Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada

‘I don’t mind the company.’

‘You might’ve fooled me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘Sorry, Miss Thomas, but I’m used to being alone. I’ve been alone for a great many years now, ever since Alanna died.’ He scowled. ‘I’m not much good at...social situations. I never was. If I made you feel unwelcome, I’m sorry. I dinnae mean to.’

Helen was taken off guard by his apology. She really thought the man despised her. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, and shrugged. ‘I understand.’

‘No, it’s not all right.’ His scowl deepened. ‘I’m a miserable sod. Alanna told me so often enough.’

She was silent, absorbing this titbit of information, holding it greedily to herself like a rare jewel. ‘What was she like?’ she asked a moment later, curious. ‘Your wife.’

He didn’t answer right away, and Helen thought perhaps she’d gone too far, and he’d closed himself off again.

‘She was beautiful,’ he said finally. ‘She wore her hair in a plait down her back, and she had the devil of a temper. She didn’t have much patience with my moods. After she and the baby died, I just...shut down.’

‘I felt the same way after David died.’ Helen fiddled with the belt of her robe. ‘I couldn’t bear anyone’s company. I still can’t, really.’

‘And what about my company, Miss Thomas?’ Colm asked gruffly, and came closer. ‘Can ye bear to be around the likes of me?’

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. They were a lovely green-gold. ‘Sometimes,’ she murmured, right before his arms came around her waist and his mouth found hers.

His lips, tentative at first, grew bolder, and her hands slid up and over his shoulders. Helen made a sound low in her throat as he deepened their kiss and explored her mouth with his tongue.

Colm dragged his mouth from hers and met her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, lass, I shouldna be doing this—’

In answer, she took his face – his angular, dark-ginger-stubbled, perfect face – in her hands and pressed her lips hungrily to his. His arms tightened around her and they clung together, kissing and muttering low, incomprehensible words. She loved the feel of his stubbled jaw beneath her fingers and the firm, sure warmth of his lips against hers.

She wanted him with a desperation that shocked her.

They grappled together, clawing and yanking at one another’s clothing in their mutual impatience to remove any and all barriers between them. Colm pressed her hard against the wall, his mouth devouring her lips and neck as he pinned her wrists above her head.

They didn’t speak; there was no need. Somehow – Helen couldn’t have said how, exactly – they ended up in Colm’s bedroom, sprawled together atop his bed, their clothes strewn everywhere, naked and desperate to consummate their need for one another.

Everything became a blur of arms, legs, mouths, and skin as they rolled together, limbs entangled. Helen threw back her head and gasped with pleasure as Colm plunged inside her. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like coming home again, after a long absence.

All too soon it was over. Sweaty, breathless, and spent, Helen raised her head from Colm’s chest and regarded him with a quizzical expression.

‘Well, Mr MacKenzie, it seems you’ve been holding out on me. I’d no idea you had this side to you.’

‘What side is that, Miss Thomas?’ he asked, his words husky as he met her gaze.

‘This.’ She drew her finger in slow, lazy circles along his chest. ‘I never imagined you had it in you to be so...amazing. And you haven’t scowled once.’

‘I’ve had no reason to scowl.’

‘True,’ she agreed, and snuggled against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. She hadn’t been with a man, not really, since her husband died. She’d had no desire to be touched, or to touch anyone else.

Until Colm.

‘Promise me you won’t,’ she murmured, and yawned.

‘I won’t what?’

‘You won’t scowl.’

‘I can’t promise I’ll never scowl again,’ he protested. ‘We both know I will.’

‘Then at least promise me you won’t scowl again tonight.’

‘Now, that,’ he said as he stroked the hair gently from her face, ‘I can probably manage.’

‘That’s the last phone call,’ Gemma announced with satisfaction as she rang off and tossed her mobile aside on the bedside table the next morning. ‘All of the wedding details have been sorted. It’s settled ‒ we’re officially having the ceremony and reception here at Draemar.’

Dominic muttered something incomprehensible and drew the pillow more securely over his head.

‘Now, I’ll just send out a mass email to notify everyone on my list of the change of venue, and—’ She reached for her laptop with smug satisfaction, ‘I’m done.’

‘Did you happen to ask Tarquin and Wren and Mr and Mrs C about having the wedding here at the castle?’ Dom grumbled as he sat up.

