The Unexpected Heiress Read online

  “Why, thank you! My name is Meredith Remington. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m thankful that you don’t mind that I am writing here. It’s difficult for me to write at home, and I didn’t know where else to go, but I simply adore your bookshop. I’ve never seen a bookstore as inviting and charming as yours. It’s been my favorite place since I came to London.”

  Colette Hamilton sat down at the table across from her, an eager expression on her face.

  “You’re not from England, are you? America? New York perhaps?”

  “Yes, I’m from New York.” Meredith was impressed. “How did you know?”

  “I recognized the accent. My sister Juliette lives in New York and you remind me of her daughter, Sara. You’re about her age, too, if I had to guess. What brings you to London?”

  “My aunt brought me,” Meredith began. “We have family here.”

  She was oddly comfortable speaking to a complete stranger. But Colette Hamilton, of Hamilton’s Book Shoppe, didn’t feel like a stranger. She felt more like a dear family friend.

  Meredith continued. “My aunt Delilah was born in Sussex and wished to return to England. So here I am. . . . And today when I needed a quiet place to write, I thought of the lovely bookshop I visited a few days ago. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind in the least! I’m quite thrilled that you are here! I simply love the idea of a book being written in a bookshop. It’s rather poetic, don’t you think? There is a great deal of inspiration with so many classic novels around you. Please feel free to come and write here whenever you wish. Stay as long as you like. I’ll let my staff know, so they won’t interrupt you.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” Meredith was touched by the offer. “I shall certainly take you up on that.”

  Colette smiled warmly. “I think it’s important to encourage writers, especially female writers. We’ve never had a writer actually writing here before, but you shall be Hamilton’s Book Shoppe’s first in-house writer, Miss Remington.”

  “Oh, my. That’s such an honor! Thank you. I don’t know if I am worthy of such an accolade, but I shall endeavor to try to be.” Meredith liked the woman so much and felt such an instant spirit of kinship with her.

  “I’ve no doubt you will. I’ve always been in awe of writers and had great respect for them. I’m such a great lover of books, but the thought of actually writing one is simply overwhelming to me.” Colette glanced at Meredith’s manuscript. “How close are you to finishing your book?”

  “I have more than half of it written. Then I shall have to edit it and put it all together neatly. I know a publisher back in New York who was interested in taking a look at it when I finished, so I’ll send it to him when I make it presentable.”

  “How exciting!” Colette exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling. “If you need anyone to read it for you, I would be happy to help. Also, I am familiar with a number of people in the publishing business here in London, so I can introduce you to them as well, if you like. John Murray is a friend of mine and he’s a prominent publisher in town. Maybe you could have your book published here and in America as well!”

  “You would do that for me?” asked Meredith, utterly stunned by the generosity of this woman she barely knew. “Someone you only just met?”

  “Of course. Think nothing of it. Women need to help other women when they can, for it’s a man’s world, make no mistake about it, and we ladies need all the help we can get. So I like to do what I can to help the female cause. To that end, I only hire women to work in my bookshops.”

  Why, this lovely lady was a modern and progressive woman! Meredith could not believe her good fortune. “I’m so lucky to have met you.”

  “I believe I’m the fortunate one! Just think! A female author right here in my bookshop!” Her pretty face beamed with delight.

  “I’m not a published author yet,” Meredith added shyly.

  “But you will be.” Colette nodded her head for emphasis. “I just know it.”

  They talked together easily for some time, and Meredith told her the plot of her book, how long she had been writing, and about the magazine articles she had written in New York.

  She found it amazing that Colette was so supportive and encouraging. Not once did she ask why Meredith wasn’t looking for a husband or why she wasn’t married yet. None of that seemed to matter.

  How refreshing to not have marriage as the topic of conversation for once! And to find someone who didn’t care to discuss marriage! That was a rarity, indeed.

