Page 21 of The Dravenhearst Brides

Mr. Merrick Dravenhearst,

Where were you last night?

—A

He didn’t deny it.

Margot paced back and forth in her bedroom the next morning. It had been a dangerous thing to say. A statement that could, conceivably, get her locked up in an asylum—talk of visions and ghosts and hauntings.

But he hadn’t denied it.

I think your house is haunted, she’d said.

Do you want to leave? he’d asked in return.

She’d struggled with the question all morning, had packed and unpacked her trunks a half dozen times in the last two hours, deliberating.

If she left her husband mere weeks into marriage, she’d be ruined. She’d never marry again, never have a family. Her father’s business, once he passed, would rot into oblivion, and she’d be “mad Margaret” for all eternity.

But it was even more mad to stay…wasn’t it?

Margot paused her pacing to look in the mirror. For just a moment, a vision of Babette reflected back at her—eyes twinkling, hair burnished like the sunrise, the same as in the oil portrait. Margot blinked, once, twice, until her own image stared back. She shook her head, unsettled.

She should leave. They could have the marriage annulled.

It would be shameful, yes, but Margot had been living with shame for years.

She was the daughter who survived, not the son.

It’s what had landed her in this mess in the first place—her own weakness, inherent in both her gender and her constitution.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Margot?” Merrick called. “You in there?”

She contemplated remaining silent. It would serve him right, given his own propensity for brooding. But petty looked good on no one, least of all Margot. With a heavy sigh, she swung open the door.

“I was wondering…” Merrick paused and took a deep breath. “Uh, well, first of all, good morning.”

Her forehead creased. “Good morning.”

His next words came out quickly, all in a rush. “I was wondering if you might take a walk with me?”

“A walk?”

He licked his lips. “Yes. In the back gardens, perhaps?”

Margot chewed on her cheek, considering. His hands were in his pockets, but she could see them fidgeting, the material twisted and tortured beneath his fingers. She’d never seen him nervous before. Merrick always appeared quite unflappable—mysterious at times, but never unsure.

She bit her bottom lip. “All right.”

“Yes?” He lifted his eyes hopefully.

“Yes. Is everything okay?”

“It is.” The answer came fast, much too fast.

She tilted her head. “You’re a terrible liar, you know. Which is odd. You do it so often, I’d really assume you’d be better at it.”

He scowled as she fell into step beside him. “When have I ever lied to you?”

“You’ve done nothing but lie through your teeth since the night we met. Have you forgotten the bourbon—‘hints of woodsmoke and clove with a caramel finish?’ A load of malarkey!”

He laughed deeply. The formality of his posture loosened, his arm relaxing to brush hers. A swooping sensation settled in Margot’s stomach.

“Malarkey or not, I recall you drinking it. Not once, but twice. So maybe I’m not such a bad liar after all.”

“I did, didn’t I?” It was her turn to laugh.

“Thought you were going to spit it out all over my shirt.”

She laughed harder, lifting a hand to her mouth. “I nearly did.”

“Well, you gulped it down like water. It’s meant to be savored and appreciated. It’s—”

“An acquired taste,” she finished, looking at him with a smile. For the first time since coming to the manor, she felt a sense of budding familiarity.

Perhaps…she thought, her gaze tracing his face. Perhaps there could be something here worth staying for after all.

It was a beautiful morning for a turn outside.

The flowerbeds and hedges were chaotic in the way of an unkept English garden, filled with wildflowers, vines, and an overflowing abundance of color.

But the closer Margot looked, the more she realized just how intentional Evangeline had been with each placement—the tall fragrant lavender beside the low-lying dusty miller, the English rose bushes in irregular patches but always at the edge where they’d receive direct sun.

Yarrow was mixed in with sweet peas. Hollyhocks climbed skyward on trellises.

Merrick didn’t speak as he guided her deeper into the garden. The gravel path crunched softly beneath their feet. They came upon a stone bench amidst peonies, a creeping vine curling its tresses around the base.

