Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada

‘I haven’t been to the pub,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘because we’re still housebound by the snow. And we haven’t seen the Tarmac in a week. And I don’t blather.’

‘Then it’s someone at the castle. Who else knows about this wedding?’

‘Who doesn’t?’ Helen retorted. She took a deep drag on the cigarette to calm herself and went over the list in her mind. Tarquin, Wren, Nat and Rhys, Caitlin, Colm—

Her eyes narrowed. Colm. Of course! She’d told him about her desire to score an exclusive story on Dominic and Gemma’s wedding. She’d admitted how important it was to her, how badly she wanted to quit being a hack and become a real writer.

She’d told him she wanted to look in the mirror without despising herself.

And she thought he’d understood. She’d confided in him. She’d bared her innermost soul to him. She’d trusted him. And he’d betrayed her at the first opportunity.

She exhaled a plume of smoke and crushed the cigarette out.

The ginger-haired, conniving bastard.

The next morning, snow greeted Colm as he got out of bed and cast a glance outside. Flakes still fell thickly; overnight, at least another half-foot had blanketed the sloping hills and frosted the roof and turrets of the castle.

It’d be beautiful, he thought dourly, if it wasn’t so much of a bloody nuisance to clear away.

He was about to turn aside when he saw a figure in a woollen cap and a puffa jacket sliding and slipping down the snow-covered drive.

‘Helen! What in God’s name?’ he muttered, and flung on some clothes and a coat and thundered downstairs. Was the woman touched in the head, going for a walk in weather like this?

‘What the devil are you doing?’ he shouted as he stormed outside and confronted her halfway up the drive. ‘Have ye lost your mind? It’s a proper blizzard out here! It’s nae a day to be out for a walk!’

She catapulted herself at him, her face contorted with anger, arms cartwheeling as she pummelled him mercilessly with her fists. ‘You backstabbing bastard! How could you! After I trusted you, you couldn’t wait to run to the phone and call the news desk and – and screw me over!’

Colm muttered an expletive as she kicked him – hard ‒ in the shins. Only the fact that her feet were encased in wellies saved him from significant pain. He reached out and grabbed her by the wrists, not easy to do given her whirling, flailing limbs, and dragged her towards him as he snapped, ‘What the hell are you on about, woman? Have you lost what little sense God gave you?’

‘I have sense enough to know you leaked my story to the Probe,’ she gasped, struggling furiously to free her hands from his.

He stared at her. ‘What? What story? What are you talking about?’

‘You called and told them all about Dom and Gemma’s secret Christmas wedding, didn’t you? How could you do that, Colm? I trusted you! I trusted you enough to tell you,’ she let out a harsh sound between a laugh and a sob ‘everything about myself. I told you about David. About our baby. About our life...our life together, the life we n-never got to have, all because of a fucking lorry driver who f-fell asleep at the wheel...’

She collapsed against him and wept.

His arms came around her after a moment, circling her as she sobbed and pummelled her hands ineffectually against his chest.

‘It’s not fair,’ she railed. ‘I lost everything that mattered to me that night, and it was my own damned fault! If only I’d stayed home, if only I’d refused to go, David would still be here, and I’d be shouting at him for tracking mud over the kitchen f-floor yet again, and we’d have our l-little b-boy. He’d be nearly two by now.’

Colm held her tightly and let her weep. He waited, patting her awkwardly now and then on the back as great, jagged sobs escaped from her, and he felt his own throat tighten.

‘I ken, lassie,’ he muttered into her woollen cap. ‘I ken more than you know.’

She lifted her blotchy, tear-swollen face to stare at him. ‘Do you? How can you possibly understand?’ Scorn laced her words. ‘You’ve never had a child. You’re not even married.’

‘I was married, once. When I was younger.’

Surprise stilled her tears, and Helen let out her breath with a hitch. ‘You were? Really?’ She wiped her nose with the back of a gloved hand. ‘What happened ‒ did your wife fail to measure up to your high standards? Did she talk too much? Or did she use all of the hot water?’

‘She died.’ His words were abrupt. ‘Her name was Alanna. She died giving birth to our son.’

Helen blinked, shocked. ‘She? Oh, Colm...my God -‒I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know.’

He shrugged and let her go, and his face closed. ‘How could you possibly know, when I never told you?’

‘So you have a son. What’s his name?’ she ventured after an awkward silence.

