The Unexpected Heiress Read online

  Just before her father passed away, Meredith had even spoken with an editor at Scribner’s Publishing in New York about having it published. Mr. Robinson had read the first few chapters and had been very interested in her story. After saying that her plotline was intriguing and her writing was quite good, he had asked her to return to his office when the manuscript was completed.

  Now all her hopes would have to wait indefinitely.

  Because in the meantime, she was obligated to marry a very wealthy Englishman she had yet to meet, in order to save herself from destitution. Now that sounded exactly like the plot of a novel!

  How would she ever be able to find a husband who would support her writing career, let alone encourage her? It didn’t seem possible.

  In general, men were very dismissive of the pursuits of women, but husbands seemed to be downright against anything their wives wished to do on their own. Becoming a married woman who had to bow to her husband’s wishes, while denying that she had any ambitions of her own, did not appeal to Meredith in the least.

  She had been most fortunate that her father had been so immersed in his oil business that he’d been content to let Meredith pursue her interest in writing. But then again, her father had had no inkling of just how serious his daughter was about becoming a published author. He had always dismissed her little stories as a harmless hobby and gave it no more thought than that.

  Wondering why her life, and those of most women, had to be so complicated, Meredith glanced up from the pages of her book and found the eyes of a man upon her.

  He hastily turned away when she looked over at him, but he had definitely been staring at her.

  My, my! He was quite the handsome fellow!

  He was young, perhaps not much older than she was. He had black hair combed rather rakishly back from a clean-shaven face that accentuated a strong jawline and straight nose. His intelligent green eyes, which had remarkably long lashes for a man, were framed by thick, dark brows, giving his face an intriguing appearance. He lounged his tall and broad figure rather casually against the front counter near the entrance, his elbow propped up on the surface and his chin resting in his hand, while his coat was draped over one arm, hat in hand. He looked a trifle bored.

  There he was.

  A typical entitled English lord. He just had to be. He carried himself with a privileged air, as if the world and all that was in it belonged to him and him alone.

  His eyes turned toward her again. For the briefest of moments they held each other’s gaze.

  Then Meredith quickly looked down, a bit embarrassed to be caught perusing him so boldly. She attempted to be absorbed in Tess’s story, but she could still feel his inquisitive eyes upon her, and her skin tingled.

  She couldn’t help herself. . . . She looked up again.

  As he glanced away, she studied him a bit more.

  He was really rather gorgeous. Perfect looking, if the truth was told. She had never seen a man so rivetingly handsome. And it wasn’t just his classically masculine features. It was his entire presence. The man practically oozed charm and strength and decadence. He would be just the sort of man she would write about as a wicked villain in one of her stories.

  His eyes moved back to her, and she hastily glanced back down at her book.

  It was infuriating the way he stared at her so boldly!

  Peeking back up at him once more, she caught his gaze again. This time he did not avert his eyes.

  He stared directly at her. A lazy half-smile played across his suggestive lips, almost as if he were daring her to keep staring at him.

  Not one to back down from a challenge, Meredith kept her eyes firmly on the audaciously handsome gentleman, yet her heart raced a little and her cheeks warmed under his blatant regard.

  His charismatic smile broadened, revealing straight white teeth and the hint of a dimple on one side, and she was momentarily blinded by the impact of it. The man was devastatingly handsome, and he knew it. Which annoyed her. He was probably used to women swooning over him. Flirting with him.

  Well, Meredith Rose Remington would not be one of them!

  She refocused her gaze, giving him an imperious look. She was not going to be intimidated by him. And just what was he doing there anyway? As he lolled against the counter, he clearly wasn’t looking to purchase a book. It almost seemed as if he was waiting for someone.

  Then he winked at her.

  Meredith blinked with surprise but did not look askance. She remained fixed on his bold eyes.

  How dare he wink at her so brazenly! The effrontery!

  They hadn’t even been properly introduced! Shameless man! She gave him a pointedly disdainful and frosty look. His smile deepened, and he looked as if he was going to laugh at her.

  Meredith had had enough.

  She turned her attention back to Tess of the d’Urbervilles, but the words on the page made no sense to her. Insolent beast! If all the men in England were like him, she would sail on the next ship back to New York and gladly starve on the streets.

  The bells above the door of the bookshop jingled, causing Meredith to look in his direction once more. He seemed about to move toward her, which caused her a moment of pure, undiluted panic, but then he hesitated when two young children barreled past him.

  “Merry! Merry!”

  Her young cousins, Harry and Lilly, had spied her immediately and scampered to where she sat reading.

  “Mother told us to come get you, Merry. She’s ready to return home now,” Harry announced, full of importance.

  His ten-year-old face was alight with excitement at having been given such a significant task as fetching his older cousin. With his straight brown hair and light blue eyes, he looked up at her with a sense of urgency on his little freckled face.

  “The carriage is waiting outside for us,” he added.

  “Thank you, Harry.” Aunt Delilah must have one of her headaches if she sent the children in to fetch her.

  Meredith rose to her feet, trying to remain nonchalant, as she knew the handsome English gentleman was still watching her every move. There was an expression of amusement on his face as he observed her interact with the children.

