Ravishing the Heiress (Fitzhugh Trilogy #2)

Monsieur Duval consulted a gauge. “The barometric column has dropped almost two inches. We are about fifteen hundred feet up—half again as high as the top of the Eiffel Tower—and we are still ascending.”


After some time, Fitz shaded his eyes with his hand. “I can see the fog now. Are we approaching the coast?”

“Oui, monsieur le comte.”

The fog was the most spectacular sight Millie had ever seen, a sea of cloud upon which the airship cast its elongated shadow. The thick vapors erupted and writhed, with currents and climates of its own. And as the sun lowered toward the western horizon, the peaks and ridges turned into mountains of gold, as if they were being given a tour of heaven’s own bank vault.

Fitz draped his coat around her shoulders. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

She stole a look at him. “Yes,” she said, “in every way.”

“I’d once hoped my marriage would be an adventure—and it has turned out to be just that.” His gaze still on the fog, he placed his arm around her shoulders. “If something should befall us this day, know that of all the heiresses I could have married four years ago, I’m glad it’s you.”

At times she’d wondered how her life might have turned out differently had she been given a choice in the matter of her marriage. Now she knew: There would have been no difference, for she’d have chosen the very path that led her to this precise moment. She gathered her courage and put her arm around his waist.

“I feel the same,” she said. “I’m glad it’s you.”

There was just enough light for Monsieur Duval to set down the airship on an empty field, causing much excitement to several Sussex villages. Millie and Fitz arrived in London by midnight.

Millie spent the next week by her mother’s bedside. At first it seemed that Mrs. Graves might make a miraculous recovery, but Millie’s hopes were dashed when her condition further deteriorated.

Mrs. Graves slipped in and out of consciousness, sometimes awake long enough to take some nourishment and exchange a greeting with Millie, sometimes falling unconscious again before she’d even quite oriented herself.

Mrs. Graves’s sisters and cousins sometimes sat with Millie during the day; Fitz was there every night, keeping her company. They did not speak much during these long nights, each dozing in a chair, but his presence was a source of immeasurable comfort.

One morning, just after he left to have his breakfast, Mrs. Graves came to.

Millie leaped up. “Mother.”

She hurriedly reached for the glass of water kept on the nightstand and fed her mother several large spoonfuls.

“Millie,” Mrs. Graves murmured weakly.

Millie had not meant to, but she found herself weeping. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

“Forgive me, for leaving you much sooner than I’d intended.”

Millie could deny it, but they both knew Mrs. Graves had not much time left. She wiped her eyes. “It’s not fair. You should be as long-lived as the queen.

“My love, I’ve lived a wonderful, enviable life. That it will be a little shorter than I’d liked is no cause for complaint.”

She coughed. Millie gave her another three spoonfuls of water. Her breathing was labored, but she waved away the tonic Millie offered. “No, my love, the only unfairness here is what your father and I asked of you—that you give up your own happiness so that we could have a grandson who would one day be an earl.”

“I am not unhappy.” Millie hesitated. She’d never spoken aloud the secrets of her heart. “I do not wish to be anyone’s wife except Fitz’s.”

Mrs. Graves smiled. “He is a lovely young man.”

“The best—like you, Mother.”

Mrs. Graves caressed Millie’s still-wet cheek. “Remember what I said years ago? No man can possibly be more fortunate than the one who has your hand. Someday he will see the light.”

“Will he?”

But Mrs. Graves’s arm slackened. She was again unconscious and passed away the same day, late in the afternoon.

Fitz was by Millie’s side. He kissed her on her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes welled again with tears. “It was too soon. She was the last of my family.”

He handed her his handkerchief. “Nonsense. I am your family. Now go have a lie down; you haven’t slept properly for days.”

I am your family. She stared at him, her vision blurred. “I haven’t even thanked you, have I, for giving me more time with Mother?”

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” he said firmly. “It is my privilege to look after you.”

Her vision grew ever more watery. “Thank you.”

“Didn’t I already tell you not to thank me?”

She mustered a small smile. “I meant, for saying that.”

He returned her smile. “Go rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

He left the room to speak to Mrs. Graves’s butler. She stood against the door frame and watched him disappear down the stairs.

I’m glad it’s you.





CHAPTER 14