Page 96 of The Dravenhearst Brides
“My baby!” Eleanor’s voice was shrill, her hands extended. Grabbing.“Please.”
The chill gripping Margot’s bones was born of so much more than cold. She shook with it all the way to her core.
“Mrs. Dravenhearst,” the physician began slowly, so very slow. “I’m…I’m sorry. Stillborn.”
Eleanor blinked twice, uncomprehending.
“He’s stillborn,” the physician repeated, lifting the child.
“He…” the man-not-yet-a-father repeated, choking on a sob.“He.”
“My son,” Eleanor cried, reaching again. “Give him to me. It’s all right. He’ll be fine. I’ll feed him…and then…” She hiccuped, tears beginning to fall. “And then…”
The physician shook his head.
“I’m his mother,” she shrieked. “Hismother. Give me my baby.” She howled, a cry so raw, so feral, it crossed space and time, needling into Margot’s brain. Every nerve connection shattering like glass.
Instinctively, Margot’s hand flew to her stomach, caressing the spot where her own child grew. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t fathom…
There was only one thing she could do. She reached out and closed the door. Fell into it, eyes closed. Tears leaking.
This whole house was cursed. She understood fully now. Cursed in a way she couldn’t ever hope to break. The cracks ran too deep. Sorrow baked into the foundation alongside the bricks. Blood sunken into the floorboards. Tears in the bedsheets. Heartbreak in the windowpanes. Babies buried under magnolia trees…
“Babette!” A voice thundered from the stairs, and Margot remembered.
She remembered giving chase. Remembered Babette with Richard’s hands at her throat. Remembered a time when unraveling the mystery of the former Mrs. Dravenhearst seemed like the most important thing in the world.
The thing that would set her free.
Margot forced herself to turn the corner. Ruth stood at the bottom of the stairs in a gown colored like sunset, all fiery oranges and pale pinks, blurring and swirling, a work of art of a dress. She always looked beautiful, but tonight, she was a vision.
“Babette?” Ruth reached for her friend as she flew off the final stairs.
“Not now, Ruth,” Babette snapped but didn’t glance at her twice. Not at her beautiful dress or her concerned face.
Margot trailed behind the scene like a sleepwalker, the slumbering princess destined for the spinning wheel. Her feet led her to the ballroom, to Ruth’s and Richard’s sides at the edge of the dancefloor. Shoulder to shoulder. A string quartet was playing, and there, dead center on the floor, was Babette in her magnificent peacock-feathered ballgown.
Dancing in Alastair Pendry’s arms. Closer than close.
Margot was woozy with fear, dizzy with it as she looked sideways for Richard. His face was devastated, a man accepting lashes for a terrible wrong. There was no fight left in him, only defeat.
And beyond him, Ruth, her face twisted as if she’d tasted sour milk. Ruth, wrapping her arms tight around her middle, standing on the outskirts, watching her beautiful best friend at the center of the dance floor. Her eyes were aflame. Burning. Seething. Scorching. Boiling.
Withjealousy.
Margot stepped back, her heart stuttering. She’d never seen Ruth’s beautiful face twisted in such a way.
The strings played on. Resonate, thrumming. When Babette twirled by, she released Alastair and grabbed Margot. Their fingers joined, a ghostly connection, more whisper than flesh and bone. Margot allowed herself to be swept away.
“See how they watch us?” Babette murmured in her ear. She had no breath to warm the skin. Margot felt only cold. “See how they can’t look away?”
Richard and Alastair stood on the edges, watching every move. Ruth too, her expression dull now. Resigned.
“I’m going to tell you the secret, fledgling,” Babette cooed. “Men don’t want a woman they already have. They’re socialized to conquer. To chase. Topossess. If you want a thousand ships launched in your name, it takes far more than beauty. You must be elusive. Unconquered andunconquerable. Only then will his heart be forever yours. Dance with another, he watches. Kiss another, he goes mad.” With that, she leaned in and pressed her lips to Margot’s cheek, ghosting over the skin, raising gooseflesh.
Margot’s breath caught. Her voice, when it came, was high and breathy. “Sounds like a dangerous game.”
Babette’s eyes glowed with pleasure. She took her thumb and dragged it over Margot’s lower lip, pulling. “Those are the only games worth playing. I’ve given you the secret. If you want to be wanted, you can never let him have you.”