‘Of course I did! They’re thrilled. Lady Campbell’s offered me full use of the staff, and Mrs Neeson’s had lots of lovely suggestions as to food. The only one who seems to have any doubts,’ Gemma added pointedly, ‘is you.’

‘I don’t have any doubts.’ Dominic flung the covers aside and got out of bed. ‘I have no doubt whatsoever.’ He turned to glare at her. ‘I absolutely, positively don’t want to get married. Not to you. Not ever.’

Gemma lifted her gaze from the laptop and fixed him with a deceptively calm expression. ‘What did you say, Dominic?’

‘I said, I don’t want to get married, Gemma! You’ve turned into a crazed, wedding-obsessed cow, and I can’t take it any more.’

‘Is that right?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Is it wrong to want my wedding day to be perfect? No, it bloody well isn’t! A girl only gets married once—’

‘Some get married a bit more often than that,’ Dom snapped.

‘‒ and I want every detail to be exactly right! Is it my fault this horrid Scottish weather’s conspired against me from the bloody start? Is it my fault your stupid agent didn’t book us a hire car to get us here, or a hotel room? No, it fucking well isn’t!’

‘I don’t care whose fault it is.’ Dominic found his jeans on the floor and thrust one leg in. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I don’t like what my life’s become, and I don’t like who you’ve become, ever since we got engaged. Why can’t you make do with a regular wedding gown? Why does it have to be Prada? You’re demanding and unreasonable, and I’m sick of it. You spend more time with that little blue Tweep bird than you do with me! You’re constantly posting and texting and updating your status, and all of it about the bloody fucking wedding. Well – here’s a status update for you. The wedding is off.’

She stared at him. ‘Social media is very important! Don’t you want our wedding to be the talk of the Internet?’

‘No. I don’t. But you never bothered to find out what I wanted, did you?’ He zipped up his trousers and glared at her. ‘No, you bloody well didn’t, because you don’t care. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to marry you, Gemma. I’m done.’

If Dominic thought she’d crumble, or collapse into a fit of tears, or plead with him to go through with the wedding, he was mistaken.

‘Fine,’ she replied, and put her laptop aside. She got up and swept past him to gather up her collection of bridal magazines. ‘Your loss. Just be advised – the £5,000 deposit on the horse-drawn sleigh is non-refundable. As is the £2,000 rental fee for the matched team of horses to pull the sleigh. Not to mention the £6,000 for my Prada gown.’

‘So?’ he enquired, indifferent. ‘Your dad’s paying for all that crap.’

‘No,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘you are. Milo couldn’t afford to help out financially; he really wanted to, but he’s still getting back on his feet. So I charged everything to your AmEx card instead. Even if we don’t get married,’ she finished, ‘you’ll still have to pay for most of the expenses, because they’re—’

‘‒ non-refundable,’ Dominic groaned. ‘Oh, fucking hell.’

Chapter 28

After lunch, Caitlin made her way upstairs to Gemma’s bedroom and knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ Gemma called out.

‘Hello,’ Caitlin said hesitantly as she hovered in the doorway. ‘You said you wanted to see me?’

‘Yes! Your bridesmaid’s dress arrived in the post, and I want you to try it on.’

‘But the seamstress fitted me in the store,’ she pointed out. ‘There’s no need to try it on again.’

‘Of course there is,’ Gemma said, her tone brisk as she took the plaid dress from the parcel and shook it out. ‘That was nearly a month ago. You might’ve gained – or lost – a bit of weight since then.’ She held the dress up.

‘Oh,’ Caitlin admitted as she stepped forward, ‘it’s lovely.’ And it was. It was simple, with a long, bias-cut skirt and bodice fashioned out of deep-green plaid. A sash of black velvet tied at the waist, ending in a bow at the back.

‘And it’ll be even lovelier on you,’ Gemma observed. ‘Go on, take it into the dressing room and try it on. You needn’t worry – Dom’s gone.’

‘Is everything all right with you two?’ Caitlin asked as she took the dress and draped it over her arm. ‘I thought I heard shouting this morning.’

‘Oh, no, everything’s fine,’ Gemma assured her. ‘Dominic just needed a bit of...persuading.’

And a Louboutin up his arse to remind him who’s boss, she reflected darkly.

A few minutes later, Caitlin’s muffled voice drifted out. ‘Can you come in here and help me do up the zip? I can’t seem to manage it.’

‘No problem.’ Gemma opened the door. ‘All right,’ she said as she entered the dressing room, ‘let’s just get you zipped in and then we’ll have a look at you.’

