Page 110 of The Dravenhearst Brides
“Your family”—Alastair snorted and nodded toward the approaching Ruth—“is cursed. Riddled with predilections, with liars and sinners alike.”
Margot frowned.
“Adulteryis a sin, Alastair,” Merrick said.
Alastair frowned. “You don’t have to believe me, I’m sure you won’t, but she was planning to leave your father for me, that final night. Ask your butler, he was in on it. She was expecting, and it was mine. She wasleaving. For me. And she wasn’t the only one—ask that horse trainer of yours too.” A second nod toward Ruth. “Ask her about her own little bastard baby. There’s more to this story.”
Margot’s jaw dropped.Ruth’sbaby?What on God’s green earth—
“I already know about Julian,” Merrick snapped. “I’ve always known.”
Margot gasped.
“No.” Alastair shook his head, glowering. “You have no idea. The devil isinsideyour walls, Merrick. You’re protecting your ‘family’ from the wrong people.”
“Alastair.” Ruth at last entered their circle, her voice clipped.
“’Lo, Ruthie.” Alastair inclined his head, his lip curling in distaste. “Long time, no see.”
“The years have been…kind.” Ruth’s words sounded and tasted of a lie in the air.
“Far kinder to you, I reckon. Undeservedly so.”
Ruth tapped her toe twice, a deadly staccato. “Merrick, perhaps you should take Margot for a dance? Alastair and I have much to catch up on, some lovely times.”
Merrick acquiesced, guiding her away from the dueling pair.
“When is your speech?” She took his hand.
“A little under an hour, just before dinner is served. I’m giving the introductory bit, and Colonel Blanton will follow.”
“Right.” Margot released a shaky breath. “So we’ve a bit of time. About what Alastair said…”
“Which part?” Merrick’s arms stiffened around her.
“About Ruth.” She darted her eyes up to meet his. “Something about a baby?”
Merrick sighed. “Yes. Julian is her son.”
Her son.“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not my secret to tell, particularly with the stakes as they are. She’s an unmarried woman. We’ve kept it quiet—how in blazes Alastair found out, I’ll never know.”
“Who’s the father?”
“I’ve no idea.” Merrick shook his head. “She’s never said.”
They revolved slowly. Once. Twice.
“How old is Julian?”
“Nineteen, born in 1914. And to head off the follow-up, Nancy Drew, I don’t know who the hell Ruth was seeing then. I was eleven, for Christ’s sake, had just lost my mother. I don’t recall ever seeing Ruth with a man, before or since. If she had a beau, she kept it discreet.”
The song bled into a second. Margot’s mind reeled.
All the time they’d spent together—all their talk of Babette and Eleanor, of motherhood, of that cursed house, and yet, Ruth had never once mentioned…
It felt like a betrayal. A deep one. She opened her mouth, then closed it when Merrick stumbled over her feet. She righted him and kept dancing.
