Publication date: May 7th, 2013
by St Martin's Press
Genre: New Adult Historical
In Allison Rushby's Heiresses, three triplets--estranged since birth--are thrust together in glittering 1926 London to fight for their inheritance, only to learn they can’t trust anyone--least of all each other.
When three teenage girls, Thalia, Erato and Clio, are summoned to the excitement of fast-paced London--a frivolous, heady city full of bright young things--by Hestia, an aunt they never knew they had, they are shocked to learn they are triplets and the rightful heiresses to their deceased mother's fortune. All they need to do is find a way to claim the fortune from their greedy half-brother, Charles. But with the odds stacked against them, coming together as sisters may be harder than they think.
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Crashing Downton Abbey
You can always pick people's happiest memories by the photos they stick
up as backgrounds on their desktops. One of my happiest memories from
the year my family and I spent living in Cambridgeshire happened quite
by accident, but now takes pride of place when I start up my laptop each
morning.
Knowing we would only be living in England for a year, we were active weekend and holiday travelers. On this occasion, we had just spent the weekend in Oxford and were on our way back home to our converted flour mill beside a lock in the little village of Buckden (yes, the word 'idyllic' springs to mind…).
I was, and still am, a huge Downton Abbey fan and remembered reading that the village scenes were shot in a real village in Oxfordshire. Thus, before we set off home, we planned a quick detour to the village of Bampton.
Before long, we reached the outskirts of the village, which was when we began to see little neon production signs – all sorts of arrows and codes directing the production team to different surrounding fields and areas. It was a cold Sunday in February and already quiet on the roads, but it became quieter still as we navigated our way into the village itself, because it started to snow in a very nasty, rainy, sleety kind of way (sorry, Australians aren't great at describing these things. Let's put it this way: you were far better off being at the pub). By the time we got to the heart of the village, it was truly miserable weather.
Even before we parked the car, my mouth was on the floor. There was the church, complete with huge cameras wrapped up in red plastic and security guards sitting in their cars out front. There was Downton Cottage Hospital, complete with its sign. There was the pub. And the post office. The highlight, however, had to be the white bunting, strung up all over the village. Someone was getting married, I realised!
As my husband and two children looked on, somewhat amused, I spent the next hour running around like an absolute mad thing in the sleet, insisting they take my photo in front of this and in front of that. They put up with me for some time. Until the point where I insisted on having my photo taken on the stairs of the portable female loos, because Dame Maggie had probably been there.
Yes, we all froze half to death, but it was worth it (or at least I thought it was…) for those desktop photos that will last forever!
Knowing we would only be living in England for a year, we were active weekend and holiday travelers. On this occasion, we had just spent the weekend in Oxford and were on our way back home to our converted flour mill beside a lock in the little village of Buckden (yes, the word 'idyllic' springs to mind…).
I was, and still am, a huge Downton Abbey fan and remembered reading that the village scenes were shot in a real village in Oxfordshire. Thus, before we set off home, we planned a quick detour to the village of Bampton.
Before long, we reached the outskirts of the village, which was when we began to see little neon production signs – all sorts of arrows and codes directing the production team to different surrounding fields and areas. It was a cold Sunday in February and already quiet on the roads, but it became quieter still as we navigated our way into the village itself, because it started to snow in a very nasty, rainy, sleety kind of way (sorry, Australians aren't great at describing these things. Let's put it this way: you were far better off being at the pub). By the time we got to the heart of the village, it was truly miserable weather.
Even before we parked the car, my mouth was on the floor. There was the church, complete with huge cameras wrapped up in red plastic and security guards sitting in their cars out front. There was Downton Cottage Hospital, complete with its sign. There was the pub. And the post office. The highlight, however, had to be the white bunting, strung up all over the village. Someone was getting married, I realised!
As my husband and two children looked on, somewhat amused, I spent the next hour running around like an absolute mad thing in the sleet, insisting they take my photo in front of this and in front of that. They put up with me for some time. Until the point where I insisted on having my photo taken on the stairs of the portable female loos, because Dame Maggie had probably been there.
Yes, we all froze half to death, but it was worth it (or at least I thought it was…) for those desktop photos that will last forever!
About this Author:
Having failed at becoming a ballerina with pierced ears (her
childhood dream), Allison Rushby instead began a writing career as
a journalism student at The University of Queensland in Brisbane,
Australia. Within a few months she had slunk sideways into
studying Russian. By the end of her degree she had learned two very
important things: that she wasn't going to be a journalist; and that
there are hundreds of types of vodka and they're all pretty good. After
several years spent whining about how hard it would be to write a
novel, she finally tried writing one and found it was quite an enjoyable
experience. Since then, she has had nine novels published. She keeps up
her education by sampling new kinds of vodka on a regular basis.
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