But although she tugged, and pulled, and tugged again, the zipper would go no further than it already had – midway up Caitlin’s back.

‘Oh, shit,’ Gemma said in dismay. ‘You’ve gained weight! Quite a bit, too, it seems.’

‘Could it be let out, do you think?’

‘I don’t think so.’ She leant forward and examined the seams with a frown. ‘There’s nothing much left to let out, I’m afraid. Perhaps if we drape a dark-green pashmina round your shoulders...’

‘Perhaps,’ Caitlin said, doubt plain on her face.

Gemma studied the younger girl critically. ‘Crikey! You’ve definitely gained weight. Even your boobs have got bigger.’ She raised a brow. ‘One would almost think you’re pregnant.’

Her half-joking words were met with an ominous silence. ‘Actually,’ Caitlin said after a moment, and lifted a frightened gaze to Gemma, ‘I am. Pregnant, that is. And I don’t know wh-what to do about it.’

And she burst into tears.

Gemma was at a loss as the girl stumbled, weeping, into her arms. ‘You’re...pregnant? Are you sure? Does your mum know?’

Still sobbing, Caitlin shook her head. ‘No. No one knows. Only you.’

‘What about the baby’s father? Does he know?’

Caitlin broke away and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘No,’ she said, and shuddered. ‘He can’t ever know.’

‘Why on earth not? He deserves to know,’ Gemma said, and added tartly, ‘not to mention, he needs to help you figure this out. He’s partly responsible for putting you in this situation, after all.’

‘He can’t know,’ Caitlin cut in, her expression teary but determined, ‘he can’t ever know, because he’s married. And because his son is staying here as a guest at Draemar.’

‘Not...Jeremy?’ Gemma asked, her eyes wide.

‘Yes – Jeremy!’ she cried. ‘He’s Niall’s son. I didn’t know he was, until it was too late...now Niall will never leave his wife, he’ll think I’m trying to trap him... Oh, it’s all such a bloody, bloody mess!’

‘That,’ Gemma muttered as Caitlin sobbed into her shoulder, ‘is the understatement of the year.’

It took the better part of the afternoon, but Gemma finally persuaded Caitlin to go downstairs and tell her mother the truth.

‘Well, Mum?’ Caitlin asked anxiously a short time later. She’d found her mother in the drawing room, flicking through a magazine. After closing the doors and blurting out her story, her rush of words were met with silence. ‘Haven’t you anything to say?’

Mrs Campbell stood by one of the windows, staring out, her eyes unfocused.

‘Oh, I have plenty to say.’ She turned to face her daughter. ‘First of all – what do you plan to do about this?’

Caitlin chewed on her lip. ‘I – I don’t know. I can’t go through with it, obviously... I can’t take care of a baby and go to university, after all—’

‘So you’re having an abortion?’

She flinched at her mother’s plain speaking. ‘Well, I don’t know. I suppose I might—’

‘Have you discussed the situation with the child’s father? Who is the child’s father?’ Penelope demanded, turning round to study her daughter.

A tear slid down Caitlin’s cheek, then another. ‘He’s – Niall is...he’s one of my professors. Or he was. He’s the reason I g-got booted out of uni.’

Her mother let out a tiny, disbelieving laugh. ‘He’s a professor! Well, isn’t that lovely. So he’s older than you, obviously. And well educated. But not, it seems, smart enough to stay away from you.’

‘Mum!’ she exclaimed, shocked.

‘Let me ask you this – is he married?’

Miserably, Caitlin nodded. ‘He says he’s leaving his wife, though.’

‘You stupid girl.’ Penelope spoke with contempt. ‘All married men say that when they take a woman to bed for the first time. They make all manner of extravagant promises, none of which they intend to keep. They turn a woman’s life completely upside-down – not to mention the poor child’s ‒ but suffer little consequence to their own. I thought you were so much smarter than this. I’m so very, very disappointed in you.’

Without further discussion, she swept out of the room, leaving her daughter trembling and weeping into her hands, and closed the door quietly but firmly behind her.

Chapter 29

As Wren made her way across the great hall to the stairs, passing Jeremy on his way up, the sound of weeping reached her ears. She paused.

Someone was in the drawing room, crying.

After a moment’s hesitation, Wren made her way across the hall and knocked on the door, then edged it open. Caitlin lay across one of the sofas, sobbing into a cushion as though her heart might break.

