tailieunhanh - The Woman from Paris

Marie St. Clair believes she has been jilted by her artist fiance Jean when he fails to meet her at the railway station. She goes off to Paris alone. A year later, mistress of wealthy Pierre Revel, she meets Jean again. Misinterpreting events she bounces back and forth between apparent security and true love. Also misinterpreting, Jean commits suicide. | CREATOR OF DOWNTON ABBEY Santa Montefiore really knows these people inside and out. I couldn t put this book down. -JULIAN FELLOWES Purchase your copy of The Woman from Paris from one of these retailers Order a copy BARNES NOBLE WWW .11 IL CUI n BOOK5AMILLION Walmart ip Download amazon kindle . 7 nook by Barnes Noble Visit Santa Montefiore s website @SantaMontefiore @simonbooks SimonandSchuster 1 Hampshire 2012 Cy he beginning of March had been glorious. The earth had shaken off the early-morning frosts and little buds had emerged through the hardened bark to reveal lime-green shoots and pale-pink blossoms. Daffodils had pushed their way up through the thawing ground to open into bright-yellow trumpets and the sun had shone with renewed radiance. Birdsong filled the air and the branches were once again aquiver with the busy bustle of nest building. It had been a triumphant start to spring. Fairfield Park had never looked more beautiful. Built on swathes of fertile farmland the Jacobean mansion was surrounded by sweeping lawns ancient bluebell woods and fields of thriving crops and buttercups. There was a large ornamental lake where frogs made their homes among the bulrushes and goldfish swam about the lily pads. Towering beech trees protected the house from hostile winds in winter and gave shelter to hundreds of narcissi in spring. A nest of barn owls had set up residence in the hollow of an apple tree and fed off the mice and rats that dwelt on the farm and in the log barn and high on the hill surveying it all with the patience of a wise old man a neglected stone folly was hidden away like a forgotten treasure. Abandoned to the corrosion of time and weather the pretty little folly remained benignly observant confident that one day a great need would surely draw people to it as light to lost souls. Yet today no one below could even see those honey-colored walls and fine sturdy pillars for the estate