Page 43 of The Dravenhearst Brides
“Most people don’t,” he whispered. “Most people say this economic depression started the day the market crashed, but a struck match won’t catch ablaze without kindling. And the drys pushing temperance made sure there was plenty of it lying around in this state.”
Margot nodded.
“That inheritance of yours?” He looked away, down the empty corridor. “It’s a real privilege. I admire your father for everything he’s built. You should too. I just…” He sighed and cut his gaze back to hers. “It’s hard for me to hear the way you talk about it sometimes, how you take it for granted. God knows, I did the same, but if I could go back…”
Margot reached for his arm, suddenly understanding. She’d thrown her inheritance in his face more than once, testing him, perhaps seeking to hurt him. Not because she was ungrateful, but insecure. It was all she had to offer, the only reason a man like him might desire a woman like her. “You’re right. I’ve been flippant. I apologize for that. It was never my intent.”
He nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Did you have a chance to review the papers I left you yesterday? On your nightstand?”
She frowned, thinking of the envelope beside the hydrangeas. In the midst of the tumultuous events that unfolded overnight and this morning, it was the furthest thing from her mind. “Er, no. That was from you? I assumed…a letter from my father.”
“It’s a copy of your father’s will, freshly notarized, as well as our marriage contract.”
She smiled. “Sounds dreadfully boring.”
“You ought to read it.”
She searched his serious eyes, uncertain. “I suppose I can make time—”
“If you look it over now, we can discuss it during dinner.”
Margot shook her head. “I can’t possibly have it read before dinner. I’ll look it over before bed tonight, will that suffice?”
“Yes.” He cracked open his door. “If you, er, need any assistance, just give a holler. I know you’re likely used to having a lady’s maid help you clean and dress for dinner. I’m sorry we don’t…can’t afford to staff one. It’s been all I could do to protect Xander and Evangeline from unemployment these last few years.”
Was that the hint of a blush rising in his suntanned cheeks?
“I don’t need a lady’s maid,” she murmured. That was all going by the wayside these days anyway. Households were doing more with less, employing fewer staff. And he did seem to be terribly sensitive about money, her husband. She was only just beginning to understand the hardship hidden beneath his brusqueness. She eyed the flickering candles lighting the hallway with wry amusement. “But I will be turning on the lights in my room. Factor that into your electricity bill tabulations.”
His soft smile and answering chuckle played on loop in Margot’s mind for the rest of the evening.
14
July 9, 1933
Mr. Merrick Dravenhearst,
Tonight.
—A
Threebeautifulbutterflies,allin a row.
One silver, smaller than the others. One gold, near-translucent and difficult to see. And the final one, the largest, was the deepest shade of violet. The patterns on their wings were like mirrored inkblots—perfectly symmetric, whimsically chaotic. Glitter trailed on the breath of chilled wind beneath their wings.
Margot reached, mesmerized, but they slipped away, always beyond her grasp. Their pixie dust dispersed, like trying to capture smoke with her bare hands.
“Margot, catch me!”The tiny silver butterfly danced ahead.
Eli?
“Margot, we’re flying!”His voice echoed, repeating a dozentimes. Ripples on a lake.
The glitter-tinged world came into brassy focus, dripped in sepia, soft around the edges like film negatives. Margot was in a field at dusk, surrounded by golden wheat at the golden hour. The air was cold. Two butterflies danced ahead, weaving in and out of stalks. The violet butterfly paused, hovering before her.
“Watch this,” it called, voice teasing. Familiar.
The butterfly zipped forward, flying loops around Margot’s head and neck, sprinkling lavender fairy dust in her hair, over her bare collarbone. Margot breathed deeply, inhaling glitter. Shivering. The scent…sultry jasmine.
