Page 46 of The Dravenhearst Brides
I think your house is haunted,she’d said.
Do you want to leave?he’d asked in return.
She’d struggled with the question all morning, had packed and unpacked her trunks a half dozen times in the last two hours, deliberating.
If she left her husband mere weeks into marriage, she’d be ruined. She’d never marry again, never have a family. Her father’s business, once he passed, would rot into oblivion, and she’d be “mad Margaret” for all eternity.
But it was even more mad to stay…wasn’t it?
Margot paused her pacing to look in the mirror. For just a moment, a vision of Babette reflected back at her—eyes twinkling, hair burnished like the sunrise, the same as in the oil portrait. Margot blinked, once, twice, until her own image stared back. She shook her head, unsettled.
She should leave. They could have the marriage annulled. It would be shameful, yes, but Margot had been living with shame for years. She was the daughter who survived, not the son. It’s what had landed her in this mess in the first place—her own weakness, inherent in both her gender and her constitution.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Margot?” Merrick called. “You in there?”
She contemplated remaining silent. It would serve him right, given his own propensity for brooding. But petty looked good on no one, least of all Margot. With a heavy sigh, she swung open the door.
“I was wondering…” Merrick paused and took a deep breath. “Uh, well, first of all, good morning.”
Her forehead creased. “Good morning.”
His next words came out quickly, all in a rush. “I was wondering if you might take a walk with me?”
“A walk?”
He licked his lips. “Yes. In the back gardens, perhaps?”
Margot chewed on her cheek, considering. His hands were in his pockets, but she could see them fidgeting, the material twisted and tortured beneath his fingers. She’d never seen him nervous before. Merrick always appeared quite unflappable—mysterious at times, but never unsure.
She bit her bottom lip. “All right.”
“Yes?” He lifted his eyes hopefully.
“Yes. Is everything okay?”
“It is.” The answer came fast, much too fast.
She tilted herhead. “You’re a terrible liar, you know. Which is odd. You do it so often, I’d really assume you’d be better at it.”
He scowled as she fell into step beside him. “When have I ever lied to you?”
“You’ve done nothing but lie through your teeth since the night we met. Have you forgotten the bourbon—‘hints of woodsmoke and clove with a caramel finish?’ A load of malarkey!”
He laughed deeply. The formality of his posture loosened, his arm relaxing to brush hers. A swooping sensation settled in Margot’s stomach.
“Malarkey or not, I recall you drinking it. Not once, but twice. So maybe I’m not such a bad liar after all.”
“I did, didn’t I?” It was her turn to laugh.
“Thought you were going to spit it out all over my shirt.”
She laughed harder, lifting a hand to her mouth. “I nearly did.”
“Well, you gulped it down like water. It’s meant to be savored and appreciated. It’s—”
“An acquired taste,” she finished, looking at him with a smile. For the first time since coming to the manor, she felt a sense of budding familiarity.
