Page 128 of The Dravenhearst Brides
Margot spun around, expecting to see her, but Babette wasn’t there.
Something else was though.
Something else stood tall and proud in the midday Kentucky sun.
Margot gasped.
The solution was staring them square in the face. They traipsed in and out of the rickhouses all day long, all but one. The one frozen in time. Shuttered and locked, full of bourbon aged twenty years.
It was a little bit crazy, a little bit mad. All her best ideas were.
Rickhouse One.
“Let me get this straight,” Ruth said, putting down her gin rickey with athud. “Your husband was poisoned by an unknown assailant, nearly killed. You lost your baby drinking the tea of a certified madwoman. You continue to have dreams, continue to be haunted by the ghosts of formerDravenhearst brides. And not only are you not vacating the premises—which for the record, I wouldn’t just vacate, I would run from screaming bloody fucking murder—you want to open Rickhouse One? The beating heart at the center of it all?”
Margot fidgeted in her seat like a child before a schoolmarm.
“Merrick is here,” she said simply.
“Merrick is aDravenhearst.” Ruth narrowed her eyes. “They’re not the racehorse you bet on, Margot. It’s bad business, bad blood.”
“How can you say that about him?” she cried. “Don’t you care for him, after all these years?”
“Of course I do. But I can say it because I watched my best friend die for it, for a Dravenhearst. I’d prefer not to put another body in the ground for the same reason.”
“I thought Babette wasleavingRichard,” Margot said, her tone sharp. “What really happened the night she died? You’ve never told me.”
Ruth paled and fell silent.
“You kept secrets from me.” Margot raised her chin. “You spoke to me so many times about Babette and motherhood. You made me believe…” She trailed off. She didn’t want to get upset. She knew Ruth wouldn’t value it. Ruth valued levelheadedness and straightforward discussion. No bullshit.
But Ruth’s omissions felt like betrayal. Margot was tired of the secrets. Of having only half the story, never the whole.
“You’ve learned about Julian,” Ruth finally said.
“Alastair told me.”
“The same Alastair who probably poisoned your husband, had an affair with his mother, and has proven himself, time and time again, to be the catalyst behind dark events at Dravenhearst Distilling? The puppeteer behind the curtain, that Alastair?”
Margot had never quite thought of him that way. She disliked the man, but he seemed like a sideshow player, a foil to Richard. A lover of Babette. He was a supporting character, not the leading man.
“I will tell you what I know of that night in exchange for not telling you about Julian months ago.” Ruth looked carefully at Margot. “But I don’t much like talking about either. These are painful things you’ve come here to ask about today, Margot. Shameful things.” She lowered her eyes, quite uncharacteristically. “I will tell the story once but never again. So listen closely.”
Margot leaned forward.
“There was a party scheduled for that night, same as every other at the estate. A masquerade ball. Babette had been planning for months. She was going to dress up as Marie Antoinette, had a ballgown specially made. It had half a dozen layers, if you can believe it, and she planned to walk around handing out slices of cake all evening.” She snorted in amusement, remembering. “She was always so terribly irreverent, which I simply adored about her. But when she found out she was expecting, everything changed.
“She was certain the baby was Alastair’s, and it was the final push she needed to leave the manor. When the party began, Babette descended the stairs, not in her Marie Antoinette costume, but in her wedding gown. She pulled me aside and said she planned to tell Richard she was leaving him during the party. She was going to walk out of his house wearing the gown she’d married him in, wanted it to be the last thing he ever saw of her. She simply couldn’t resist the irony.”
Ruth’s face darkened. “Just before midnight, she had a row with Richard, very public. Nasty. I can’t remember precisely what was said, but halfway through, Richard had the grace to take her outside, away from prying eyes. They were out there for almost an hour, and Richard returned alone. He said she was leaving, and that was that. I never saw her again.”
“What? That’s it?”
Ruth nodded. “I always thought it strange she didn’t come in to say goodbye. We found her the next morning in the rickhouse.”
Margot’s mind raced. “Did anyone besides you know she was leaving?”
“Xander knew,” Ruth said. “He helped pack her bags and stowed them by the stables, waiting for her departure.”