Merrick gestured toward the seat. “I’d like to have a very honest conversation with you.”

“All right.” Her voice was breathy and false, very much unlike her own. As she settled on the bench, her pulse fluttered in her throat. Margot could feel it, just beneath the skin of her neck, thudding as fast as the feet of a rabbit in flight.

Merrick sat beside her. “It occurred to me last night that I haven’t been fair to you. I’m not used to coexisting with someone, clearing my schedule with anyone, making plans to include another…I’ve been on my own for quite a long time.

“And where I’ve perhaps been most unfair,” he continued, leaning forward with his hands clasped, “is leaving you to your own devices in my home. Without addressing the, er—perhaps we can call them idiosyncrasies?—the idiosyncrasies of my life and estate. And my family. I gather from your words last night, you’ve spoken to others about it? ”

“Well, Ruth mentioned a few things about Babette…about your mother,” she corrected. “And Xander said something about…a curse? The Dravenhearst suicide brides, he called it.”

“Xander did?” He raised his eyebrows. “You must’ve caught him in a good moment.”

Margot didn’t particularly want to tell him the “good moment” came after an episode of her sleepwalking through the manor at midnight. What Merrick didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

“What I don’t understand though,” he said, turning to look directly at her, “is why you didn’t come straight to me and ask.”

Margot blinked in surprise. “What?”

“If you had questions about things going on in my—our home, questions about my family, why didn’t you just ask me?”

She was disarmed by the question, perfectly valid though it was. Why hadn’t she simply gone straight to him and asked?

“B-because…I wasn’t entirely sure what you would say.

And honestly”—she flicked her gaze over him—“I wasn’t certain you would tell me the truth.

You’ve hardly given me a plethora of reasons to trust you.

” She cast her eyes down, thinking of his midnight jaunts in the roadster.

She didn’t dare bring those up. She couldn’t. “And you haven’t been around much.”

“I’m here now. What do you want to know?”

“Is it true?” Her voice cracked. “Did both your mother and your grandmother kill themselves? In that rickhouse?”

“Yes.”

“In their wedding gowns?” It sounded too sensational to be real, surely this part, at least, was—

“Yes.”

She leaned back, eyes wide.

Merrick chose his words with care. “There has been a great deal of sadness in this house, particularly for the women who have lived here. I can’t pretend to fully understand it, but Evangeline will no longer come inside, and Ruth hardly ever does.

They feel something in the manor I don’t. Have you felt it?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

He sighed, his fingers flexing. “I don’t believe in curses.

People have a choice in their fate, and my mother chose to kill herself.

Saying a curse made her do it is providing her an excuse she doesn’t deserve.

But even I must admit a preternatural sadness hangs heavy in this house.

It’s something I never intended to bring a bride of my own into.

You asked if my house is haunted?” He rubbed his thumb in tight, small circles on his opposite wrist. “I think it’s possible.

Cursed? No. Haunted?” He licked his lips.

“Possibly. It seemed unfair to expose another woman to that, suspecting what I did.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“Yes, here you are.” His eyes were sad. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I never thought I would—”

She reached out to grip his wrist. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I understand.”

“Do you, though?” He searched her gaze, his amber eyes piercing.

“Desperate times make people do desperate things. You needed money, and I needed a husband. You asked, I accepted. You said everyone has a choice in their fate? I chose you. I didn’t have to, but I did.”

“You didn’t have all the information.”

“I still would have chosen you,” she whispered. She hadn’t realized it until this very moment, but even this knowledge wouldn’t have driven her into Alastair’s arms.

Because when she looked at Merrick, she felt something. She wasn’t quite sure what, but whatever it was gave her hope. And hope was a feeling stronger than anything else. Stronger than fear. Stronger than sorrow. Stronger than any curse or haunting could ever be.

Hope was a feeling worth staying for.

“If that’s true, then you’re mad.” He snorted in disbelief.

She cocked her head, waiting for the sting of his words to hit. Surprisingly, it never did.

“I think it means I fit in here,” she reasoned, smiling.

