Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada

Rhys looked up, startled. ‘What? Oh, nothing. Just...thinking out loud.’

‘I understand Doctor MacTavish was here earlier to see Natalie,’ he added. ‘I do hope she’s all right?’

‘Yes. Yes, she’s fine.’

‘Glad to hear it. Any idea what was wrong?’

‘He seemed to think it was a...reaction to something she ate. Prawns, possibly.’ Rhys disliked lying to their host; but until they could be certain, there was no point in saying anything. Besides, it wasn’t something he felt ready to share, just yet.

He needed to come to grips with the news himself, first.

When Natalie awoke the next morning, Rhys was already up and gone. She rolled on her back and stared up at the ceiling with her thoughts in a tangle.

So I’m pregnant, possibly...yet how could that be? I’ve taken my pill every day without fail. And those pills are 99.09 percent accurate, aren’t they?

Natalie sighed. It was that .01 percent that always got you...

She pushed the covers aside and got up. Her handbag sat on the armchair where she’d tossed it yesterday; she riffled through it now until she found her pill case and took out the instruction sheet tucked under the lid. With a frown, she skimmed it.

‘...pill must be taken at the same time every day...’

Well, I’ve done that! she thought indignantly.

‘…if a pill is missed, take two pills the following day…’

Well, I’ve done that, too, once or twice, she admitted.

‘...be advised that allergy medications may negate or lessen the effectiveness of the pill...’

Natalie stared at the words on the folded sheet of paper in her hands with dawning dismay.

Her allergies! Of course, that explained it. She’d taken a couple of allergy pills on the way here to Scotland to curb her sneezing fits. She lowered the bit of paper in her hands and bit her lip in consternation.

On the one hand, she was thrilled – elated! – to be pregnant. She’d longed for a baby of her own ever since she’d held her sister Caro’s little girl in her arms and smelt her sweet, baby scent. She couldn’t wait to do up the nursery and shop for strollers and cribs, and some of those darling little baby shoes and outfits...

On the other hand...there was Rhys to consider.

He hadn’t said much last night after Dr MacTavish left them – in fact, he hadn’t said anything apart from ‘goodnight’ and ‘we’ll talk about this in the morning’. But he’d looked decidedly shell-shocked as he’d got into bed.

Now he was gone off God-knew-where in this enormous castle, and she didn’t know quite what to do.

Natalie frowned. She couldn’t share her happy news with anyone just yet; it wasn’t certain, after all. The doctor had said most emphatically that he’d need to run a urine test first.

She brightened. That was it! All she needed was one of those at-home pregnancy test kits, and she could have a wee on the stick, and find out for herself whether she was really pregnant or not. She was beyond anxious to know if she was to be a mother.

She wanted to know the answer now.

Without wasting another moment, Natalie rummaged through the drawers and flung on a pair of jeans and a jumper and thrust her feet into a pair of wellies. Then she grabbed her handbag and headed out the door.

Chapter 15

As Natalie hurried down the hallway towards the stairs, Helen’s door opened.

‘Oh – hello,’ Natalie said, pausing in mid-flight to take in the other woman’s coat and boots. ‘Where are you off to this morning?’

Helen slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder. ‘I’m meeting the tow truck driver. He’s taking me – and my late, lamented hire car – into the village.’

‘I see,’ Nat said, disappointed. ‘Then I don’t expect you’d have room for one more.’

‘Did you need to go into Loch Draemar?’

‘Yes. Rhys has disappeared, and I need to buy,’ she paused ‘something, erm, personal...from the chemist’s.’

Helen smiled. ‘I quite understand. I’m sure we can make room for one more in the truck’s cab.’

Colm was waiting downstairs as they descended the stairs. ‘I’ve come to take you into the village, Miss Thomas.’

‘But...I arranged to ride along with the tow truck driver,’ Helen told him, puzzled. ‘He said I might. So there’s really no need for you to take me. Us,’ she amended as she glanced over at Natalie.

‘Well, you haven’t much choice, I’m afraid,’ Colm informed her. ‘Your car’s already been towed away. Now, ladies, if you don’t mind,’ he added brusquely as he reached for the door, ‘I’ve things to be doing. Let’s go.’

And so it was that Natalie arrived in Loch Draemar a short time later, after agreeing to meet Helen and Colm in an hour’s time. She made her way with trepidation into the chemist’s and winced as the bell jangled over the door.