  “Hello, Lilly,” she said with a smile at her cousin, ignoring the Englishman.

  Lilly Remington, with her long brown curls and chubby cheeks, was only six years old and a shy little thing, peeking out from beneath her wide-brimmed bonnet. Immediately, the young girl grasped Meredith’s hand and held on tightly.

  Now with the children at her side, Meredith had to maneuver her way over to the counter to pay for the book, the counter where the impudent and handsome gentleman still waited, watching her with an unashamed regard.

  Although now he stood up straight and a wicked smile played across his face. He made an elegant gesture with his arm as if clearing a path for her.

  She raised her chin and ignored him, giving her attention to the young female clerk who worked there. As she paid for her purchase, Meredith could feel the eyes of the gentleman boring into the back of her head. She’d never felt so self-conscious in her life.

  “What are you buying, Merry?” Harry’s little voice piped up next to her.

  “A book,” she responded. “Would you like to carry it for me?”

  “Oh yes!” he cried in delight.

  She handed Harry the package containing her book. His face brimming with pride, he held the small bundle wrapped in brown paper with reverence. Meredith reclaimed Lilly’s hand in hers and turned to exit the shop.

  “Good afternoon, miss.”

  Startled, she glanced again at the gentleman with whom she had been having such a strange encounter.

  He was now mere inches from her, and she had to walk by him to get through the door. His voice was deep and rich, almost silky as it wished her a good afternoon. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe very well. There was an unmistakable scent about him. Masculine. Earthy. Spicy. Unfamiliar to her. But she had to admit that he smelled nice. Very nice
, indeed.

  She paused for just an instant, looking deep into his eyes. They were even more remarkable up close. Dark green. Intelligent. Even kind. They also danced with amusement.

  She refused to acknowledge that he had spoken to her though. Insufferable man! He deserved to be ignored and taken down a peg.

  Meredith walked right by, as if she didn’t even notice him. With her little cousins in tow, she waltzed out the door and into the waiting carriage.

  4

  At a Loss for Words

  Phillip Sinclair, the Earl of Waverly, idly watched the lovely young woman leave the bookshop with the two small children at her side.

  There was something about her . . .

  She was quite beautiful, with sparkling blue eyes and thick, chestnut hair. The kind of hair he knew would be silky smooth and he would want to run his fingers through. She had a little, turned-up nose and the most luscious lips he’d ever seen. He was positive that kind of mouth was designed specifically to be kissed, while her porcelain skin and gorgeous figure had his mind picturing her with far less clothing on.

  But it was more than just her beauty that intrigued him, for he had known plenty of beautiful women. There was something else about her.... She wasn’t English. That was for certain. She reminded him a little of his cousin, Sara Fleming, in that regard. They had the same accent. American. That was it! She hadn’t been in awe of him, as most women were. The girl was definitely American.

  Anyway, it had been a diverting little flirtation. He shrugged and went back to leaning on the counter.

  “You get prettier every time I see you, Hattie,” he murmured lazily.

  The young attendant who worked at the shop blushed, her soft cheeks reddening just a bit. She was a fetching girl with fair hair and delicate features. Not a beauty like the woman he’d just had a staring contest with, but adorable in her own way.

  Hattie blushed at his compliment, “Why, Lord Waverly! You turn my head with the things you say.”

  “Ignore my son, Hattie. He’s an incorrigible scoundrel.”

  Phillip stood immediately and straightened his shoulders at his mother’s approach. Colette Sinclair, the Marchioness of Stancliff, pulled her gloves on as she neared, giving Phillip a hard glance.

  “I’ve asked you not to flirt with the staff, Phillip,” she admonished, pursing her lips.

  “Oh, I don’t mind, my lady.” Hattie grinned helplessly at him. “Not at all.”

  Phillip smiled back before he gave the young woman an exaggerated bow. “You have my deepest and most humble apologies, miss.”

  “You don’t have to accept his apology, Hattie. He doesn’t deserve it.” His mother gave him an annoyed look. “Have a good afternoon, Hattie. I shall be at the other shop for a few hours on Monday if you need me. But I’ll be back here on Tuesday to go over the new shipment of writing papers.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Good afternoon, Hattie.” Phillip flashed her a secret grin before he held the door open for his mother and followed her out.

  When they were settled in their carriage, his mother lit into him. And he knew he had it coming.

  “Honestly, Phillip, I’ve warned you before about how you speak to the staff at our shops. So has your aunt Paulette. It is simply not appropriate. These women are in our employ and under our care, and you must treat all of them with the utmost respect.”

  “I am sorry, Mother. It was a momentary lapse of judgment. It won’t happen again. You have my word.”

  If his words sounded a little monotonous, it was because he had uttered this standard apology before. He had it memorized by rote.

  Phillip blamed this recent lapse in judgment on the encounter with the beauty who had just purchased a copy of Tess of the d’Urbervilles. She was a literary type and that kind didn’t usually interest him. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Who was she, and what was she doing in London?

  He’d been about to speak to her when the children interrupted. Were they her siblings? They had called her Merry. Merry. He liked the sound of it. The name suited her somehow. It was light and pretty and musical.

