabbit Hall by Eve Chase, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

He runs a hand through his corn-colored hair, sun-bleached almost white at the tips. "One more shot?"

She beams back. She loves this man. 

"To hell with it, let's go this way. We've got a one-in-four chance of getting it right.  Hopefully we'll shake the tractor." He  presses his foot hard on the gas.

They don't shake  it. 

The  rain  continues to fall. The windscreen is mashed  with  cow­ parsley petals,  pushed  into snowy drifts by the squeaking wipers.  Lor­ na's heart  beats a little  faster  beneath the crisp cotton of her dress.

Even  though  she  can't   see  much   beyond   the   rivulets  of  rain running down the  window,  she  knows  that  the  wooded  valleys, river creeks,  and deserted little  coves of the Roseland Peninsula lie beyond the  glass,  and  she  can  sense  them  already,  hulking out  there  in  the mist. She remembers being on these roads as a kid-they visited Corn­ wall  most  summers-and how  the  sea  air  would  rush  through the wound-down window,   blowing  away the  last  trapped bits  of grimy Greater London, and  the stitch  of tension on her mother's face.

An  anxious woman, her  mother suffered from  insomnia all  her life:  the  seaside  seemed  to  be the  only  place she could  sleep.  When Lorna was little, she wondered if the Cornish air swirled  with strange sleepy  fumes,  like  the  poppy  field  in  The Wizard of Oz.  Now  a small
voice in her head cannot help wondering if it swirls with family secrets. But she decides to keep this thought to herself.

"Are you sure  this  old pile actually exists,  Lorna?"  Jon's arms  are straight and stiff at the wheel, eyes reddening with strain. 

"It exists." She pulls up  her long, dark  hair, twisting it into  a top­ knot.  A few strands escape, fringing her pale neck. She feels the heat of his glance:  he loves her neck, the soft baby skin  just below her ears.

"Remind me again." His eyes return to the road. "Some old manor house you visited with  your m urn while on holiday down here?" "That's right." She nods  enthusiastically.

"Your  mum  enjoyed  a stately, Iknow that."  He  frowns up at the mirror. The  rain  is falling in undulating silver sheets  now. "But  how can you be sure it's this one?"

"Pencraw Hall popped up  on some  online wedding directory. I recognized it straightaway."
Already so many  things have faded-the hyacinth notes of her mother's favorite  perfume, the exact click of her tongue as she  searched for  her  reading glasses-but  in  the  last  few weeks other memories, long forgotten, seemingly random, have come into unexpected bright  focus. And this is one of them.  "Mum pointing up at this  big old house.  The  look of awe in her eyes. It sort  of stuck with  me." She  swivels  the  diamond engagement ring  on  her finger, remembering other things too.  A  pink-striped paper   bag  of fudge heavy  in  her  hand. A  river.  "Yes,  I'm  almost   certain it's  the  same house."

"Almost?" Jon shakes his head, laughs, one ofhis big belly laughs that rumble against  his ribs. "God, I must love you."

They drive  in companionable silence  for a moment, Jon thought­ful. "Last day tomorrow, sweetheart." 

Excerpted from Black Rabbit Hall by Eve Chase. Copyright © 2016 by Eve Chase. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.