Page 50 of The Dravenhearst Brides
Forever Yours,
Pa
WhenMargotwokethenext morning, she no longer contemplated packing her trunk. Her kiss with Merrick had settled the matter. She was staying.
But.
But…
Merrick had conceded there was something unnatural about the house. Xander, Evangeline, and Ruth had all expressed fears of history repeating itself. Even young Julian, who hadn’t lived through the events of the past, had extended his own vague warning.
Perhaps there was a curse, perhaps not. Butifthere was, Margot was inarguably the next target.
History repeating itself,she mused, dressing for the day. Did this only refer to the suicides? Or was there more at play here? Babette had reached out to Margot in her dreams. Had anyone, Eleanor perhaps, reached out to Babette?
There was only one way to find out.
And conveniently, the person who likely held answers had given Margot an open invitation to tea.
“So what’ll it be?” Ruth’s grin was playful as she invited Margot inside Hellebore House. “Doilies and fine china?” She gestured toward a curio cabinet, then lifted her opposite hand to indicate the sideboard. “Or shall we make a real afternoon of it and dip into the giggle water?”
Margot’s experience with alcohol was limited, but judging from the impressive array of hooch on display—most bottles less than half full—Ruth was a connoisseur.
“Gin rickeys on the porch in the summer…” Margot eyed the bottles, trying to hide her trepidation. “Isn’t that what you and Babette liked?”
A flicker of interest sparked. “We did.”
“I see no reason to break tradition.”
“Spoken like a true Dravenhearst.” Ruth’s eyes glinted with approval.
As Ruth prepared their drinks, Margot surveyed the selection on the credenza. She lifted a tall, rectangular bottle filled to the midpoint with a rich amber solution. The label was faded and peeling but clearly readDravenhearst Distilling.In smaller print below came the year, 1912.
“Ah, Merrick’s pride and joy, that is,” Ruth said, nodding to the bottle. “It’s from the 1912 collection, a particularly good crop of corn and one of Richard’s more experimental mash bills. It was the first season Richard let Merrick do full tastings alongside him to decide whether the bourbon was ready to be pulled and bottled.”
“1912?” Margot furrowed her brow. “But in 1912, Merrick must’ve been only…”
Ruth laughed. “Ten years old.”
Margot dropped the bottle onto the sideboard with a clatter. “Started him early, I see.”
Ruth waved this observation away. “Merrick had his first taste of bourbon slipped into his milk bottles. Helped with teething.” She clucked her tongue and lifted her eyebrows. “He was a terribly fussy baby. Hopefully, it doesn’t run in the family.”
“Oh, I don’t think we have to worry about that just yet,” Margot replied, trying to keep her tone light.
“Mmm.” Ruth raised a highball glass and sampled her gin rickey. She smacked her lips twice before splashing in an additional dollop of gin. “That’s what Babette thought too, but she was late after only their first month of marriage. She miscarried the first, but it wasn’t long before she was expecting again.” She rolled her eyes, and Margot felt a frisson of anxiety at how cavalierly Ruth discussed another woman’s fertility. “Merrick was born only a few months after their first wedding anniversary. Quite the fairytale, no?” But her eyes glittered with something that told Margot it hadn’t been a fairytale. Not in the slightest.
She remained silent, accepting her glass.
“Do you want children, Margot?” Ruth’s blue eyes were clear and piercing.
Margot took a sip, stalling. “I…well…” She licked her lips, tasting the tartness of the drink on her tongue. “We’ve only just wed.”
“It can happen quickly.”
“Well, yes. Yes, I realize that…” Her cheeks colored. She wasn’t on even footing with Ruth, who talked about sex and pregnancy as casually as one might discuss a summer rainstorm. A single woman, yet far more confident and self-assured in these matters than Margot, a blushing virgin bride.
Ruth took a second sip of her drink. “Shall we take to the veranda?”
