Sometimes she’d been harried. Many times she’d been resoundingly annoyed by yet another creaking wheel needing her attention. They’d both marched in on each other, demanding the purchase of dynamite to blow up a particularly irksome part of the estate.

But looking back, she could see nothing but wonderful moments, the threads of two separate lives gradually, imperceptibly weaving into one.

The path turned. The new bridge came into view. She stopped, her heart falling into an abyss.

A man and a woman stood on the bridge, in a tight embrace. And then, even after they drew apart, he kept his hand on her shoulder, and she leaned her head on his.

Millie slowly backed away. And when she was sure they could not hear her, she turned and ran.

She ran until she could no longer run. Then she walked—until she could no longer walk. And when she sat down on a mossy rock, her tears overcame her at last.

She would be all right in the end, she supposed. She was an enviably rich woman, and still quite young. And if a place as wretched as Henley Park could be brought back to life, anything could.

But she could not see the future, she could only weep for her loss. Day by day, year by year, kindness by kindness they’d built this life together, its foundation an unshakable affection, its walls partnership, and its pinnacle passion. All she wanted was to add to it, strengthen it, and cherish it.

Now she would have to leave it behind to disintegrate and fall into ruin.

Her tears streamed anew.


As daylight faded, she started for home—she would never not think of it as home.

Not wanting anyone to see her, she entered through the door that opened to the side terrace and slipped upstairs via the service stairs to her bath. In the mirror, her face was almost livid in its splotchiness.

She splashed her eyes with cold water, toweled her face dry, walked into her bedroom and lit the lamps. She didn’t believe Fitz would invite Mrs. Englewood to dine at Henley Park, but she was not about to take herself down to the dining room to find out. She’d have her dinner upstairs, by herself.

The sound of running feet stormed down the passage toward her room. Her door blew open. Fitz braced one hand on the doorjamb, breathing hard, as if he’d run across the breadth of Henley Park.

“You idiot. Where the hell have you been?”

“I was—out on a walk.”

“Mrs. Gibson told me you left for a walk in the morning, before eleven o’clock. It’s half past nine at night now. We’ve been searching for you for the past four hours. God, I just gave the order to dredge the lake. I was afraid—I was afraid that—and then I saw your light come on—”

She was suddenly lifted up and pushed against the bedpost. He kissed her as if the entire world had become a vacuum and she its last remaining conduit of oxygen.

“Don’t ever do this to me again,” he growled, when he pulled away for a minute to pant.

“But Mrs. Englewood, you are—I saw you, the two of you together.”

“What?”

“On the new bridge. You were holding her—tight.”

“Of course I was. I’d just told her that I belong here—with you.”

“Oh,” she said.

He had chosen her in the end. She could not help it. She wept again. “And was Mrs. Englewood all right?”

“I think so. She said she’ll return to her sister’s place in Aberdeen—her children are still there. She didn’t want me to accompany her back so I cabled Hastings to wait on her when she got off at London. He already cabled back. They’d had tea together and he’d seen her off at the rail station.”

“I hope she’ll be happy,” Millie said through her tears. “I hope she’ll be as happy as I am now.”

He crushed her to him. “I’ve been such a fool.”

“So have I. If I’d let on earlier, if I hadn’t been so afraid—”

His kiss swallowed the rest of her words.

“Let me go and call off the search, so people aren’t stumbling about in the dark looking for nothing.” He kissed her again. “Better get some rest now. After I come back I’m not letting you sleep a wink.”

“All right, go,” she said, a great big smile on her face, tears still falling.

Oww,” said Fitz.

“Are you all right?”

He’d returned some time ago and she’d pushed him into bed and leaped on top of him. She was still on top of him, running her hand over his arm, nipping him on his shoulder.

He dug out a framed photograph from under his back. “I must have left this on your bed when I was here earlier, waiting for you to come back from your walk.”

She sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t know you were hurting all this time. I’m so—”

He put a finger over her lips and grinned raffishly. “Trust me, I didn’t feel it at all.”

They spent a moment looking at the photograph, with the two of them standing together at the edge of a picture that should have included only Hastings. It was her favorite—she had a framed print in every house and several unframed prints stashed in her dressing room.

“Let’s cut Hastings out,” Fitz suggested. “So it will be only the two of us.”

She giggled. “Poor Hastings.”

“I’m sure he’ll volunteer to leave us alone.”

The photograph safely out of the way on the nightstand, he kissed her. “So, this is what it feels like to be married to the woman I love.”

The woman I love. She would never tire of the sound of it. “Satisfactory, I hope.”

He cupped her face. “For years I’d wondered how my life might have been different—better—had I been able to go back in time and change certain crucial events. Extending the previous’s earl’s lifespan, for example, or causing the north wing to never have been built. After a while I stopped such speculations because I was busy and there was no point. But now I know: I wouldn’t change a thing, because only this life I’ve lived could have led me here, with you.” He traced a finger over her brow. “And I’m beyond glad to be here, with you.”

Her eyes turned moist again. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He kissed her again. “And I love everything about you.”

Smiling through her tears, she kissed the signet ring on his hand. Then, she licked it as she’d wanted to do for years and years. “Now, Lord Fitzhugh, I give you a choice: supper or me?”

“You, my love.” He pulled her toward him. “Always you.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Because women made many of the decisions in the purchase of household items, manufacturers and other companies had long sought to appeal to them. As a result, women achieved access and success in advertising far earlier than they had in many other professions, managing advertising agencies by the 1890s.

And for readers who want to know what happened to Isabelle Pelham Englewood, you will find her story in Midnight Scandals, an anthology by Courtney Milan, Carolyn Jewel, and Sherry Thomas.

PRAISE FOR

Ravishing the Heiress

“I’M IN AWE. Only Sherry Thomas can write a romance that is both heartrending and heartwarming. An absolutely ravishing love story!”

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PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF SHERRY THOMAS

“Tender, discerning, and lushly romantic, Beguiling the Beauty] drills down into the characters’ emotional depths to produce a devastating love story that may appeal to fans of Mary Jo Putney and Laura Kinsale.”

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“Enchanting…An extraordinary, unputdownable love story.”

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—Publishers Weekly(starred review)