By Philippa Gregory

Beatrice Lacey, as strong-minded as she is gorgeous, refuses to comply to the social customs of her time. Destined to lose her kin identify and loved Wideacre property as soon as she is wed, Beatrice will use any skill essential to shield her ancestral history. Seduction, betrayal, even homicide -- Beatrice's ardour is with no apology or moral sense. "She is a Lacey of Wideacre," her father warns, "and no matter what she does, although she behaves, will regularly be fitting." but while Beatrice's scheming turns out approximately to yield her dream, she is haunted by way of the single dwelling one that is familiar with the level of her plans...and her potential for evil.
Sumptuously set in Georgian England, Wideacre is extremely gripping, wealthy in texture, and entire of colour and authenticity. it's a saga as impossible to resist in its singular magic as its heroine.

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Why did I break out crying? Why did such a feeling of desolation sweep over me? I'd learned a long time ago that tears were no route to Granny's heart. She would be more likely to stop them with a slap than a kiss. I stumbled to the door, careless of the cold December drizzle and the darkness that had now fallen, wanting only to go into Blackie's byre and lay my head down on her rough warm neck and cry there. But Granny barred my way. " The rough sympathy in her voice was so unexpected that I was shocked into silence.

Even I'm scared of you, most of the time. " She gave me a shrewd look. "Is that a dig at me? I suppose I've earned it. And it's what I would do, right now, if there'd been more in this whiskey bottle to give me the courage. But we'll bide our time on the buckle. The moment for it will come. " Chapter 5 Ebenezer Macbean lived for another six weeks. All that time I watched the comings and goings from the Macbean farm with dread, but as the weeks passed and nothing happened, I began to feel hopeful that Granny had been wrong and that he would live after all.

I held my breath, willing her to go on. She only heaved a sigh. "Your father came and took her. She died. He died. And here we are, you and me. Evil came to me, you see? All my life. Sorrow and death and evil. " I'm not an evil, I thought rebelliously. She read my mind, as she often seemed to do, and jabbed a dirty finger toward me. "You, Maggie, are no evil, but the hope of my life. And I wish good on you. Only good. But you're weak. If they harm you and insult you, you cry and run away. You must turn.

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