  Their conversation was so unique and inspiring, her spirit soared for the first time in weeks. No one had ever shown such a genuine interest in Meredith’s writing before. She even allowed Colette Hamilton to read a few chapters of the manuscript.

  “It’s wonderful. You have such a way with words,” Colette said in awe after she had read the handwritten pages of The Edge of Danger. “I can’t wait to find out what happens. I want to read more!”

  Thrilled with the response, Meredith exhaled with relief. That was what a writer always wished to hear the most. I want to read more. Her head spun with the dizzying compliment. “I’ve never shown my writing to anyone before, except Mr. Robinson at his publishing office.”

  “And he is the one in New York who wishes to publish it?”

  Meredith nodded. “He said he would be interested in seeing it when it’s finished, of course. So I’m hopeful about it.”

  “That’s quite exciting. I am so happy for you, Miss Remington. And I’m proud of you.” Her smile was genuine. “I must introduce you to my younger sister, Paulette. She’d love to read your work as well. If you come to the shop next week at this time, I shall arrange for Paulette to be here to meet you.”

  “That sounds wonderful. And again, I don’t know how to thank you,” Meredith murmured, a bit overwhelmed by the compliments. A successful businesswoman who reminded Meredith of her mother, believed that she was a talented writer and was proud of her. Meredith’s heart swelled with joy.

  “There’s no need to thank me at all. I’m happy to have you writing here. Now, a good writer must not spend all her time chatting with a nosey woman, but she simply must have a little sustenance to keep her going. So I shall bring you a cup of tea. Do you take cream and sugar?”

  “Just a little sugar, please, and thank you again.”

  Meredith couldn’t help but grin at her good fortune.

  Of all the shops in London, she had stumbled upon the perfect one. She knew the moment she’d set foot in Hamilton’s Book Shoppe that it was special. Now it would become her second home, a refuge where she could be supported to finish writing her mystery novel.

  A few minutes later, Colette Hamilton returned with a cup of hot tea and a freshly baked lemon scone.

  “Now I shall let you get back to your writing,” Colette said. “I’ve distracted you enough for the time being. If you need me, I shall be upstairs in my office. But all the staff have been made aware that you are a special guest and are to have anything you need.”

  “You’re too good to me. Thank you!”

  Meredith was in heaven and continued to write undisturbed for the next hour and a half, while sipping tea and enjoying the scone. But it was now time to go. She’d been gone too long already and needed to get back to Lavinia’s house. There was yet another ball she was required to attend that evening, and lengthy preparations would be necessary. Delilah would be frantic if Meredith didn’t return soon.

  After she had gathered her things, she ventured up the staircase to say goodbye to Colette Hamilton and to thank her again. When the door at the top of the steps opened, Meredith was surprised to discover that she wasn’t in an ordinary office, but what seemed like a lovely home.

  “I’m sorry to intrude, but I must be going, and I wanted to thank you again before I left,” she said to Colette.

  “You’re not intruding at all, my dear, and I’m so glad you came up to see me. How did your writing go? Did you get a lot accompl
ished this afternoon?”

  Meredith smiled. “More than I expected to. And definitely more than I would have if I had stayed at home with my aunts and my little cousins. It’s impossible to write anything there.”

  Colette nodded knowingly. “I’ve had the most splendid idea, Miss Remington.”

  Meredith gave her a questioning look. “What is it?”

  “I’d like you to look around this place.... This used to be our home.”

  Colette motioned for Meredith to follow her as they walked around the residence, looking through the three bedrooms and the dining room and kitchen area. The main room had been set up as an office, with two very large oak desks facing each other in front of the windows, as well as comfortable sofas near the fireplace.

  “My family and I used to live up here above the bookshop,” Colette explained as they walked around.

  “You lived up here?” Meredith asked, intrigued by the idea.

