Page 15 of The Dravenhearst Brides
Ruth laughed, all pearlescent teeth and dimples, and thrust her hand forward. There was such confidence, even imperiousness, to the gesture, Margaret was unsure whether she was worthy to take it. She hesitated, her vision tunneling. She was so very hot.
“I’m Ruth Auclaire, the equestrian trainer.”
Equestrian. Horses.
A faint whinny beside her.
“I’m…” Margaret gasped, her hand jolting forward even as her vision blacked out. Her next breath came in a halting, shuddering gasp as full panic set in. “I’m…I’m…”
Margaret.
The world disappeared. It was almost merciful when it went.
The last thing Margaret heard before she surrendered was a shocked gasp and a strangled cry from her unassuming husband’s lips as she went down in a flurry of bridal skirts.
The magnolia bouquet fell from her slackened grip, crushed unceremoniously beneath her knees into the dirt.
6
May 4, 1901
My darling Richard,
Today we write the first page of our happily ever after.
Today I finally get to call you my husband.
And I, your Dravenhearst bride.
—Excerpt, a letter from Margaret Babette to her husband on their wedding day
“WhatthehellamI supposed to do with her?” A loud voice penetrated Margaret’s sleepy haze.
“What do you mean?” A shrill retort, unmistakably female. “Youmarriedher.”
A strikingthud. A fist hitting a wall.
“I didn’t want to marry her, but the money—”
“I would have gotten us the money come spring. Omaha has gold in his bloodline. He’s a champion.”
“We wouldn’t have made it to spring! I would have lost the house—thedistillery—by October.”
“The goddamn distillery? Really? You Dravenhearst men are all the same. Your precious bourbon, no matter the cost. And there is acost, Merrick. A steep one.” Her voice lowered almost to a whisper. “How could you?”
“Ruth, I—”
“That girl doesn’t belong here. You swore you wouldn’t…youswore. Never another Dravenhearst bride.”
“There’s no curse, Ruth.”
“That’s not what you said a decade ago. That’s not what your mother—the lastMargaret, the last Dravenhearst bride—believed.”
Silence. Upon hearing her name, Margaret stirred, her eyelids fluttering.
“You’ve made a terrible mistake,” Ruth said. “I won’t forgive you for it, and neither will she, not once this place sinks its claws into her. I can’t stand to be in this mausoleum even a second longer. When you’re ready to admit what you’ve done, you know where to find me.”
Thudding booted footsteps. The slam of a door.