But after the proprietor called out a pleasant ‘good morning’, no one bothered her, and she found herself alone, studying the assortment of pregnancy kits on offer with a frown of concentration.

She’d no idea there were so many brands available to tell you if you were pregnant or not. It did her head in. How was she to know which test kit was the most reliable?

Was it best to buy this famous one she’d seen advertised on TV? Or the one that claimed to be ‘easy to use’? Or this one over here, that screamed ‘doctor recommended’ in large blue letters?

In the end she went with the famous one. It cost the most...so that meant it was the best, surely?

Just before lunch they piled into the Range Rover and returned to Draemar.

‘It looks like I’ll be depending on the kindness of strangers for another week,’ Helen remarked as Colm turned up the drive that led to the castle.

‘What? Your car won’t be ready until then?’ Natalie asked.

She shook her head. ‘The mechanic says they have to send to Inverness for the parts. I really hate to impose on Tarquin and Wren any more than I already have.’

‘Oh, they don’t mind,’ Natalie assured her. ‘They love the company. But it’s a bit inconvenient for you, I imagine.’

‘A bit,’ Helen agreed, although secretly she was glad of the delay. It gave her time to wrangle an invitation to Northton Grange from Dominic and Gemma, and hopefully, to get the scoop – and photos – of their soon-to-be, not-so-secret wedding.

And while she remained at Draemar castle, she mused, she could do a bit more research into Andrew Campbell’s death, as well.

Natalie eyed her quizzically. ‘What brings you to Scotland, if you don’t mind my asking? Are you here visiting family?’

Colm slanted a glance at Helen in the rear-view mirror, but he made no comment.

‘No,’ Helen answered, ‘I’m a writer. Freelance. I write pieces on spec for women’s magazines.’

‘But that’s fabulous!’ Nat exclaimed. ‘I’d no idea you were a writer.’

Helen smiled briefly but was spared a further reply as they approached the castle. A salt-encrusted Jeep was parked before the entrance as Colm drew the Range Rover to a stop.

‘I wonder who that belongs to?’ Nat mused as she opened her door. ‘It looks as if it’s been through a war.’

‘It belongs to Archibald Campbell,’ Colm replied. ‘Tarquin’s father.’

‘But I thought Tark’s parents were in Corfu,’ Helen said in puzzlement.

He shrugged. ‘They must’ve cut their holiday short.’

‘How odd. I wonder why they’ve come back?’ she mused as she stepped out of the car.

‘Not really your business, is it?’ Colm said.

Before she could form a suitable response, he put the Range Rover in gear and drove away.

Low but charged voices reached Helen and Natalie’s ears as Dominic opened the front door and let them in.

‘What’s going on?’ Nat asked. She glanced across the entrance hall and was surprised to see that the drawing room doors were firmly shut.

‘Tark’s parents are back, that’s what’s going on,’ Dominic hissed. ‘I came down to see what the cook had on the menu for lunch – no haggis, thank God ‒ and I was headed back upstairs when all hell broke loose.’

‘Why? What’s happened?’ Helen asked.

‘I don’t know, exactly,’ Dom confided, ‘but it’s something to do with Tark’s sister Caitlin. I heard raised voices and shouting, then Tark came down the hall and herded everyone into the drawing room and shut the doors.’

Natalie frowned. ‘Why are they all shouting, if the Campbells have only just got home?’

Her question was answered when the drawing room doors flew open and Caitlin, her face red and her eyes swollen with tears, burst into the entrance hall and launched herself towards the stairs.

‘Caitlin Morag Campbell, don’t you dare walk out on this conversation!’ an equally red-faced man called out after her. ‘I’m your father, damn you, and I won’t bloody have it!’

With his ginger hair and beard bristling with anger, Tarquin’s father was an imposing figure.

‘Archie, please.’ A tall, attractive woman laid a hand on his sleeve as she glanced over at Natalie, Helen, and Dominic hovering uncertainly by the front door. ‘We have company.’

‘I’m sorry, Pen, but Caitlin and I didn’t finish this conversation.’ He shook off his wife’s hand and levelled a glare on his daughter.

‘It’s not a conversation,’ Caitlin hurled back as she whirled around to face him, ‘it’s an inquisition! I planned to tell you both everything...but Wren went and spoiled it, like she always does.’ She shot a venomous glance at Tarquin’s wife, who stood in the hallway next to her husband. ‘She couldn’t wait to land me in trouble.’