He laughed outright this time, shooting her a sidelong glance. “You fit in fine as frog’s hair, right alongside the rest of us—the others crazy enough to stay.”

“It would be nice,” she said, trying to be brave, “to belong to a family again. To build my own family. With you.”

He shifted at her words.

“You said we could have an honest conversation—”

“I did, and I meant it. You want a family, then?” he asked. “Children?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

The silence stretched, on and on.

“There is an expectation of course…that we would…” He gestured between them. “I mean, that’s generally how things go…when people marry.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s felt alone for a very long time,” Margot murmured, looking at her hands, folded in her lap to keep from shaking.

“And just because this house—your house—hasn’t been happy for a great number of years, it doesn’t mean we couldn’t make it so again.

Together.” She raised her eyes to his, tentative. Hopeful.

“With children?”

With love. But she wasn’t brave enough to say that. She bit her tongue, settling instead for a quick nod.

“I mean, if we did, I would love for…I would hope…” He grasped for words. “Perhaps, in time, we may develop feelings of fondness toward one another…but I don’t expect that from you, not given our circumstances.”

Fondness.

“I would happily settle, in the interim,” he continued, “for mutual respect and friendship. I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use a friend.”

A friend. Her heart stirred as she recalled her father’s words. Friendship is a very good place to start.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I could use a friend.”

“Well…well, good.”

“And as far as children would go,” she continued. “How, uh, might that happen?”

“Well, I imagine it would just…happen. If and when the time is right.” Was that a blush rising on his face? A hint of pink tinging his sun-kissed cheeks?

“Right.”

“Right,” he echoed.

She looked expectantly at him.

He squirmed under her gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just trying to figure out how it’s going to work, that’s all. Have you ever…before?”

She thought again of him sneaking out at night and looked away, feeling foolish. For a moment, she’d almost forgotten. And that made her terribly foolish indeed.

This man was dangerous. In more ways than one.

“Never mind.” She shook her head, precluding his answer. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“Maybe I want to.”

When she turned, he was looking straight at her, his amber eyes so focused, they burned. Blazing. Hot as fire.

She waited, trying to remember to breathe.

“Can we just…can we try something for a second?” He turned to face her, swinging one leg over the bench to straddle it. “Margot?”

“Yes?”

And slowly, so slowly, he moved his hand up her arm, over her shoulder, brushing her hair back from her neck.

“Can we try something quick?” he asked again, whispering now.

His hand wound its way fully into her hair. The other held her cheek. He was so close, she could see every eyelash. Every dimple. He waited.

“Yes.” She gave permission.

Barely a breath later, his lips closed over hers.

It was strange at first, the feeling. Margot was self-conscious, paralyzed with the terrible fear of messing up. She stiffened, too wrapped up in her own mind to let him in.

Merrick pulled back, his eyes uncertain.

Now you’ve done it. A nasty voice spoke in her head. You’ve gone and ruined it. Your one shot and look what you did with it.

But he was still there, barely an inch away. Waiting for her.

She knew this was important. She shook her head, trying to shake off the fear.

“I can do better,” she murmured. This time, she leaned in.

This time, she was the one to press her lips to his.

She didn’t think, didn’t fight. She only felt.

Moving her lips to fit his, feeling the rhythm.

Leaning into it. The softness. His surety.

It felt good. Wonderfully good.

She wondered if he felt it too?

He gave her his answer by deepening the kiss, sliding both hands to her cheeks, dragging them through her hair.

A quiet rumble of pleasure vibrated through his chest. She reached for his shoulders, grabbing on for dear life.

As if he was the only solid thing in the world, the garden swirling and tilting around her. Disorienting.

If this be madness, then let it devour me.

When he finally pulled back, she was breathless and lightheaded. The way she usually felt just before she fainted.

The world kept turning, blurs of color in her periphery, but Merrick stayed still. And there were his amber eyes, pinning her down, centering her in his gravitational pull.

In that moment, all Margot knew was the somersaulting sensation soaring through her stomach felt like a heck of a lot more than fondness.