‘Caitlin!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you all right?’

The girl shook her head and lifted red, tear-swollen eyes to Wren’s. ‘I’m fine. Please, just g-go away.’

Quietly Wren shut the door and stood just inside the room. ‘You know I can’t do that,’ she said, her words gentle but firm. ‘You’re obviously upset. Is there anything I can do?’

‘No,’ Caitlin croaked, and dragged in a ragged breath as she sat up. ‘There’s n-nothing anyone can do. Not unless you can tell me how to fix my m-mess of a life, that is.’

‘Surely it’s not as bad as all that.’ She sat down next to the girl and touched her knee reassuringly. She hesitated. ‘I know we don’t get on very well, and I know we haven’t much use for each other, but...perhaps it would help if you talked about whatever it is that’s got you so upset.’

Caitlin lifted her head. ‘Perhaps it would,’ she said dully. ‘It couldn’t hurt.’

And as Wren listened, Caitlin spilled out the messy details of her story, from her affair with Niall, the married professor, to her friendship with his son, and now her unexpected – and unwanted ‒ pregnancy.

‘So I find myself pregnant,’ she finished, frowning down at the slight swell of her stomach, ‘with no idea what to do. I mean, I can’t go through with it – can you see me with a baby? – but I can’t imagine having an abortion, either.’

‘There’s always adoption.’

Caitlin nodded. ‘I’ve thought about that. I could disappear somewhere for awhile – somewhere far away and warm, like Corfu, or Tuscany. I haven’t started to show yet. I could have the baby, and put it up for adoption.’ But even as she spoke, her eyes swam with tears.

‘There’s another solution,’ Wren offered cautiously.

‘Really? What’s that?’

She leant forward and fixed her gaze on Caitlin’s. ‘You could have the baby here, at Draemar. And Tarquin and I could adopt it, and raise it as our own.’

‘No.’ Caitlin surged to her feet. ‘It would never work.’

‘Why not? We’d do everything legally and properly, I can assure you. Only think about it, Caitlin. This child is a Campbell, and as such, he or she is Tark’s flesh and blood! Why give the baby away to strangers? You know how badly we want a child of our own.’

‘Yes, I do know that. But how will we explain the situation when the child gets older? How will we explain that I’m not his aunt, but his mother? And what if you change your mind in a few years’ time?’

‘I’d never change my mind, nor would Tarquin.’ Wren’s words left no room for doubt.

‘What if...what if I change mine?’ Caitlin asked quietly. ‘What if I decide, in a year, or two, or ten, that I want my child back? What then?’

‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’

Slowly, her expression troubled, Caitlin stood up. ‘I’ve got a lot to think about. Thanks for listening to me, Wren. Please...please don’t say anything to anyone about this?’

‘Of course I won’t. It’ll be our little secret.’

Caitlin gave her a hesitant smile, and left.

‘I’ve a package for you, Miss Thomas.’

Helen, just coming down the stairs that afternoon, paused on the last tread as Colm came towards her across the entrance hall. A flush of heat warmed her cheeks as she reached out to take the slim cardboard envelope from his outstretched hand.

‘Thank you, Mr MacKenzie,’ she murmured. ‘I’m much obliged.’

He raised his brow but said nothing, only nodded and turned away. She and Colm had agreed to keep their relationship a secret, so as not to raise any unwanted questions.

How could they explain what had happened last night at the gatehouse to anyone else, when they didn’t fully understand it themselves?

Halfway to the door, he turned back. ‘I’m cooking dinner on Sunday, if you fancy joining me. I’ve a leg of lamb on offer. And plenty of roasted veg.’

‘You made it to the grocery store, then?’ The sun was out for the first time in days, and the distant sound of a snow plough echoed up the hill from the main road.

‘Nae. I raided Mrs Neeson’s pantry.’

Helen smiled. ‘What time shall I be there?’

‘One o’clock-ish. No need to bring anything,’ he added before she could ask. ‘Just yourself.’

‘I’ll be there.’ Still smiling as Colm departed, Helen glanced down at the envelope in her hand. It was postmarked from London but the return address was unfamiliar.

Curious, she slipped a finger under the flap and slid out several stapled pages. It was a report...the Freetown police report on Andrew Campbell’s death. A note from Tom was clipped to the top.

Quickly, before anyone might see her, Helen took the document and went into the library, relieved to see it was empty. She shut the doors behind her and sat down to read.

