Page 124 of The Dravenhearst Brides
“It is, isn’t it? Men are like that sometimes. They do very foolish things that we—enlightened creatures we are—can’t possibly hope to understand.”
Margot cracked a smile. It felt like the first ray of sunshine breaking through a rainstorm.
“There you are.” Evangeline wiped away one tiny tear that escaped.
“Thank you.” She took a shuddering breath. “For listening.”
The air was clearing; Evangeline’s herbs had burned to ash.
“I think you need to tell Merrick. You need to tell him all the things you told me. It helps. Don’t you feel better, sugar?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“You need to talk about it. These kinds of things, Margot…they either bring couples together or push them apart. I would know.” She nodded. “We’ll go outside now. It’ll help. You need a clear head. And tonight, you’ll talk to your husband. You’ll figure out a way through this. Together.”
Before they departed the room, Evangeline placed a bundle of herbs beneath Margot’s pillow.
“Rosemary,” she explained. “To keep the dreams—those women—away. It’s not a long-term solution—everything wild dies in this house. But for tonight, it’s a start.”
Margot was waiting for Merrick when he finally crested the hill at dusk, returning from the distillery.
“You’re out of bed,” he said. His face was blank.
“I am.”
Silence.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like horseshit.”
Heavier silence, positively thunderous. Merrick looked at his feet.
“You look like horseshit too,” she said. “Shall we go inside and talk about it?”
When he looked up, his expression saidno. His lips were thin and tight, his eyes guarded.
That was fine. She would just have to be brave enough for both of them. She turned and walked into the house. He followed. She chose a side parlor for no reason other than it was nearest.
The room had the cluttered feel of a house that had lived too long, seen too much. Filled with the bric-a-brac of generations, bursting at the seams the way stuffing spools out of a torn cushion. Ceramic vases on the mantel. Crystal bowls on the sideboard. Taxidermy on the walls. Porcelain cats on the sill. Ornate plates on pedestals, a collection of antique glass bottles…trinkets upon trinkets upon trinkets. All covered in the dust ofcenturies.
Positively suffocating, this old house.
When she turned to Merrick, his arms were crossed. He looked like he was gearing up for war.
“I’ve missed you.” She wanted to start with earnestness. She hoped it would dent his armor.
It didn’t. He didn’t even blink.
“It’s been really hard,” she tried again.I’ve lost track of time. I’ve lost track of you. Of myself. All of it.
“I’m sorry for that,” he said.
Silence. A quartz clock ticked on the mantel.
Margot searched for words. “I’m sorry you can’t bear to look at me.” It’s where her pain lived, in his dismissal. “I’m sorry you can’t stand to be around me. It must hurt when you see me. You blame me. I blame myself. I’m sorry I lost the baby, Merrick. I’m sorry for all of it. But I—”
“Margot, stop.” He raised a shaking hand. “Please just…stop. I cannot bear to hear you apologizing.”
