Page 16 of The Dravenhearst Brides
The sounds echoed in Margaret’s brain, pushing her away from consciousness again. She sank deeper into herself, pulling down the shutters and locking the doorway to her mind once more.
She wasn’t ready to face it all.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Margaret awoke to a moist prodding against her palm. Snuffling. She sat bolt upright with a screech, frantically looking for a horse.
A yelp, followed by thethump-thump-thump-thumpof four paws scampering away. A small black dog with fluffy fur and enormous brown eyesstared up at her, affronted.
“Beau?” Dravenhearst strode into the bedroom. The dog collapsed sideways, paws up, belly exposed for rubbing.
Dravenhearst dropped to his knees. “Getting into mischief, buddy?” His gaze moved from the dog to Margaret. “This is Beau. Apologies if he frightened you. He’s always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. It’s the spitz in him, I’m afraid.”
Spitz. An unusual breed. Black fur and a fox-like face, pointy ears, and an exceedingly bushy tail…she’d never seen a dog quite like him before.
Margaret fidgeted, then swung her legs over the side of the mattress. The bed was a four-poster with a filmy canopy and a lavender duvet, light and feathery. The room had an airy quality with its ivory paneled walls, helped along by wide-open French doors leading to a balcony. She could just make out the tips of the white magnolias in the distance.
Dravenhearst rose to his feet. The ticking of a clock echoed faintly from the hallway outside the bedroom.
Tick, tick, tick.
The metronome of time roared in Margaret’s ears. Her cheeks heated as, with every passing second, she became more embarrassed and flustered by her inability to connect, to simply speak. To fill the silence between them with charming words or a winsome smile.
A new beginning here, that was what she’d hoped for. But how could she possibly start fresh when she was still the same old Margaret?
Tick, tick, tick.
He cleared his throat. “Are you feeling better?”
“I am. Thank you.”
Tick, tick, tick.
He nodded slowly. “It’s…it’s quite warm today. I’m sure it’s overwhelming for you, coming here with me. It all happened rather fast. I’m sure you were overcome—”
“Please stop.” She simply couldn’t bear it. “It wasn’t the first time, nor do I expect it shall be the last.”
“What do you mean?”
It was almost comical how his dog mirrored his movement, head tilted, lips slightly parted.
She focused on Beau instead of her husband and took the plunge. “I have a…condition. Perhaps I should have warned you. I’m vasovagal—my blood pressure drops, and I…I faint.”
“You’re…you mean you’re unwell? Is it very limiting?”
She hated him a little for this response, for his quick rush to judgment. “It needn’t be. Not usually. The physicians, they say it’s triggered by…distressing circumstances. Nerves.” She forced out a laugh and wrung her hands together. “And today has been…I’ve been a bit…”
“I understand.”
“I’m not unwell,” she maintained, hating the word.
“Of course not.” His answer came too quick. It sounded false to her ears.
Tick, tick, tick.
Margaret stared at his shoes. They were polished to a shine. “I’d hoped for a fresh start here,” she admitted, “but it seems I’ve already made a mess of things, haven’t I?”
The longer the silence stretched, the more intimidated and exposed Margaret felt. Just when she thought she could stand it no longer, he spoke.
