Page 88 of The Dravenhearst Brides
“Maybe you should be.”
“Maybeyouare,” Babette returned. “Maybe it’s you who’s ashamed. Because when you look at me, you recognize the darkest part of yourself. You recognizedesire. Wanting to be wanted.” She clucked her tongue. “Is he enough for you, my son? Of course not. They never are. It’smeyou want. My approval. My attention. My love. Same as all the others.” She rose from her seat, prowling forward like a cat. Slinking. Margot couldn’t tear her gaze away, for even now—especially now—the woman was so goddamn beautiful.
A frigid draft blew through the room.
“I don’t,” she whispered.
“You do. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t already been thinking about me.” With each step closer, the temperature in the room plummeted further.
“Leave me alone,” Margot said, voice shaking. She rose to go to the door, and that was when she saw it. Through the window.
Eleanor in her white gown and veil. Eleanor at the base of the nearest magnolia. Shovel in hand, digging.
Thud.The strike of metal meeting earth. A slithering whisper as the blade raised, dirt and pebbles raining to the ground.Plunk.Eleanor shucking the debris into a pile.Thud.The blade striking deep again.Plunk.
A hand clamped on Margot’s shoulder. Icecold. She screamed.
“She’s digging for you, Dravenhearst bride,” Babette whispered. Her fingers brushed the hair at the nape of Margot’s neck. A chill ran down her spine. “For your baby. A place with all the rest.”
Margot let out another frightened cry and ran from the room. Babette’s cackling laughter echoed in her ears as she fled the house.
The sunlight was blinding but cleansing. Strong enough to chase away ghosts.
Margot leaned on one of the pillars on the portico, her arms cradling the imperceptible swell of her stomach. She could hardly be sure it was there at all—it was still so early. But sheknew. She felt it, the precious, tiny life growing inside her. Early or not, she loved her baby fiercely. A piece of her and a piece of Merrick. Theirs and theirs alone. No one could take that from her. Not Babette. Not Eleanor. Not this house.
Could they?
She looked toward the magnolias, standing sentinel at the front of the property. Eleanor was gone. If she’d been there at all.
Margot raised a hand to her forehead, her mind racing.HadEleanor been there? A veiled ghost digging a grave in broad daylight? It seemed unlikely.
It’s getting worse.The phantasmagoria.
She shuddered, fingers knotting in her hair.
“Yoohoo!” Evangeline stood near the corner of the house, a pair of shears in hand.
Margot was so relieved to see another warm-blooded human, the menacing glint of sunlight off the blade was no deterrent. She strode toward the gardener.
“Need a hand?”
“Always,” Evangeline replied, her throaty voice carrying over the hillside. “I’ve been trimming this morning and need to start my fall pesticide application this afternoon.” Her grin was downright cheery.
“Pesticide?” Margot repeated, close enough now to fall into step. They headed for Evangeline’s gardening shed.
“First frost will fall soon,” Evangeline said, “which means outdoor critters will be wanting to come indoors where it’s toasty. Can’t have that, now can we?” She pushed open the wooden door and dropped the shears into a metal bucket full of gardening tools.
“I suppose not.” Margot tried to peek inside the shed and caught a glimpse of drying herbs strung from the low ceiling and a workbench filled with glass apothecary bottles before Evangeline closed the door.
“Gloves.” Evangeline plunked a pair into Margot’s hands. “Don’t want to be touching any of my special friends with your bare skin, sugar.”
She led her to a small enclosure, popped a rusted key into the lock, and opened the gate.
“Yes,” Evangeline breathed, eyes closing in pleasure as she gestured ahead. “This is where I keep my special friends, the ones I use for my herbals and poisons.”
They sounded like two very different things to Margot, herbals and poisons.
Evangeline inhaled deeply. “Mmm, smell that? That’ll be the hemlock.” Her beady eyes popped open. “Musty.”