‘I think you’ve done that well enough on your own.’ Tarquin scowled. ‘Wren had nothing to do with this, Caitlin. I did. I was the one who called to inform Mum and Dad, so kindly vent your spleen at me, not my wife.’ He put his arm around Wren’s shoulders in a protective gesture.

‘You?’ Caitlin regarded him in outrage. ‘Why? How could you, Tark? How could you do that to me?’

‘You’ve been thrown out of university,’ he said evenly. ‘What else was I to do? Mum and Dad have a right to know. They’re paying your tuition, after all.’

‘How did you find out?’ she demanded. ‘I never said a word to you!’

‘I found out purely by accident when I went on the university website looking for information for a friend. Imagine my dismay when I discovered that the Christmas holidays don’t start until the end of next week. I made a discreet enquiry and learned you’d been expelled.’

Caitlin glared at him, then turned and stormed away up the stairs. The sound of her door slamming echoed down to the hallway.

Tarquin’s father let out a sigh and stepped forward, his hand outstretched to the newcomers.

‘It’s a poor welcome to Draemar you’ve had, to be sure,’ he said gruffly. ‘I do apologize for the drama. We’re normally a fairly tranquil lot. Archibald Campbell,’ he added as he shook their hands in turn, ‘the owner of this great pile of stone. Now, let’s all go into the drawing room to get acquainted and have a wee dram, shall we?’

‘I’d love to join you,’ Natalie demurred as his hand engulfed hers, ‘but I need to run up to my room for a few moments. If you’ll excuse me?’

‘Of course! We’ll see you at lunch, then, I hope?’ Archibald asked.

‘Oh, yes. I’ll find my husband Rhys and bring him along, as well.’

‘Splendid! I’ll look forward to it.’

Natalie excused herself and made her way upstairs to the en suite bathroom she shared with Rhys. She was anxious to do the test before he returned.

She had to know if she were pregnant or not.

As she opened the test kit, she wondered where her husband had disappeared to. With a quick glance at the directions – how difficult was it to wee on a stick, after all? – Natalie did what needed to be done, then went into the bedroom to wait for the results.

She prowled the room. She checked her email. She sat and stared out the window at the snow.

It was the longest three minutes of her life.

When she returned to the bathroom and reached out with an unsteady hand for the stick, she scarcely dared to breathe. She was almost afraid to look. Could it be? Could it possibly be?

She turned it over; two thin blue lines met her gaze. Natalie stared at it, scarcely able to comprehend the enormity of what she saw. She was really pregnant, then. There could be no question.

She left the bathroom and sank down on the end of the bed. There was no need to go and see Dr MacTavish; no need to schedule an appointment. She’d arrange to see an obstetrician just as soon as they returned to London.

Natalie’s thoughts whirled. She’d need prenatal vitamins, and an examination, and she’d need to start shopping straight away for lots of adorable little baby things...

...but she’d have to tell Rhys, of course. He’d want to go along with her to see the doctor, she knew he would.

First, she thought with a tiny flutter of uncertainty, she had to find her husband, and tell him that there could be no doubt.

She was definitely, unquestionably pregnant.

Chapter 16

As everyone assembled in the dining room for luncheon, Natalie took the chair Rhys held out for her.

She longed to tell him her news. But he’d only just walked in. Besides, she could hardly discuss something of such import with him in the middle of Draemar’s enormous dining room.

‘Where did you disappear to this morning, Rhys?’ she asked instead as she picked up her napkin and smoothed it over her lap.

‘I had a look around the castle.’ He took a sip of water and offered nothing further.

‘And what do you think of our wee castle, Mr Gordon?’ Archibald enquired. ‘Being that you’re a fellow Scotsman, I’m curious to know your opinion.’

‘I don’t know much about castles, I’m afraid. I grew up in a tower block in Edinburgh. It was nothing like this, I can assure you.’

‘That must’ve been difficult.’ Laird Campbell eyed him with interest. ‘Nevertheless...you made your way out of there and went on to become a highly regarded businessman.’ He raised his wine glass. ‘That’s a heroic accomplishment in my book.’

‘Thank you.’ Rhys took a sip of his wine and glanced around the table. ‘I found an interesting room during my explorations this morning, at the top of the west tower. There were books, and a desk, as well as some intriguing paraphernalia – Maori weapons, a didgeridoo, even a West African talking drum.’

Tarquin glanced up. ‘That was my brother Andrew’s study, Mr Gordon,’ he said quietly.

