The Unexpected Heiress

by Kaitlin O’Riley

  As she gazed out the window, watching the heavy clouds darken the afternoon sky and big fat drops of rain splatter on the rooftops, she realized how much she enjoyed being on her own for a while.

  No one bothered her here. Colette had given her the key to the residence, so she could come and go whenever she pleased. The kitchen was stocked daily with fresh bread, cheese, fruit, and various cakes, and whatever else Colette had thoughtfully sent over from Devon House.

  Meredith couldn’t wish for anything more.

  In a very short time, Meredith had made herself quite at home in the place, and she’d set up a perfect writing area for herself. Of the two desks, she claimed one as her own. Then she placed a small, framed photograph of her mother and father on their wedding day beside a vase of fresh lilacs, which were her favorite flower. She’d bought the bunch on her way to the shop that day. Finally, her manuscript pages were arranged neatly beside the desk blotter along with her stash of fountain pens and nibs and sheets of paper.

  As the rain poured down, she sighed deeply, relishing the quiet. She pulled her thick woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders to ward off the damp chill in the air and walked over to warm herself by the fire.

  It was the ideal environment for writing, and she couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face.

  She moved back to the desk and picked up her pen. Time was ticking away, and she couldn’t stay there all day, although she dearly wished she could! How she would love to live there above the bookshop! She would be perfectly content in this lovely place.

  For a moment she wondered if she could make such an arrangement . . .

  No. She would never be permitted to live alone. A young woman, by herself, unchaperoned. It simply wasn’t done. But it would be wonderful to be independent and on her own, not having to answer to anyone. She wished she could spend the rest of the day writing here, stay the night in one of the pretty bedrooms, and then wake up and write all the next day. Such a delicious dream of freedom!

  With a thoughtful sigh, Meredith turned her attention back to her manuscript of The Edge of Danger. She had restructured the plot a bit and had to do some editing.

  She had been working for the better part of an hour when a sudden knocking at the door startled her and she dropped her pen. Wondering if Colette had decided to stop by, Meredith rose from the desk and made her way to the door.

  To her great surprise, Lord Waverly stood before her.

  He was dappled with raindrops and looking more handsome than ever, with his green eyes dancing in merriment and a wide smile on his face. In his arms he held a large basket.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Remington. I come bearing gifts.”

  Trying to ignore the sudden racing of her heart, she said, “Gifts? I don’t understand. Lord Waverly, why are you here?”

  “I promise I won’t interrupt you for long,” he said as he brushed past her, his rain-spattered black cape flowing behind him, and carried the basket into the kitchen. He acted as if he owned the place. Which he more than likely did.

  Meredith closed the front door and peeked at herself in the mirror that hung on the nearest wall. She looked a bit of a fright. Because she knew she was spending the afternoon alone writing, she was wearing just a simple day gown of light gray, with the dark blue shawl wrapped around her. Some of her dark brown hair had spilled down from the loose bun she had made earlier. Her cheeks were suddenly bright pink and . . . good heavens, there was even a smudge of ink on her chin! And she was in her stocking-clad feet!

  Meredith shook her head at her reflection in the mirror, before silently following Phillip. She stood at the entrance of the kitchen and watched him remove his cape and hang it on the back of a chair to dry. He placed his hat and umbrella on the table. Then he turned his attention to unpacking the basket he’d brought.

  “These are for later if you get hungry, but I didn’t realize the place was already so well stocked,” he said, indicating a small cake and a bottle of red wine. “I should have known my mother would take such good care of you. However, these are for you right now.”

  With an elegant flourish, he handed her a small bouquet of lilacs.

  “Why thank you! They are my favorite.”

  He smiled, quite pleased with himself.

  She accepted his sweet gift with complete bewilderment. Automatically, she brought the pretty bouquet to her nose to inhale the lovely scent. How had he managed to gift her with her favorite flower? There was no way he could have known that! Although quite touched by his thoughtful gesture, she was still confused as to why he was even there in the first place.

  “But Lord Waverly, I can’t accept—”

  “Of course you can!” He winked at her. “And that’s not all I brought for you.”

  He seemed jovial and ever so pleased with himself as he reached into the basket and removed some packages wrapped in brown paper. Meredith began to be swept along by his enthusiasm. It was almost infectious.

  “But you can’t open these in the kitchen,” he said mysteriously, as he ushered her out of the room.

  She had no choice but to go along with him. The thought occurred to her just then, that if he were to suddenly ask her to sail away with him, she would be helpless not to follow him.

  He had her sit upon one of the soft velvet sofas and he took a seat beside her. Meredith’s pulse quickened at his nearness, and again she wondered what on earth had prompted him to come there in the first place, let alone bring her gifts.

  It was very improper of them to be alone together in this way. Quite scandalous and ruinous actually. But she was so thrilled by him, so mesmerized by his very presence and his charmingly playful mood, that she couldn’t utter a single word of protest.

