A Perfect Devon Manor

by Debbie Morrison

She What if becoming the perfect wife meant losing the woman you used to be?
Christina Pemberton – born plain Tina Miller – may be a skilled restorer of antique silver, but to her husband’s old-money family, she is still tarnished goods. They won’t quite let her in to their rarified world, and it's tearing her marriage apart.

Desperate to prove herself worthy, Christina makes a decision that weighs heavily on her conscience. But then a secret from her past threatens to resurface, and Christina faces an impossible choice between the world she aspires to join, and the life that shaped her.

This is a warm, gripping tale of family, legacy, love, and second chances, set in a beautiful house on the rugged North Devon coast, perfect for fans of Phillipa Ashley, Tilly Tennant, and Sue Moorcroft. Readers love the Brambleton Series! ‘An absolutely gorgeous page-turner. Wow, just wow!!’ Kirsty Whitlock
‘A fast-paced story that will lift your spirits’ Leanne Bookstagram
‘Full of community… a truly gorgeous read’ Splashes into Books
‘Sparkled with believability’ Helen Hollick
‘Light-hearted yet tinged with sadness’ Stacy WH
‘I’m so glad I took a chance on this author – I struck gold’ Mrs Bee
‘This book felt like getting a huge hug’ Yorkshire Carly



A Perfect Devon Manor is a warm, emotionally satisfying midlife romance set in an enchanting Devon manor. Expect a marriage in trouble, self-rediscovery, second chances, and falling in love again, with high-stakes family drama, village intrigue, a glimpse into the rarified world of antique silver restoration, and a life-affirming happily ever after.

Each Brambleton book is a complete standalone story – set in the same Devon village. These books can be read in any order. Start wherever you like.

376 pages, Paperback

Published February 12, 2026

About the author

Once upon a time, I was a perfectly respectable London professional — a chartered accountant with a law degree, a Blackberry (remember those?), and too many sensible shoes. Then common sense prevailed, romance called, and I swapped London’s Zone One for Devon’s zero signal. I still wonder if leaving the City was brave or simply plot research taken to a reckless extreme.

Now my “head office” is a polytunnel: no Wi-Fi, but plenty of fresh air and flourishing tomatoes. The plants photosynthesise while I draft havoc; technically off-grid, creatively on fire.

Meanwhile, the dogs run the editorial obstruction department. They possess zero publishing experience yet veto scenes with a single raised paw — their union insists on edible compensation only.

These days, I know the real price of life’s essentials: a good haircut, a great friend, and the joy of a proper night’s sleep.

I write love stories for grown-ups — warm, witty, stuffed with second chances and that peculiar dynamic where affection and exasperation create irresistible chemistry – for better for worse...

Think of my indie “publishing house” as one woman, no award-strewn empire, no two-legged staff — just me, two obstinate dogs, and a biscuit budget.

I’ve tried not writing. It didn’t go well so I need readers. Not many, just the excellent sort who laugh in the right places.