He called himself Peregrine, the wanderer, and he came to London for revenge…
Like the falcon he named himself for, Peregrine is wild and free, an exotic prince who fascinates 1839 London with his wealth, mystery, and dangerous allure. He emerged from his mysterious Asiatic past to exact retribution for an appalling crime. Nothing and no one can stop him—except perhaps Lady Sara St. James, whose fragile beauty conceals a gentle heart, genuine goodness, and a soul of steel.
Unable to resist his seductive charm, Lady Sara turns away from her ordered life to embrace a man she loves, but cannot fully trust. In Sara, Peregrine sees a chance for a life beyond revenge. But can he keep her without revealing his devastating secrets? Or protect her from the enemy he has vowed to destroy?
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Even before it was adapted into the Oscar-nominated film starring Juliette Binoche and Johnny Depp, Joanne Harris’ New York Times bestselling novel Chocolat entranced readers with its mix of hedonism, whimsy, and, of course, chocolate.
In tiny Lansquenet, where nothing much has changed in a hundred years, beautiful newcomer Vianne Rocher and her exquisite chocolate shop arrive and instantly begin to play havoc with Lenten vows. Each box of luscious bonbons comes with a free gift: Vianne’s uncanny perception of its buyer’s private discontents and a clever, caring cure for them. Is she a witch? Soon the parish no longer cares, as it abandons itself to temptation, happiness, and a dramatic face-off between Easter solemnity and the pagan gaiety of a chocolate festival. Chocolat‘s every page offers a description of chocolate to melt in the mouths of chocoholics, francophiles, armchair gourmets, cookbook readers, and lovers of passion everywhere. It’s a must for anyone who craves an escapist read, and is a bewitching gift for any holiday.
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When my husband Oliver died, my life ended. My purpose, my passion, my everything bled out with him on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway.
Ollie was an organ donor. His eyes, his brain, his lungs, his heart…parts of my Ollie went out and saved lives.
Then his heart, beating in another man’s chest, found its way back to me, and I found myself faced with an impossible choice: hold on to the pain and beauty of the past and the memory of the man I loved, or reach for a bold new future, knowing each heartbeat will be a reminder of all I’ve lost.
I wasn’t supposed to live past thirty.
My grandfather died at forty-five. Heart failure.
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