  “I can tell that you’re wondering what I’m doing here. I can see the question written all over your pretty face, Miss Remington. So I would like you to know that I’ve become interested in your writing career. My mother isn’t the only one who can do good deeds. Now I know you wouldn’t think it, since you have such a low opinion of me, but I am truly a decent fellow, and I—”

  “I haven’t a low opinion of you,” Meredith interrupted before she could stop herself.

  She wasn’t entirely sure what opinion of him she did have, but it certainly wasn’t a low one. Not anymore at least.

  Perhaps he was a bit of a rogue. Her original assessment of him as a pompous lord didn’t quite seem to suit him any longer. He was too warm and sweet and engaging. She wasn’t sure about anything now. Above all else, she was baffled by him.

  His sudden smile was like the sun bursting through the heavy dark clouds outside. And Meredith was blinded by his brightness.

  “Well, it is a wonderful thing to hear that your opinion of me has risen higher, Miss Remington,” he said, still grinning. “Now then, I have no wish to interrupt your writing, but I only stopped by to bring some things that might be useful to you.” He handed her a heavy package, while taking the bouquet of lilacs from her and placing it on the table near them. “I got this for you.”

  “You shouldn’t be bringing me gifts. You shouldn’t even be here alone with me,” she managed to murmur feebly as she took the package from him and began removing the brown paper.

  The words had to be said.

  “Nonsense!” He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. “None of that really matters. No one even knows I’m here but you, nor will they know. Except perhaps one of the staff downstairs in the shop, but Hattie would never utter a word to anyone.”

  Her heart soared at his scoffing of propriety, because she’d felt the same way.

  Most of the social rules she had to follow were so silly. Back in New York, her life had been her own. Meredith had taken care of herself and went where she wanted to go. She often ventured out on her own, visiting shops and bookstores. But here in London, things were quite different.

  Her aunt Lavinia had done nothing but lecture her on proper deportment and etiquette, and how she was supposed t
o be chaperoned at all times. Luckily for Meredith, aunt Delilah was lax in her supervision, and Meredith was usually able to escape now and then.

  Aunt Lavinia would definitely not approve of Lord Waverly being alone with Meredith right now and plying her with presents. She would say he was up to no good and had wicked designs on her. However, Meredith did not believe that.

  “Besides, I love giving gifts that make people happy,” Phillip continued to explain.

  Removing the brown paper, Meredith discovered he had given her an exquisite leather-bound journal. Thick and heavy, the hand-tooled burgundy cover was as smooth as silk and the gold edging on the pages was an elegant touch. But most wonderful of all, the cover of the journal was embossed with her name in gold letters. MEREDITH REMINGTON.

  Speechless, she stared at him. It was an extravagant gift.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, his deep green eyes searching her face.

  Overwhelmed, she nodded with a hesitant smile. “Of course, I do. Thank you. It’s perfect. I just don’t understand why you would go to such lengths . . .”

  “I figured that a writer ought to have a special place to write her thoughts. I’m pleased that you like it. But wait, I have more!” He took the journal from her, placed it on the table next to the flowers, and handed her a smaller, lighter package wrapped in brown paper.

  “Lord Waverly, truly, this is far too much.”

  “Open it,” he encouraged with that roguish smile she couldn’t resist. “Go ahead.”

  With a shake of her head and a resigned sigh, she unwrapped the second package to find a beautiful pair of finely made fountain pens.

  “They’re to help with your writing,” he explained.

  “Thank you, Lord Waverly, but you really shouldn’t have gone to such lengths for me.”

  “I wanted to. It made me happy to do it. And it made you happy, even though you’re trying to pretend that it didn’t because you feel like you have to put up a bit of a protest.”

  She looked into his eyes, which were filled with a look of kindness and something akin to admiration. “I just don’t understand why you are doing all of this.”

  “Ah . . . of course. A good writer needs a reason for something happening,” he said. “You want to know the motivation behind the action. Well, to be honest . . . I just wanted you to think better of me, Miss Remington.”

  Meredith dissolved into peals of laughter then. Of course, he did!

  “Why did that cause you to laugh?” He looked slightly offended.

  “Just because,” she giggled. “It’s so typical of your type.”

  “My type?”

  Meredith wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes and took a breath. “Yes, all you fancy lords like to be thought of in high regard, and you couldn’t bear the thought that I didn’t think the world of you.”

  He grew quiet, then grinned and nodded in agreement. “I suppose we do at that. You have an excellent point there, Miss Remington.”

  She liked the honesty about him. He hadn’t become all puffed up and insulted by her remark. Phillip Sinclair was nothing if not good natured.

  “But admit it, you think the world of me now, don’t you?” he asked with an impish wink.

  Again, she laughed. In spite of herself, he kept winning her over. “Perhaps not the world, but you’re improving.”

  “Good.” He sat back against the sofa, quite satisfied with himself.

  “And please,” she said, thinking he looked so handsome. “Call me Meredith. At this point it seems we are beyond the traditional formalities.”

  “Agreed. Then you must call me Phillip.”

  She nodded. “And I do thank you for all these lovely things, Phillip. Especially the journal. It’s simply beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  The words hung in the air between them. He uttered them so easily, so softly, she wasn’t sure how to respond.

