Page 38 of The Dravenhearst Brides

Now it is yours.

—Excerpt, a letter from Richard Dravenhearst’s Last Will & Testament

“At the risk of ruining a perfectly lovely evening…” Margot began, sliding a bare leg over Merrick’s as they lounged in bed. A lit candelabra on his nightstand cast the room in flickering shadow. The tapers were nearly exhausted, short wax stalks that dripped and congealed down brass stems.

“Uh-oh.” Merrick tucked an arm behind his head. “Have I done something wrong?”

Margot was struck dumb by the powerful curve of his biceps. He smelled like bourbon mash tonight—a little yeasty, a little sour, a little sweet…an unexpectedly heady combination. Her lips parted, words forgotten.

“Margot?”

“Yes?” She blinked, forcibly dragging her gaze away from her husband’s muscles.

“You were saying something about ruining our perfectly lovely evening?”

“Yes. Right.” She teased her fingers through the dark hair on his chest, delaying. It really was a most impressive chest, all swells and ridges. Highly distracting.

Merrick groaned. He reached to halt her fingers as they slid lower. “Love, what kind of ruining are you after?”

Against herself, she smiled. It would be so easy to forestall this conversation. She’d done so for more than a week. She leaned in to press her lips to his, but he pulled back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his gaze searching. “I can see it in your eyes. What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “Evangeline told me something a few days ago, something Ruth suggested as well. I think we ought to discuss it.”

“Okay.” He shifted his weight, turning to give her his full attention.

“It’s about your mother.”

The tensing of his posture was immediate. Eyes, jaw, shoulders, chest, fingers…little ripcords tightening throughout his body. Pulling down hatches, guarding against the invitation of his mother into their bed.

“Is it possible,” she said, the words coming slow, “she didn’t kill herself?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it possible her death came at the hands of another, not her own?”

His jaw fell open, closed. “That’s impossible,” he rasped, pulling back from her.

“Is it? Both Ruth and Evangeline said—”

“Said she was murdered?” His eyes were as turbulent as a storm.

“They’ve made it clear suicide was not in her nature. And the more I learn of her myself—”

“It was entirely in her nature,” he cried. “I can very much promise you that. Spineless.”

Spineless? Margot bristled. Suicide, she knew in her heart, was hardly a spineless act. It was an agonizing one. Merrick was hurting, but even still—

She froze, her own hypocrisy hitting with the force of a runaway cattle train. Why was she so quick to forgive, even defend, the Dravenhearst women for their agonizing choices…

But she was unable to do the same for her own mother?

Margot shook her head, scattering the ghosts. Right now wasn’t about her. This was about Babette. Nothing added up. Stories conflicted. Her brain swirled.

Merrick—She was weak. Unreliable, ultimately unforgivable.

Ruth—She was the brightest star in the sky, burned out too fast. A victim.

Eleanor—She was a sinner of the highest order. A bad mother.

Evangeline—She was a viper, a seductress. One who reaped what was sown.

The truth lay somewhere in between. Surely it must. The only way to set both herself and Merrick free from this madness was to find it.

“Why are you bringing this up again?” Merrick asked. “Why can’t you let it rest?”

Because what has died here refuses to stay dead.

She gritted her teeth against the admission.

“You told me not to wake you when you dream,” he continued. “Why? You told me we can’t go to Louisville. Why? Why won’t you let me protect you? What is she telling you? What are they telling you? Why do you believe them and not me?”

“It’s not a question of belief. It’s a question of what’s right. What if a wrong was committed here?” she insisted, trying to make him see. “A wrong so ghastly, it’s cast a pall on your house, on your family. What if we can lay it to rest? What if our life together can’t truly begin until we do?”

Merrick’s hands moved to her stomach, cradling it. “Our life together has begun. You’re the one clinging to the past, not me.”

Margot joined her hands over his. “I’m just asking, is it possible…” She tried again, one final time. “Is it possible you’ve villainized her to protect yourself? Because it’s easier? To hate her rather than to grieve her?”

His fingers spasmed over her stomach, but she held fast.

You must face this, she willed him. If you face this, maybe I can too.

The only sound in the room was his breath. Slow and deep.

“You were only eleven,” Margot whispered. “There are different types of leaving, Merrick. It isn’t always a choice.”

“If she didn’t do it…” he ventured, licking his lips. “That means someone else did. Who?”

There was no delicate way to say this. “It seems there are…a myriad of options. Your father—”

“My father loved her.”

“Well, he wasn’t the only one. There was Alastair, and there’s an implication perhaps Xander—”

Merrick collapsed against the headboard, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “A myriad of options indeed. Her tastes were nothing if not eclectic.”

Margot reached for Merrick’s arm. “We needn’t speak more of it tonight, but I thought you deserved to know.” She squeezed gently. “You’ve carried a great deal of anger for a very long time. Perhaps there’s more than one thing we need to lay to rest in this house.”

“Perhaps,” he whispered.

She looked back at him, into the eyes of this man who had sworn he’d never be a husband. Would never be a father. Who consistently gave her more than he’d ever taken.

She smiled softly. “We’ve turned each other’s lives upside down, haven’t we?”

“Right side up, I rather think.”

Margot hadn’t felt right side up in a very long while. “Hmm, perhaps that’s why it feels strange?”

She meant the words as a joke, but he considered them seriously, for quite a long time before speaking. “You know how sometimes…you don’t even dare to dream a dream? Because it’s too big, too far out of reach, so what’s the point in dreaming at all? It’s not meant for you.”

“I do.” She had more than a few of those hopes and wishes herself.

“You and I are a bit like that. A dream like that coming true.”

That was the moment Margot Dravenhearst fell.

The moment Margot Dravenhearst fell irrevocably in love with her husband.