Page 46 of The Dravenhearst Brides

Dearest Pa,

I’m sorry I’ve not written for a spell, but time has simply gotten away from me.

I have exciting news—Merrick and I are headed to Louisville, planning an extended visit.

In fact, I’ll likely appear on your doorstep before this letter.

This means I can share a secret with you, one I’ll be telling you in person before you read these words—

Merrick and I are expecting a baby!

Due in late spring.

I can’t wait to see the look on your face when we tell you. You’re going to be a grandfather!

Forever Yours,

Margot

The first breath of fresh Bluegrass air was as cleansing as a baptism. Margot filled her lungs, snuffing out the cobwebs. The dull ache in her skull lessened. The world outside seemed inherently brighter, lighter, as though a film over her eyes had lifted.

Why had she not merely stepped outside the ghastly manor sooner? Evangeline had warned her. Ruth too. How had she let herself be so overcome?

When Merrick closed the creaking front door behind them, she didn’t look back.

Ruth waited for them on the portico, dressed in a gown of royal blue with white elbow-length gloves. Impeccably tailored in the fit, as always. The sun was setting over the hill behind her, illuminating a halo around her bright blonde chignon.

“They’ll laugh at you,” Ruth greeted Merrick, “for bringing an old spinster on your arm.”

Margot scoffed. The words “old” and “spinster” were completely incongruous with who Ruth was.

“I want to see the look on Alastair’s face when he sees you,” Merrick replied. “When he realizes, not only is his inevitable fate to be properly walloped by a female equestrian come spring, but one who looks as stunning in a ballgown as you.”

“Suave as always, Merrick dear.” She tweaked his bow tie, adjusting it to her exacting standards.

Evangeline, Xander, and Julian stood alongside the roadster to see them off. A serving tray with six glasses rested on the hood. Julian poured from a bottle of Dravenhearst Distilling bourbon as they approached.

“A toast,” Evangeline cried, clapping her hands together. “For good luck.”

“I took the liberty of selecting a 1920 limited edition, sir,” Xander said.

“A stroke of utmost brilliance.” Merrick turned to Margot to explain. “Only ten bottles of this collection were ever made, pulled out of barrels in early January 1920, just before Prohibition took effect.”

“Served neat.” Xander handed the first glass to Merrick. “Precisely as you like.”

Evangeline darted forward, a pile of leafy herbs in her hand. “With a sprig of mint”—she dropped it in before Merrick could protest—“for good fortune and prosperity.”

Margot was handed a glass next, barely a splash of bourbon in the bottom—enough to taste but scarcely swallow.

Evangeline looked at her with significance as she handed it over. “Strong spirits don’t agree with babes,” she murmured.

Margot’s hand drifted to her stomach. Nearly four months now. Hard to believe. She pursed her lips and stared into the soulless windows of the manor behind them.

A flicker moved in an upstairs pane. Her bedroom. A ghostly hand parting the gauzy curtains. A flash of red hair.

Margot looked away, not needing to see more.

Four more glasses were passed around, and Merrick lifted his in a toast. “To the beginning of the end of an era.”

“Hear, hear!” Julian clinked his glass, the others tipping in to join.

Margot smacked her lips when the taste hit, her mouth flooding with flavor. Spice first, off the rim. A surge of woodsmoke—predominant but hardly unpleasant—and a whispering hint of caramel on the finish.

It tastes like Merrick’s lips, she realized. A flavor she’d grown to love.

An acquired taste indeed.

Her husband withheld his own sip, watching her. A knowing grin quirked as he leaned in to whisper, “Notes of smoke and clove, upfront on your palate. With a smooth caramel finish.”

She recalled the words with crystal clarity—they were the same ones he’d uttered the night they’d first met.

Merrick raised an eyebrow. “Do you still think me a liar, Mrs. Dravenhearst?”

In response, she captured his lips with her own, letting him sample the flavor off her tongue.

“Tastes even better on you,” he murmured, pulling away to swirl his glass. He downed his bourbon in one smooth pull. He frowned at the sopping dregs of mint before delivering his verdict. “An abomination in an otherwise flawless drink, but the thought is appreciated, Evangeline.”

It was time to depart. Margot slid into the shotgun side of the roadster while Ruth crawled into the back, settling in the rumble seat. She managed the maneuver with the dignity of royalty, not a hair out of place.

Merrick revved the engine and smiled, reaching for Margot’s hand as he punched the gas. For the first time, she relished the fact that her husband drove fast.

“Margot, are we flying?”

Yes, flying. Flying far away from here.

As Merrick steered the car beneath the eaves of the magnolia-lined drive, Margot’s eyes darted to Dravenhearst Manor one final time.

The French doors to the upstairs balcony were open.

Eleanor stood there, veil billowing in the evening breeze, ghostly hand waving.

Babette was by her side, silent and still, her eyes narrowed, fox-like, on the departing vehicle. A predator watching its quarry escape.

Her lips didn’t move, but Margot heard the woman’s whispered promise in her mind nonetheless. Loud and clear, chillingly haunting.

See you soon.