  “Yes, my four younger sisters, my mother, father, and I all lived here. I admit that it was rather crowded at times! We girls used to help our father run the bookshop and then we took over when he passed away. Since then, we’ve done rather well. We now have two more bookshops in London, the Hamilton Sisters’ Book Shoppe and Mara’s Book Shoppe, and another Hamilton’s in Dublin. My sisters and I have all married and have homes of our own, so now we just use this space for our office. Well, actually, just Paulette and I do, on the occasions that we’re here working in the original shop. Our main offices are in the newer, grander building, The Hamilton Sisters’ Book Shoppe. But this place still pulls at my heart, because it was our home for my entire childhood.”

  “It’s truly lovely.” Meredith glanced around, setting down her manuscript on a polished oak table.

  “Thank you. I’ve just redecorated it recently. It was time for a fresh coat of paint and some new furnishings and curtains. It’s rather a lovely hideaway now.”

  The private residence was decorated in serene shades of blue. Gleaming hardwood floors were covered with dark blue area rugs and the walls were the palest baby blue, trimmed with white molding and white wainscoting. Sheer white curtains adorned the windows, allowing in plenty of light. It was elegant and simple and inviting, devoid of any clutter.

  A gilt-framed oil painting hung above the fireplace, depicting five beautiful young girls. They all smiled, looking happy and wearing pretty white dresses. They had to be the Hamilton sisters.

  “Which one is you?” Meredith questioned, peering closely at the painting, trying to discern which one of the sisters would be Colette Hamilton. All five girls looked remarkably alike, with varying shades of hair and eye colors, yet with the same delicate facial features.

  “I’m the one with my arm around the smallest girl, my sister Yvette. She’s the baby of the family. I’m the oldest of the lot. And the one with the dark hair is Juliette, the one in the middle is Lisette, and the other blonde is Paulette.” Colette beamed with pride. “I was probably eighteen when that was painted as a gift for our mother. This painting is actually a copy I had made, and my sisters each have one also. The original is in my drawing room at home.”

  Meredith gazed at the family portrait with a touch of envy, thinking how special it must have been to be raised above a charming little bookshop with lots of sisters around to have fun with and confide in.

  “You are all so pretty and look so much alike. What was it like having four sisters?”

  “Most of the time it was wonderful, although naturally, we argued now and then. But the five of us were all surprisingly close, and we still are. We’re very grateful to have each other.”

  “I’d love to meet them all one day.”

  “I can certainly arrange that if you like.”

  “I envy you growing up above a bookshop,” Meredith said in a voice filled with longing. “I would have spent every single day downstairs reading each and every book in the place.”

  “It was rather nice, and I admit to having lost many a day reading.” Colette paused and glanced at her. “So, do you like it up here?”

  “Of course, I do.” Meredith turned to face her. “It’s wonderful.”

  “Well, I’d like to offer it to you.”

  Meredith stared at Colette in confusion. “Forgive me, I’m not sure what you mean . . .”

  “These quarters are sitting empty and unused, so I would like you to use this as your very own writing space, so you don’t have to write downstairs at that little table in the back of the shop. I’ll clear off one of the writing desks near the window for you. The windows provide plenty of natural light and, of course, there are the gaslights. The chair is very comfortable too. You could work here in peace and quiet, for I’m hardly ever here. It would be perfect for you.”

  “I don’t even know what to say, or how to thank you for such a generous offer.” Meredith felt tears welling in her eyes at the touching gesture.

  “It’s the least I can do, for I shall most definitely take credit for discovering you, once you are a famous published author of best-selling novels,” Colette said with a smile. “The space isn’t being used at all. And as I said, I like helping whenever I can, especially because I’ve been very fortunate in my life.”

  Meredith looked around with a burgeoning sense of hope.

  Yes, she could absolutely write in this beautiful flat. The desk was a nice size, not as beautiful as the writing desk she had to leave in New York, but it would certainly do. Yes, this would be a perfect retreat where she’d be free of both her aunts’ disapproval of her writing.

