Page 2 of The Dravenhearst Brides
Oh, the tangled web they’d together weave.
She allowed him to sweep her out of the brownstone, onto the dark streets of Louisville, and straight into a waiting motorcar. Its headlights pierced the night to illuminate the way.
Margaret leaned her head on her father’s shoulder. They traveled in silence, but it was companionable, for there was no one in the world Margaret loved more than her darling Pa.
Even if he was responsible for the goddamn noose in the first place.
2
June 13, 1933
Samuel,
Enclosed you will find updated inheritance documents. They await signatures from both you and the new beneficiaries. Please note the addended marital clause, per your request. Once received, all copies will be notarized and returned.
Best,
Louisville Family Law Offices of Holland & Kirk
Margaretcouldn’tevenpretendto know whose miniature Victorian mansion on the outskirts of Louisville they were visiting tonight. Nearly every evening, Pa paraded her somewhere new, making endless introductions, hoping he might find one that would stick.
They never did. And time was rapidly running out.
At the age of twenty-two years—the last several spent as a recluse—Margaret was something of a mystery to polite society, reintroduced this season like a bolt from the blue. But while her softly curved, cherubic figure made short memories for the men, the women remembered perfectlywell…
Three summers ago, her disastrous debut. The prolonged social isolation—half self-imposed, half societally necessary—that followed.
No one could gossip like southern society women, and they had the collective memory of a steel trap. They clustered in groups, whispering behind hands like vultures pecking at a carcass.There’s somethingoffabout that Greenbrier girl, something not quite right. Pretty enough, sure, but a bit touched in the head.
Margaret was not crazy. She wasnot.
But perception was reality, and all the money in the world couldn’t buy the illusion of sanity. Nor, apparently, could it convince even the most red-blooded of men to get into bed with her.
Margaret kept her chin up, eyes level with those who sniped behind closed fingers as she moved through the crowd. The judgmental stares were like darts, a barrage of prickling attacks. A faint flush rose on her neck, creeping higher with each step. Black spots dotted the corners of her vision, closing in.
No. Not now. Not again.
There was so very much at stake.
“Ah, Alastair.”
Pa’s voice cut through her rising panic. The sight of the suitor before her was enough to turn Margaret’s scalding blood cold.
Alastair Pendry was a widower, agriculture titan, and old friend of her father. Emphasis onold, all silver-streaked hair and fleshy lips. Lips that curled in a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile as he gazed at Margaret.
“Samuel.” Alastair extended a hand. “And Margaret—looking simply grand this evening, as always.”
His tone was above reproach. As was his gaze, pinned firmly on Margaret’s cornflower-blue eyes, never drifting down the shapely curves of her body, not even once. It was perhaps why her father considered Alastair a respectable match despite the nearly thirty-year age difference. There wasalso the simple but unavoidable matter of no other man offering, and their time had all but run out.
But prey always recognized predator, and Margaret was not fooled by Alastair Pendry. She knew this man would be the death of her. Her fingers drifted absentmindedly to the pearls at her throat, an instinctive tic.
Pa turned to her, expectant. Margaret was to play nice by acknowledging Alastair’s compliment, perhaps even offer a warm smile or her hand for a kiss.
But she had no intention of spending a single moment with her soon-to-be fiancé. The discussion had occurred in her father’s study only yesterday. The offer was made, and Pa intended to accept. He had no choice. Alastair would take care of her. Sheneededto be taken care of.
Margaret didn’t want to hear it.
“Pardon me,” she said to both gentlemen, prying her arm from her father’s grasp. She fought to keep her steps unhurried as she walked away, cutting a course for the opposite side of the ballroom, to a spot near the wall with the other single women—the spinsters and widowed aunties—where she belonged. Fate was a devil who couldn’t be bargained with. Margaret had learned that lesson long ago. The day Elijah died.
