Elizabeth Thornton

And the pity of it was that, had she done so, her anxieties these many weeks past would have been easier to bear.

sunshine. It had been done over in her mother’s favorite color, from pale primrose yellow

Quick, Germaine! Fetch a glass of wine.”
A strong arm supported Zoë. She lifted her lashes

gleam in his eyes. “‘Medea’? Believe me, Catherine, I would rather stay home with you and argue the