The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel Read Online Free

from the back and either side. Oscar Fields had stressed in their many sessions that when considering each angle, time-honored precepts had to be followed. Every view had to be a part of the whole so that the eyes traveled along the lines intended by the milliner who designed the hat. Though Mr. Fields knew what constituted good design, Nell suspected he leaned more toward the traditional styles and wasn’t particularly creative. Old-fashioned , according to Mrs. Benchley. Until today, he’d never acknowledged Nell as creative, and even at that, he’d done so reluctantly. Still, it was a first step. One she didn’t regard lightly.
    Nell’s eyes returned again and again to one particular sketch that broke the rules of standard design. A cloche, yes, but one with an unusual combination of fabrics and embellishment. Her heart pounded as she wondered if she should dare, but her soul told her she must. Mrs. Benchley’s tall, awkward daughter with dark eyes would be transformed when she wore such a creation. Quickly, Nell assembled the Claudia sketches and tucked them all into a clasped portfolio.
    She leaned against the headboard and reached for her tea, long grown cold, the toast beside it barely nibbled. She set the cup down and pulled Quentin’s letter from beneath her pillow. Quentin had been her best childhood friend from her tiny town of Heathdown in the Cotswolds. Her only friend, really, and the one whose friendship she’d grieved when leaving England. With Quentin it didn’t matter that she came from a titled family or that Marchwold Manor employed a dozen servants. To him she was just Prunella, a girl who liked to draw hats and steal kisses from him. Mama had said he was just a passing fancy and her grandmother assured her there would be other boys. They were both wrong. There hadn’t been other boyfriends, and Nell still missed the childhood capers, but she had her hats now and a bright career ahead. It was all she wanted and needed.
    My dear Prunella,
    May this find you happy and in good health. I’ve finally secured the lease on the flat in Abbey Close that I told you about. Now it will be an easy stroll to the bank each day. I’ve just returned from Heathdown with a trunk from my parents’ attic full of childhood relics and a few odd pieces of china that Mama insisted I would need. Since I take most of my meals out, I can’t imagine they will get much use, but even a son of twenty-three heeds his mama.
    This evening I stopped at an establishment just around the corner. Plutino’s Ristorante. As I bit into the tender ravioli, I wondered if this is one of the dishes you might also be enjoying from Sal’s Diner that you’ve told me so much about. If so, I’m green with envy I’ve not had the pleasure of eating such fine cuisine before.
    He wrote about the Cotswolds and the golden glow of late summer on the limestone cottages. He gave news of his four brothers, their wives, and the eight nieces and nephews who filled two entire rows of the village church where his father was still the vicar. And then he told her of the visit with her grandmother.
    Before I left Heathdown, I popped in to see Lady Mira who was taking her tea in the garden. Her move into the village has been good for her, but I couldn’t help but smile as your grandmother and I sat amongst the yews. It was in that very garden where we shared our first kiss. You were all of ten, still sporting braids, and I was a lecherous old man of twelve. Ah, the days of youth and innocence.
    Nell bit her lip and held the letter to her chest, her heart bruised afresh with the memory of her grandmother. Of Quentin. Of holding his hand and strolling the cobblestoned streets of Heathdown with no thoughts of what the future might hold. Tears filled her eyes, but she brushed them away. This was no time to get weepy over the past. She had to think about today. And tomorrow. And all the days that followed. She had a different life now, one that challenged her