There was an awkward silence.

‘I see,’ Rhys murmured. ‘I apologize. I’d no idea. I shouldn’t have gone poking about like I did.’

‘Nonsense,’ Penelope Campbell reassured him, and smiled as the soup course arrived. ‘Andrew’s been gone for eighteen years, Mr Gordon. I keep meaning to clear his things away, but...’ her words trailed off. ‘I can’t quite bring myself to do it. By leaving everything exactly as it is, I can pretend that he might come back.’

‘Excuse me.’

They looked up to see Colm standing in the doorway, flat cap in hand. ‘I’ve brought in your luggage and left it in the entrance hall, Laird Campbell,’ he said.

‘Good man. Come in,’ Archibald invited him.

Helen sipped her wine and studied Colm over the rim of the glass as he took a couple of wary steps into the dining room. Although his face remained impassive, he looked a bit out of his element, like a thief at a policemen’s ball.

‘Join us for lunch, MacKenzie?’ Laird Campbell asked.

‘Thank you, no.’ Colm’s words were polite but firm. ‘I’ve work to be doing. If there’s nothing else?’

‘No, not a thing. Off you go, then, and thank you.’

And as he left, striding past Laird Campbell on his way out, Helen was suddenly struck by the resemblance between Colm MacKenzie and his employer. They were roughly the same height and build, with the same dark-ginger hair; they even shared the same long Campbell nose.

Why had she not noticed it before?

Was the resemblance merely coincidence? Or was it, perhaps, something more?

Before she could ponder the matter further, the main course arrived, carried in by Mrs Neeson, the housekeeper, who was lending a hand in the kitchen, and Helen had no choice but to put her curiosity aside and join in the conversation around the table.

‘We just got another of them odd phone calls,’ the housekeeper informed Mrs Campbell as she deposited the food and turned to go.

Penelope frowned. ‘Odd? How so?’

‘When I answer, they don’t say nary a word.’ Mrs Neeson shook her head in irritation. ‘But someone’s there all the same; I can hear ’em breathing.’

‘Perhaps it’s a naughty phone call,’ Gemma suggested with a smirk.

Mrs Neeson snorted. ‘If that’s what our mystery caller has in mind, he’s barking up the wrong tree, he is.’ She turned and sailed back out the door in high dudgeon.

‘How do you like Scotland so far?’ Mrs Campbell asked her assembled guests as she reached for her glass.

‘It’s lovely,’ Natalie enthused.

‘Gorgeous,’ Helen agreed. ‘So picturesque!’

‘So much bloody snow,’ Dominic grumbled.

Penelope smiled. ‘I quite understand how you feel. When I married Archie and he first brought me up here from London, I thought I’d never get used to it. It snowed constantly. The castle was terribly cold all that first winter. The boiler was temperamental; when it died, we had to stay in the drawing room and kitchen, huddled by the fireplace, until it was replaced. Every night, we slept under a massive pile of eiderdowns.’

‘It sounds very romantic,’ Gemma observed.

‘Oh, it was. Although at the time I didn’t think so. I didn’t know a shooting brake from a motor scooter, did I, darling?’ Penelope turned to Archie with a smile. ‘I was so incredibly stupid!’

‘My wee Sassenach,’ her husband said fondly, and reached out to cover her hand with his. ‘You were a Londoner, I dinnae expect you to know about such things. Did you know,’ he told the others, pride plain in his voice, ‘that my lovely wife was once a model?’

‘A model?’ Natalie echoed, and leant forward. ‘How exciting.’ She studied the woman’s dark-auburn hair and green eyes. ‘I thought your face looked familiar, somehow.’

She blushed. ‘I was no supermodel, mind, but I made a decent living at it.’

‘Oh, don’t listen to her,’ Archie scoffed. ‘She was quite the celebrity in her day! Had flings with a couple of film stars, she did, and then there was that chap – oh, what was his name, darling? I always said he was sweet on you...he almost ran for prime minister?’

‘Graeme Longworth.’ She spoke quietly.

‘Longworth! Yes, of course. He didn’t run, though. There were rumours of a scandal of some sort, and so he withdrew.’

The conversation moved on to other subjects, and there was much conjecture as to whether it would snow again; but although she joined in the discussion, Helen couldn’t help but notice that Penelope Campbell remained strangely silent for the rest of the meal.

‘How in God’s name could this happen, Natalie?’ Rhys demanded.