  “Your word,” his mother scoffed. “Your word hasn’t been worth very much lately.”

  His thoughts of the lovely and mysterious Merry were interrupted by the tone of his mother’s voice.

  She was still upset with him about the other night. Phillip had already been given yet another dressing down from his father last evening, but his mother still hadn’t had her say in the matter. He’d simply been instructed to pick her up from the bookshop this afternoon. Knowing that he would be her captive audience in the carriage, he had steeled himself for another admonishment about his deplorable behavior. He knew exactly what she would say.

  He’d been lazy. He’d been going out too often and staying out too late. He’d been running with a fast, disreputable crowd. He’d been spending too much time with women of a certain reputation. He’d been gambling and drinking too much.

  It was time to reform his ways. It was time for him to settle down. It was time for him to take on more responsibility. He wasn’t a child anymore. He was the heir. He had to uphold his duty. He had a reputation to maintain. He owed it to the family.

  Yes, Phillip had heard it all before.

  Dozens and dozens and dozens of times.

  And he had no excuse or reason for any of his actions. He didn’t know why he was behaving as he was. Except . . . why not? He was simply having some fun. Yes, perhaps he was pushing the limits of respectability more than he should, but what difference did it make? He was the heir. One day, all the duties and responsibilities would be his and his alone. He would take up the reins of respectability then.

  So what did it matter if he enjoyed himself in the meantime? He wasn’t hurting anyone. He’d studied hard at university, attending Oxford as his father had, and he’d earned some time to enjoy himself now. There was still plenty of time before his life had to become boring and serious.

  Phillip sighed heavily, looking out the window while waiting for his mother to give him the scolding about what a disappointment he’d been lately.

  He bristled at being judged so harshly. For some reason, whenever his mother was angry with him, it made him feel even more contrary. Almost as if he wanted to make her angrier. He braced himself for the onslaught of recriminations that were sure to come. But as the carriage rolled along toward Devon House, his mother remained oddly silent.

  Phillip glanced at her. She was wiping tears from her eyes with her lacy monogrammed handkerchief. Stunned, he couldn’t recall ever seeing his mother cry before.

  “Mother? What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Colette Hamilton Sinclair had never been anything less than a pillar of strength. And he’d always been a bit in awe of her. His mother wasn’t like most mothers. Hell, she wasn’t even like most women!

  She was a very special lady, indeed.

  He knew her whole history. How she and her four sisters grew up living above the bookstore their father owned, Hamilton’s Book Shoppe. How Colette had struggled to keep the shop going after their father died and worked to support her sisters. Phillip had heard how his father came into the shop one day and had fallen in love with her. And even though his mother obviously didn’t need to work after she married him and became a marchioness, she loved the bookshop so much that she continued to manage it.

  In fact, she and her sisters opened a second bookshop in London and one in Dublin as well, and just launched a children’s bookshop a few months ago with his cousin Mara. The Hamilton bookstores were innovative, successful, and only hired women to work in them.

  Phillip was quite proud of his mother and all that she had accomplished, in spite of being a marchioness. His mother was a strong, independent, intelligent and beautiful woman, and he adored her all the more for it. He’d always been proud of her and her sisters.

  To see her crying now confounded him and filled him with worry.

  “Mother?” he as
ked again.

  “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong,” she said in a voice so filled with sorrow his heart constricted in his chest.

  “What are you saying, Mother?”

  A tearful sigh escaped her. “It seems that I have failed you as a mother.”

  “Whatever do you mean by that?” he questioned, a sense of panic welling in his chest.

  She shook her head wearily.

  “I have failed you as a mother somehow, and I accept my part in this. You are the way you are because I didn’t spend enough time with you when you were a child. I was always judged by everyone who knew me for keeping the bookstores and continuing with my work. Even my own mother disapproved of me. I was told I wasn’t feminine enough and that I wasn’t devoting myself to my husband and children. They told me that I was neglecting my motherly duties and that I wasn’t spending enough time at home with you and Simon.”

  A little sob escaped her, and she took a breath before she continued.

  “Although your father never believed that. Lucien has always agreed with me and encouraged me to do what I loved. I was quite fortunate in that respect. But perhaps he was wrong . . . and I was dreadfully wrong, and everyone else was right after all . . .”

  Phillip remained silent as tears slid down her cheeks.

  His mother looked at him, placing her gloved hand over his.

  “I’ve been very worried about you, Phillip. I always believed that I had set a good example for you with my work at the bookshops. An example of responsibility, respect, hard work, and dedication. But I don’t see those qualities in you. Somehow, I must have done something terribly wrong.”

  Phillip’s heart sank. A deep feeling of shame overcame him. His mother blamed herself for his bad behavior.

  “Mother, that’s not possible,” he protested vociferously, defending her. “You’ve been a wonderful mother. Loving, kind, and understanding. Anyone would be lucky to have Colette Hamilton Sinclair as their mother.”

  She glanced at him, tears welling in her eyes once again. “I should have stayed home and taken better care of you. I should have been a better mother.”