  She’d never even been alone with a man like this before. It was quite intimate really. There was no one else around, no one to censure their words or their behavior. It made her nervous yet thrilled her at the same time.

  She recalled the afternoon at Devon House when she had longed for him to kiss her. Now that they were quite alone, would he kiss her now? She had never been kissed before. Did she wish for him to kiss her?

  Yes, she did. She absolutely did.

  “I’m glad you like my gifts.” He rose from the sofa and began to move around the room as if he’d never complimented her. “So this is where you’ve been writing then? Are you finding it suits you?”

  She stood as well, watching him. He seemed to be pacing, like a caged panther. “Yes, it’s a perfect writing space. Your mother is so kind to allow me to use it.”

  “I’d quite forgotten that this place was even here.” He walked about, peeking in the bedrooms and looking everything over, while Meredith followed. “My brother and I used to play up here sometimes when I was younger and my mother was working downstairs. My cousin Mara would play with us too. Once we built an enormous fort with every blanket we could find draped over the furniture. We played in that fort for hours.”

  “That sounds like great fun,” Meredith said.

  “It was. I’m very lucky. I had a wonderful childhood.” He nodded to the picture of the five girls above the mantel. “They’re quite a group, those five ladies. My mother and her younger sisters. Again, I’m very lucky to have the family I have.”

  “I should say so.”

  “What about your family?” he asked. “Who were those children with you down in the bookshop that afternoon we first saw each other?”

  “Those are my two cousins, Harry and Lilly Remington. I’ve lived with my aunt Delilah, whom you met at the ball, for most of my life, so Harry and Lilly are more like a younger brother and sister to me.”

  “Your cousins call you Merry?”

  Surprised that he would remember such a small detail about her, she smiled. “Yes. It’s my nickname. My mother and father called me Merry too.”

  “I like it. It suits you perfectly.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know all about my family, but I know nothing of yours,” he said. “What about your parents? Are they in New York?”

  “They have both passed away.”

  He looked stricken. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. You must miss them.”

  “I do. My mother has been gone for ten years now, yet I still miss her every day. And even though my father was always away from home, building his oil company, I miss him too. It’s strange to no longer have parents.”

  “I would have liked to meet them.”

  She smiled. “They would have liked you.”

  He spun around and walked toward the desk. He glanced at the framed photograph of her parents. “You have a strong resemblance to your mother.”

  “I’ve been told that.”

  “So, Merry . . . this is where you sit and write . . . Is it comfortable? Do you like writing here?”

  His use of her family nickname felt surprisingly natural. She liked the way it sounded when he said it.

  “Yes, I love writing here, although I do miss my own desk, which had belonged to my mother. It’s a gorgeous cherrywood and has lots of secret compartments, where I would stash notes when I was younger. I hated parting with it when we left New York.”

  “Can’t you send for it?” he asked, as if it were the easiest thing in the world to do.

  “Yes, I will . . . eventually. Once I’m settled in a place of my own and not crowded in at my aunt Lavinia’s,” she explained.

  “You mean when you’re married and in a home of your own?”

  They shared a brief look, and she nodded.

  Yet again, the thought of marrying for money, as she most definitely needed to do, tied her stomach up in knots. However, it was the only reason she was in London in the first place. Securing a rich husband was the goal.

  Meredith said, “In the meantime, writing here
is perfect for me.”

  “Your book . . . may I read it?”

  He looked at her with such an eager expression, she felt she could hardly refuse him. And, for some reason, she actually did want him to read it. She wished to know his opinion of what she had written so far.

  “Yes, it’s right there. But please remember that it’s not at all finished, and it desperately needs to be edited.”

  “I promise.” Phillip sat down at her desk and turned to the first page of her manuscript.

  Meredith began to nervously put things to rights in the room while he read.

  She picked up the torn brown paper bits, which were scattered on the floor, and straightened up the sofa cushions. Then she took his bouquet of lilacs to the kitchen and filled a small silver vase that she found in the pantry with water. She placed the vase on the table in the main parlor. Then she went back to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil for some tea for the both of them. She brought him a cup of Earl Grey, but he was so absorbed in reading her book, that she doubted he even noticed her walking by.

  She took her cup of tea and stood by the window, watching the rain continue to fall, while she waited for him to finish. His opinion suddenly meant a great deal to her, although just why she would care about what the pompous lord thought of her writing she did not know. She was still not over her surprise that he was even there with her in the first place.

  It was odd that they were so comfortable together, alone in such an intimate setting. It was really rather extraordinary.

  She felt quite at ease with Phillip, in spite of the fact that she’d only just met him a short time ago. Had it only been a matter of weeks since they first stared at each other downstairs in the bookshop? So much had happened since she’d arrived in London. Meeting the Hamilton-Sinclair family had been the highlight so far. Colette’s kindness and thoughtfulness were generous to a fault. She felt as if she belonged there.

  And then there was Phillip . . .

  She glanced over at him. With his head bent intently over her manuscript, he looked almost like a schoolboy, which touched her heart a little. He really was quite handsome, and extremely kind and thoughtful to bring her such gifts today.