Page 37 of The Dravenhearst Brides
Margot gave chase through the crowd. She followed the swishing train of Babette’s pink dress straight out of the ballroom and into a dark hallway. The temperature dropped several degrees. Margot shivered.
A closed door waited at the end of the passage. Babette paused, curling her fingers around the knob. Before she entered, she looked straight at Margot, her green eyes blazing with awareness.
She can see me,Margot realized. None of the others had noticed, but—
Babette winked. “Yes, Dravenhearst bride. I see you.”
Margot jolted, the voice reaching her ears like wind chimes in the distance—airy, high, and melodic.
Babette’s lips pursed. She blew Margot a playful kiss. “Watch this.”
She turned the knob to slip inside, and Margot caught a glimpse of the brown-eyed man waiting within. Heard his voice, pleading, as she closed the door.
“Babette, please don’t marry him.”
The door clicked shut.
Margot’s hands scrambled at the knob, twisting and turning, but it was futile. Locked. She pounded a hand on the wood in frustration, then pried at the keyhole. Twisting madly. She wanted to hear. Tosee.
A faint barking echoed down the hallway, but Margot was single-minded in her desire to open the door. She would not be distracted.
“Babette?”
She turned her head to the voice, but the hallway was empty. Suddenly, warm hands gripped her frozen arms, pressing.
“Babette, what are you doing?” The voice came from a great distance, as though underwater. Muted and muffled.
The barking grew louder, pounding in her head. She closed her eyes against the onslaught. The world tilted beneath her feet. When she lifted her lashes, the hallway had vanished, the Louisville ballroom worlds away, decades even.
Margot stood in the foyer of Dravenhearst Manor in her white cotton nightgown, her fingers gripping the handle of the front door. Beau had wiggled himself between her and the exit, nudging her away. She turned her head and gasped in surprise. The bulging, eerie blue eyes of the butler, Xander, loomed before her in the darkness.
“M’lady, where are you going? It’s the middle of the night.”
“I…” Margot released the handle in shock. “Nowhere.”
“Babette, you should be abed. I’ll escort you. Come.”
Margot pulled back from him. “I’mnotBabette.” Never before had the distinction felt so crucial.
“Not…” Xander faltered, eyes searching. He shook his head. “Come. Richard will be—”
“I’m not Richard’s wife. I’mMargot, Merrick’s wife.”
“Merrick’s…wife?” Xander blinked twice, raising a hand to cover his gaping mouth. “Merrick’swife?”
“Yes,” she breathed, folding her arms over her chest. Rubbing her hands up and down against the phantom chill still clinging to her limbs.
“No.” He shook his head, voice raspy. “No, you can’t be. No more Dravenhearst brides. He promised. We all agreed.”
“What do you mean?”
“The curse,” he whispered, eyes wide with reverence. With fear.
“What curse? Did something happen here, Xander? To the other wives?”
“Dead…two generations dead. First Eleanor, then Babette.” His face crumpled. He dragged a hand over it, scrubbing hard.
“Ruth told me…she said Babette committed suicide.”
