Page 107 of The Dravenhearst Brides
36
November 22, 1933
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
Thefirstbreathoffresh Bluegrass air was as cleansing as a baptism. Margot filled her lungs, snuffing out thecobwebs. 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.
