Page 26 of The Dravenhearst Brides
“Is there another place in the manor where we can store her gowns, perhaps?” Margot asked weakly, giving up all hope of donation. She simply hated confrontation. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“But you have.” He was positively tremulous, gazing at the piled-up couture with sorrow. “You’ve disturbed her things without asking. It’s not right. She’ll be very upset.”
“I’m sorry.” Margot was wringing her hands, nearly as distressed as Xander. Her heartbeat pounded in her temples. How had this gone so wrong?
“We can just…perhaps we can put them back.” He nodded. “That’s what we’ll do. We’ll put them back very carefully, precisely as they were.”
“But my things—”
“She won’t like this at all.” He lifted two garments with care and headed for the closet, speaking more to himself than Margot, stroking the ermine cloak like a lover, murmuring, “There, there.”
Margot’s vision began to tunnel as she recognized the dismissal. Dismissed from her own bedroom! As if she were an interloper, unwelcome. She was nearly in tears now. An embarrassed flush rose on the back of her neck, creeping ever higher. Her breathing grew ragged. She fled the suffocating room and collapsed to her knees in the candlelit hallway, out of sight of the horrible butler.
She closed her eyes, breathed in and out.
He's in the wrong,she told herself.You’re not crazy. You’re not hysterical.
The ticking of the grandfather clock roared in her ears.Tick, tick.She matched her inhalations to its rhythm, trying to slow her hitching breaths.
Xander is confused. It’syourcloset,she told herself.
“It’s mine!”a vehement voice hissed. So very intense and close at hand, it raised shivers on Margot’s neck. She sprang to her feet, whirling in a flurry of skirts.
A sudden chill overtook her.
The hallway was empty.
A draft blew down the corridor, whipping hair away from her face. Two doors along the passage slammed shut with joltingbangs.
Margot grew cold, cold to her very bones. When she exhaled, her breath was foggy. Her legs churned, propelling her backward.
A second gust blew down the corridor, extinguishing candles along the wall, one after the next. A black wave of darkness surged toward her. When the last taper guttered out, Margot stumbled. Her legs tangled in her skirt, then caught. She went down hard.
Her panting breath filled the air. Just beyond her feet, a floorboard creaked. Margot stifled a whimper, unable to see in the dark. She twisted to rise.
A hand grabbed her ankle. Icy fingers latching on, one by one, over her skin. Gripping. Dragging. So cold it burned.
Margot screamed and kicked ferociously. The hold of the vise broke, her foot swinging free. She lurched upright, then stumbled backward, eyes frantically searching the darkness for the threat.
Her spine slammed into a doorframe. She scampered over the landing and down the winding stairwell, yanked open the front door of the manor, and exploded into the fading rays of sunlight. The tear tracks frozen upon her cheeks melted instantly, becoming one with the midsummer humidity.
Deep breaths,she told herself.Calm down.
She shifted her skirt to examine her ankle. The skin was clear. No grip marks. No evidence of a frigid burn.
Animaginedfrigid burn,she told herself, exhaling mightily. She’d worked herself into a terrible state, let her distress get the better of her. How else could you explain—
“What’s the matter, sugar?”
Margot spun to the voice. The estate groundskeeper, Evangeline, stood before her, a sharp trowel at her waist. Her hands were full of ripped-up weeds, the roots dangling freely.
Margot swiped at her tear tracks, but the woman had already seen.
“That house.” Her voice was husky. She nodded over Margot’s shoulder toward the manor. “It’s no good for anyone, which is why I don’t go inside. You shouldn’t spend your days locked in there. You’re always welcome to work outside with me.”
Margot released a shuddering breath. “You…don’t go inside?”
“I haven’t set foot in that crypt for almost thirty years.”
