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Alone in the city without money and friends. Mother and father gone, her home sold over her head, deserted by her only brother - for Marion Warren the world seemed to stop. But her long years of nursing an uncomplaining father had taught her a great lesson. And she stepped bravely into a new life. Things seemed pretty black until the roses came...
One rose changes a young woman’s solitary life forever. After setting out on her own, Marion Warren is overcome with drab routine. Her solution: buy a season ticket to the symphony. But to Marion’s surprise, each night she finds a mysterious crimson rose—and no sign of who left it. Then wealthy Jefferson Lyman whisks into Marion’s already up-turned world, bringing with him socialite Isabel Cresson. Jefferson sets out to win Marion’s heart…but Isabel’s dangerous envy may thwart his chances altogether.
A passion for those around her has made Yolanda Streeter's life take many remarkable turns that she thinks others see as monotonous. She is a lifelong resident of Tampa, Florida, has been married for thirty-three years and is the mother of two sons. She has enjoyed teaching math and science for twenty-five years and tutors while in semi-retirement. The sign in her garden that reads, "Bloom where you're planted" is pointed to as an answer to those who ask what it is like to have lived in the same house for such a long time - one childhood home for two decades, and one adult residence for over three decades. She credits God's hand as the driving force behind her calling to teach and inspire others and finds that new and unexpected adventures give her reason to smile each day in the place where she is. Roses of Crimson is presented as Yolanda Streeter's connection to the past and the future. As a tribute to loved ones, she shares a compilation of biographical snippets and insights gained by observation of lives over the years. She introduces a variety of characters, personalities, and relationships, and tells how Christian faith gave much needed support through tough times. Some episodes give reason to laugh, while others draw deep thought and tears. The author offers an actual and interesting challenge to readers that allow them to start and continue finding and appreciating intriguing connections between seemingly unrelated subjects.
Now in paperback?a novel that ?handily fulfills its promise of intrigue and romance.?(Publishers Weekly) Determined to secure another London season without assistance from her new brother-in-law, Mary Alsworthy accepts a secret assignment from Lord Vaughn on behalf of the Pink Carnation. She must infiltrate the ranks of the dreaded French spy, the Black Tulip, before he and his master can stage their planned invasion of England. Every spy has a weakness and for the Black Tulip that weakness is beautiful black-haired women?his ?petals? of the Tulip. A natural at the art of seduction, Mary easily catches the attention of the French spy, but Lord Vaughn never anticipated that his own heart would be caught as well. Fighting their growing attraction, impediments from their past, and, of course, the French, Mary and Vaughn find themselves lost in a treacherous garden of lies. And as our modern-day heroine, Eloise Kelly, digs deeper into England?s Napoleonic-era espionage, she becomes even more entwined with Colin Selwick, the descendant of her spy subjects.
Seventeen-year-old Shannon Baker is the only one left to care for her feisty but ailing grandmother, Gladys. Medicare covers only so much, and Shannons job at Knotts Berry Farm barely helps. Even with the support of her best friend, Jessie, and the attention of her new lab partner, Sean, the situation looks grim. Then she meets Derek Knight. Hes more domineering than Sean, but he seems to be concerned about her well-being, while Sean has pulled away. Hesitant at first, Shannon finally warms to the idea of Derek. He promises to pay her bills and take care of her and Gladys if shell swear loyalty to him. Its a welcome change until Derek becomes too possessive, and Shannons suspicions about Derek and his fathers hotel heighten, while Shannon is haunted by a poem her mother wrote before she died. Now trapped in an elite gang, Shannon finds herself in the middle of a drug deal gone very wrong. She wants out. A mysterious, tuxedoed man might be the answer to her problems, but the price may be too high.
IS HE HER HERO OR HER WORST NIGHTMARE? Russell Murphy emerges from the New Mexico wilderness as a man on the run from tragedy and guilt. He walks straight into the life of Magdalena Morales, a proud, headstrong woman trying to keep her family's centuries-old legacy out of the hands of a ruthless enemy. An enemy who isn't afraid to kill to get what he wants. Magdalena was raised lovingly by her great-grandmother, Bella Morales, a psychic and tarot reader. When Bella invites the rugged, intense stranger into their lives, Magdalena reluctantly agrees. She decides to trust Bella's judgment this time because ignoring Bella's advice in the past came with a high price. Russell resists becoming involved in the lives of an old witch woman and a dark-haired Hispanic beauty. He prefers to be left alone and to get as far away from any reminders of his past as possible. Despite his best intentions, Magdalena and Bella draw him into a life he has never known, and he vows to protect these women at any cost. Trust develops between them, and with Russell's help, Magdalena's future looks bright. Then, an unimaginable truth from Russell's past confronts her, and she is forced to choose between the man she loves and the cold hard facts.
A little gem of a memoir... The book adds up to more than a sum of its parts and lingers in the memory long after the final page. -- Sunday Telegraph Half a million people a day do it in the Telegraph. The Times claims almost as many, and the Guardian 300,000. Most people remember their first time, and everyone has a favourite. You can do it in bed, standing up, or on a train. You can do it alone, with a loved one or in groups. The Queen does it in the bath. It is not illegal, immoral or fattening. In fact it tops the Home Office list of approved entertainments for prison inmates. Crosswords are a very British obsession. Crosswords are a very British obsession. Pretty Girl in Crimson Rose is a personal reminiscence and a guide to solving crossword puzzles. But it is much, much more than a 'how-to' book. Each chapter is starts with a clue, and uses anecdote, history and autobiography to solve it, in the process describing something of what it means to love England. In the process, we encounter The Best Crossword Clue Ever, The Most Beautiful Clue in the World 'Pretty Girl in Crimson Rose' and the eccentric personalities behind such legendary compilers as the Guardian's Araucaria and The Times'Ximenes.
The girl-soldiers stood about carelessly, there in the snow among the silver birches and pines. They looked like boys in overcoats and boots and tall wool caps, leaning at ease there on their heavy rifles. Some were only fifteen years of age. Some had been servants, some saleswomen, stenographers, telephone operators, dressmakers, workers in the fields, students at the university, dancers, laundresses. And a few had been born into the aristocracy. They came, too, from all parts of the huge, sprawling Empire, these girl-soldiers of the Battalion of Death––and there were Cossack girls and gypsies among them––girls from Finland, Courland, from the Urals, from Moscow, from Siberia––from North, South, East, West. There were Jewesses from the Pale and one Jewess from America in the ranks; there were Chinese girls, Poles, a child of fifteen from Trebizond, a Japanese girl, a French peasant lass; and there were Finns, too, and Scandinavians––all with clipped hair under the astrakhan caps––sturdy, well shaped, soldierly girls who handled their heavy rifles without effort and carried a regulation equipment as though it were a sheaf of flowers. Their commanding officer was a woman of forty. She lounged in front of the battalion in the snow, consulting with half a dozen officers of a man’s regiment. The colour guard stood grouped around the battalion colours, where its white and gold folds swayed languidly in the breeze, and clots of virgin snow fell upon it, shaken down from the pines by the cannonade. Estridge gazed at them in silence. In his man’s mind one thought dominated––the immense pity of it all. And there was a dreadful fascination in looking at these girl soldiers, whose soft, warm flesh was so soon to be mangled by shrapnel and slashed by bayonets.