Helen – Took their bloody time to get this report to me, but I reckon the law, like everything else in Freetown, moves slowly... Campbell’s death was ruled ‘death by misadventure’ – fancy term for an accident. Drowning, no evidence of foul play. All pretty cut and dried.

When are you back in London? Are you coming back, or staying on permanently in the land of sporrans and haggis? Tom

Helen unclipped the note and began to read. Andrew Campbell and a recent acquaintance, Michael McFarlane, had rented a sloop and snorkelling equipment and headed out to the Banana Islands to spend the afternoon swimming and diving.

A squall kicked up unexpectedly, overturning the boat and pitching the two men overboard. Although McFarlane clung to the hull and was eventually rescued, Andrew decided to strike out and swim the twelve miles to shore.

He never made it.

Helen lowered the pages to her lap with a frown. Campbell was an excellent swimmer, it was true; but even an athlete would’ve been daunted by the storm conditions that day. The swells were enormous, the sea wild and unpredictable for several hours. Surely Andrew wouldn’t have risked striking out on his own in such conditions.

Why didn’t he stay with the boat, like McFarlane? Why did he decide to swim to shore instead?

Had something happened on that boat? Something that made Andrew feel the need to leave?

As she returned the pages to the envelope, Helen’s expression was troubled. The police report, although full of useful information, raised far more questions about Andrew Campbell’s death than it answered.

Chapter 30

Wren couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

‘You’re looking very happy today, darling,’ Tarquin observed as he joined her in the morning room and kissed her. ‘Any particular reason?’

She wanted to tell him about the possibility of adopting Caitlin’s baby, but she’d promised not to breathe a word of the pregnancy to anyone, particularly not to Tarquin. ‘I’m just happy to see the sun back out, I suppose. All this snow we’ve had of late, and the dreary grey skies...’

He went to the windows and observed the softening blanket of snow with satisfaction. ‘A few more days of this, and we might even see the ground again.’

‘Just think how fun it’ll be, once we have a child of our own, Tark,’ she said as she joined him and slipped her arm around his waist. ‘We can go sledding, and we’ll build a snowman; and in the summer we’ll go on walks, and pick wild berries, and go sailing on the loch, and...oh, I can hardly wait.’

He glanced at her in surprise. ‘You make it sound as if we’ll have a child very soon. Do you know something I don’t?’

She smiled at him, longing to tell him. But, ‘Of course not,’ she said lightly. ‘Wishful thinking, that’s all. Now – would you like a cup of tea with your toast this morning, or would you prefer coffee?’

Colm let himself outside and paused to study his surroundings in satisfaction. The sky was a clean-swept, clear blue, with nary a cloud – or a flake of snow – to be seen. A few more sunny days like this, and within a week or so, all of the snow would be a distant, melted memory.

He was just about to head down the hill to the gatehouse when the growl of an engine reached his ears. A low-slung sports car crested the drive and proceeded cautiously towards the castle, then slowed to a stop.

Colm frowned. Who in the world?

He watched as a tall, well-dressed man emerged from behind the wheel and stood, resting one arm on the roof. Although his dark hair was peppered at the temples with grey, it did nothing to lessen his attractiveness. He fixed Colm with a pleasant yet quizzical expression.

‘Can you tell me, please,’ he called out, ‘if this is Draemar Castle?’

‘Aye, it is,’ Colm answered. ‘Are you looking for someone in particular?’

‘Yes.’ He glanced at the castle in interest, then returned his attention to Colm. ‘My name is Niall, Niall MacDougal. I’m looking for Miss Caitlin Campbell.’

‘I can’t believe you came here,’ Caitlin hissed ten minutes later, ‘to my parents’ home!’ She glanced back over her shoulder at the face of the castle. ‘Thank God it was only Colm you spoke to ‒ what if my father should see you, what if he or my mother find out you’re here?’

‘They won’t. I’m not planning to stay. Does anyone else besides your grandmother know about us?’ he added.

‘No – but they all will, if they see you out here! And it’s bad enough that grandmamma knows. She’ll have you arrested if she sees you here and finds out who you are…’

‘I had to see you.’ He stepped closer, and his dark eyes searched hers. ‘I came all this way, braved a lot of messy roads in a car that really isn’t made for snowy conditions, to tell you I miss you, Cait. Come back. Come back to Edinburgh. I’ll get you reinstated.’

She shook her head firmly. ‘I can’t come back. It’s impossible.’