  She could escape for a few hours here and there, away from the mad social scene that was swirling around her, without a care for suitors and proposals and finances and marriage weighing on her.

  She could finish her book!

  Yes, she could easily complete The Edge of Danger in this peaceful and comfortable dwelling. Oh, how she wanted to say yes to this kind and wonderful woman who had just given her a priceless gift. Some freedom.

  Still Meredith hesitated. “Are you certain you wish to do this? I wouldn’t be an inconvenience to you or anyone else?”

  “I’m absolutely positive,” Colette explained. “I admire you, Miss Remington. And I must admit that I see a little of myself in you. In all my years, I have never seen anyone, male or female, so determined to write that they sat in the corner of my bookshop to do it. Consider me as a mentor, or benefactor, if that makes you feel better about it.”

  “I am rather overwhelmed by your generosity.”

  Meredith could not stop the tears that had been welling and now they spilled down her cheeks.

  Quietly, Colette handed her a handkerchief. “So will you do it? Will you write here?”

  Meredith could not help the smile that burst through her tears. “Yes, thank you. More than anything in the world, I would love to write here.”

  “Good! Then it’s all settled. I’d also like to invite you to have tea with my family one afternoon.”

  She handed Meredith an elegant calling card with her name and address engraved upon it. THE MARCHIONESS OF STANCLIFF—DEVON HOUSE. She hadn’t realized that Colette was a marchioness!

  Colette continued, “I believe you’d enjoy meeting my two nieces at some point. As I said, they’re about your age, and I think you’d make great friends. Please bring your aunts as well, if you wish.”

  “I would love to.”

  Meredith nervously wondered how she would explain all of this to Aunt Delilah. She didn’t entirely approve of Meredith’s writing, and Meredith wasn’t sure how Delilah would react to this arrangement.

  “Then it’s all settled,” Colette said with a pleased look. “You are welcome to join us for tea next Wednesday, if you can.”

  “You have been so kind to me, and I know this may sound strange, but I feel as if... that is . . .” Meredith paused awkwardly before blurting out, “My mother died when I was a young girl, and you remind me so much of her.”

  “Oh, Miss Remington, I shall
take that as the highest compliment,” Colette said softly, her eyes filled with compassion. “How old were you when she passed away?”

  “I was ten years old, but I have such clear memories of her still. You definitely remind me of her. Your mannerisms and the things you say. You look a little like her too. I thought so the minute I met you.”

  Meredith recalled an image of her mother, laughing at something Meredith had said to amuse her. She had loved to make her mother smile. Her mother, Elizabeth Anderson Remington, had been beautiful and warm and full of love. But she had been lonely, even sad, before she had died of a terrible fever, most likely pining for her husband who was off searching for oil. Her father had always told Meredith that she looked like her mother and reminded him of her.

  When her mother had died, the light in Meredith’s life had been extinguished.

  Her grief, dark and heavy, had been unbearable, chronicled in her childish handwriting in letters she had written to her mother, expressing just how much she missed her. Then her uncle Joseph’s wife had come to live with her. Aunt Delilah was kind, loving, and doted on her, but she could never replace her mother.

  It was only when her cousin Harry was born that Meredith began to feel alive again. She loved having a baby in the house, and she adored Harry and then sweet Lilly, when she came along a few years later. Her young cousins had brought so much joy into her lonely life. She played with them, read to them, and wrote little stories for them.

  Oddly enough, now here she was with this kind and extremely thoughtful Englishwoman, whom she’d met just hours earlier, and Meredith already felt closer to Colette in some ways than she did with Aunt Delilah. There was a shared kindred spirit between them, bonded by their love of writing and books.

  “I am so touched, Miss Remington.”

  “Please, call me Meredith. It would mean a great deal to me.”

  “Then you must call me Colette.”

  On impulse, Meredith reached out and hugged her. Colette hugged her back and patted her back soothingly.