There’s festive and then there’s "let’s throw a Victorian Christmas party while everyone’s lying about something and the ghosts are beefing" festive... and Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House said, what if we do both? At once. In a village where the yuletide cheer is practically mandatory and even the afterlife gets seasonal depression.
This one picks up with Clara, a woman who has three kids, one very emotionally stunted husband, and what she thinks is perimenopause. Spoiler alert: it’s not. And that one not-perimenopausal twist is the first domino in a full-blown Christmas chaos avalanche. Listen. Clara is tired. She's forty-one, stuck between a crumbling model village business and the growing dread of becoming nothing but “mum” forever. I get it. She wants to claw back some sense of identity, maybe start a business, maybe not lose her mind. But unfortunately, she’s also been harboring a MASSIVE secret from Jack for, oh, I don’t know, FIFTEEN YEARS. And not a cute “I ate your Terry’s Chocolate Orange” kind of secret... this one is nuclear.
Meanwhile, over at Harling Hall, our favorite spectral duo, Agnes and Aubrey, are going full drama llama. Agnes is clinging to secrets like they're her last pearls, and Aubrey, literal ghost cinnamon roll that he is, just wants to put on a scarf, wander the Dickensian festival, and support their ghost-daughter like the king he is. But Agnes says no, and not just no, but passive-aggressive, steely-eyed, Regency-era absolutely not. And you just know when the ghosts start bickering, the living aren’t safe either.
Here’s the thing. This book wants to be a cozy slice of haunted holiday cake, and sometimes it really is. When it leans into the setting... the frosty air, the village-wide festivities, the quiet love between exhausted parents who’ve forgotten how to look at each other... it shines. But emotionally? We’re trapped in a snow globe of poor communication and suppressed resentment.
Clara’s choices… I want to hold her hand and slap her gently with a mitten at the same time. Her lie wasn’t just big... it rewrote her whole relationship. And Jack? Let’s just say his reaction is... complicated. Like, “Sir, why are you apologizing?” complicated. It’s giving, “I’ll suppress all my emotions and forgive you because it’s Christmas” and that’s romantic, sure, but also deeply unhealthy. Still, their dynamic did feel painfully real... messy, layered, weirdly codependent... and you know I live for that chaos.
But the real heartbreak? Agnes. Girl. GIRL. You had decades... literal decades, like, since the Victorian era... to come clean, and you still chose the dramatic martyr route. I felt for her, I did. But watching her project her trauma onto everyone around her while Aubrey kept being a damn saint about it? I wanted to shake her until her bonnet fell off. Aubrey deserved better. I’d haunt a better manor house for him.
Also, bonus drama points to the side characters who popped in just to drop emotional bombs or deliver judgmental glances like plot grenades. Lawrie, specifically, can go stand in a snowbank and think about what he did.
Is it perfect? Nope. The resolution feels a bit too tidy given the level of betrayal involved. Some forgiveness gets handed out faster than mulled wine at a village fair, and I’m not totally sold on the emotional math. But did it give me enough ghost angst, marital drama, and Christmas chaos to keep turning the pages? Absolutely. Three stars, would visit Rowan Vale again.
Big thanks to Boldwood Books and NetGalley for the ARC. I haven’t screamed “MA’AM?!” at a fictional ghost and a mother of three since I accidentally watched The Others on wine night. This book had me decorating my imaginary tree with passive aggression, repressed trauma, and the tinsel of marital distrust. Bless you for letting me unwrap that emotional grenade early.