Natalie’s lower lip trembled as she met his eyes. They’d gone back to their room after lunch, and she told Rhys straight away that she was definitely pregnant. He listened without expression. Now, his face was hard and his eyes were dark with anger. She’d never seen him quite so furious.

‘This wasn’t what we planned,’ he ground out. ‘We agreed to wait! How could you let this happen?’

‘It’s not like I did it on purpose, Rhys!’ she protested. ‘I’ve been very careful! I haven’t missed a pill, so I honestly don’t know how it could have happened…’

‘But it did happen. You’re pregnant. And are you quite sure,’ he added, rounding on her suddenly, ‘that you didn’t do it on purpose? You’ve talked of nothing else but having a baby since the day we got married.’

‘Yes, I do want a baby! Is that so terrible? But you can’t really believe that I’d deliberately disregard your wishes, can you? Because if you do,’ Natalie added, her voice unsteady, ‘then you don’t know me at all.’

There was a small, charged silence.

‘I don’t know what the hell to think,’ Rhys snapped. ‘My God, Natalie – I’ve barely got Dashwood and James back on track. There’s still a lot of work to be done to strengthen the finances and stabilize the company. I’m just getting used to being married after so many years on my own! And now...this.’

Natalie blinked the tears from her eyelashes and glared at him. ‘Yes, Rhys ‒ this.’ She put a hand protectively over her stomach. ‘I’m sorry if our baby – our inconvenient baby – doesn’t fit in with your plans, and I’m sorry if our marriage has been such a difficult thing for you to come to terms with. I’d no idea you felt that way. Perhaps,’ she let out a tiny, hiccupping sob, ‘perhaps it’s best if we just end things now, and go our separate ways.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Rhys erupted. ‘Why must you turn every argument we have into an “all or nothing” drama? Having a baby doesn’t only affect you, you know. It affects me as well. And please don’t try to tell me how I feel. I don’t know how I feel right now.’

As he turned away and slammed out of the room, Natalie’s face crumpled, and she flung herself across the bed, and thought she might never stop crying.

Chapter 17

Helen returned to her room when lunch ended and shut the door. And just for good measure, she turned the lock.

Her thoughts whirled. She had plenty of questions, and she wanted answers...but she didn’t want Colm MacKenzie turning up in the midst of her research.

After unearthing her laptop bag from the closet, she took out her computer, flipped it open, and switched it on. A few taps of the keyboard brought up the search engine. She typed in ‘Andrew Campbell, drowning, Sierra Leone’ and waited impatiently until half a dozen URLs and several photographs popped up on the screen.

Curious, Helen clicked on the first photo. Andrew Campbell stood next to an upended surfboard. His wetsuit glistened with seawater, and he was laughing.

What a shame, she thought with a wash of real regret as she studied him. He was a handsome specimen of Scots manhood ‒ tall and well built, muscular, but not overly so. His smile was wide and engaging.

And it struck her quite suddenly that he bore more than a passing resemblance to Colm MacKenzie.

She clicked on a link to The Times article on his death and skimmed through it. Andrew was sailing from Freetown to the Banana Islands along with Michael McFarland, an Australian traveller he’d met in Freetown.

According to McFarland, the sea roughened when an unexpected late-afternoon squall kicked in, and the sloop capsized. Both men clung to the hull as the boat was carried further and further out from shore. When the worst of the storm passed, Andrew, a strong swimmer, decided to strike out and swim the twelve miles to shore. He never made it. Michael was rescued early the next morning.

Andrew was presumed drowned, his body carried out to sea. There was also speculation that perhaps he’d been attacked by a shark, a not uncommon occurrence along the Sierra Leone coast.

At any rate, his body was never recovered.

Helen gazed into the distance with a frown etched on her face. Some suggested that Campbell, who was well travelled and fascinated with West African tribal culture, had disappeared deliberately, unwilling to take on the responsibility of running his family’s Scotch distillery in his father Archibald’s stead.

Could it be true, she wondered? Had Andrew faked his own death in order to start a new life elsewhere? Her frown deepened. Could Colm actually be Andrew, the missing heir? He was thirty-eight, the same age Andrew would’ve been, had he lived; and they were the same height and build.

But she discarded the idea as soon as it occurred. It made no sense. Why would Andrew Lachlan Campbell suddenly come home to his family after turning his back on them for eighteen years? And if he did return, why keep his identity a secret? Surely his parents – his own mother – would recognize heir son the moment they laid eyes on him.