‘He didn’t make it. The midwife discovered the babe was in breech, with the umbilical cord wrapped around its neck. The doctors did everything they could, but I lost Alanna. And I lost my son. The two people I loved most in this world,’ he snapped his fingers ‘gone, like that.’

Helen opened her mouth to offer him words of comfort, words of apology and understanding; but before she could find the words to speak, Colm turned on one booted heel and made his way through the snow and back to the cottage.

Chapter 24

Helen stared after Colm in consternation, then struck out after him. It wasn’t easy going, with two foot of snow on the ground and more coming down. But it was bloody cold, and she’d no intention of standing here and freezing to death on the grounds of Draemar castle.

‘Colm!’ she called out a moment later, out of breath as she struggled through the snow. ‘Wait, damn you.’

He stopped and turned around, scowling. ‘Why in hell did you ever leave the castle? You should’ve stayed there. You’ll never get back up the hill now. You’ll lose your way in this whiteout, and they won’t find your body until spring.’

‘Then I suppose you’ll have to force yourself to be hospitable,’ she snapped, ‘if you can manage it, and invite me inside until the snow lets up, won’t you?’

He didn’t answer, but turned away, still scowling, and made his way to the front door of the cottage. He disappeared inside, leaving the door open, and didn’t look back to see if she followed.

Helen, half-frozen and teeth chattering, was nearly to the door when he reappeared.

‘Taking your time, aren’t you?’ he accused. ‘I just threw some logs on the fire, so if you’ll kindly stop dallying and get inside, I can close the bloody door.’

She bit back a sharp retort – she really couldn’t speak, at any rate, her teeth were chattering too badly – and brushed past him into the cottage. True to his word, a fire burned in the fireplace and threw out a heavenly wall of heat. Helen pulled off her gloves. As she reached up and struggled to unbutton her jacket, her frozen fingers made her efforts clumsy.

‘Here, let me,’ he grumbled, and pushed her hands out of the way. ‘You’re useless.’ Swiftly, he unbuttoned her jacket and turned her around to tug it off, then removed her cap and tossed in atop her coat on a chair by the fire.

‘Th-thanks,’ she managed to say, clutching her elbows and hugging herself in an attempt to get warm. ‘I’m sure you’re quite g-good at removing women’s clothes.’

‘Expert,’ he agreed dourly. ‘I’ve so very much opportunity, living out here in the middle of nowhere.’ He eyed her. ‘Your clothes are damp, it’s no wonder you’re shivering. Take ’em off.’

‘No! I’m most certainly not taking my clothes off!’ Helen sputtered.

‘Suit yourself.’ He shrugged and turned away. ‘Then I’ll just go and run a hot bath for myself, instead.’

He was halfway to the stairs when she gritted her (chattering) teeth and grimly began undoing the top buttons of her blouse. ‘Hold up. I’ll have that bath, if you don’t mind. If you’re going so far as to allow me to use your precious hot water, you can be sure I’m taking advantage of it.’

Colm raised a brow. ‘At last, you’re showing a wee bit of common sense.’ He started up the stairs and called back over his shoulder, ‘There’s a terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door. I’ll put your things in the dryer while you’re taking your bath.’

‘Thanks.’ Helen hovered uncertainly at the foot of the stairs, listening to the sound of the water running from the taps into the tub. ‘This is the second time you’ve saved me from freezing to death, you know,’ she called up.

‘Aye,’ he said as he reappeared at the top of the stairs. ‘You’re a daft Sassenach, and no mistake.’

Helen bristled. ‘Let’s get you in London, and see how you manage there.’

‘You’ll not find me in London,’ he shot back, ‘because I like it here at Draemar, and I’ve no intention of leaving. Now,’ he commanded as he came down the steps and brushed past her, ‘go up afore the water overflows the tub and ruins the flooring. Throw your clothes outside the door when you’re ready.’

The thought of being naked, with Colm standing just on the other side of the bathroom door, fully clothed, made her blush. ‘All right,’ she mumbled, and made her way up the stairs. ‘But no peeking,’ she warned.

‘I’ll try and contain myself,’ he retorted, and followed her.

She turned away and bit back a smile. It was rather a funny situation, in an awkward sort of way.

She closed the door on him and began, with trembling fingers, to remove her clothes. Blouse, jeans, boots, bra, knickers – she took them off and threw the lot into a pile on the floor.

Just as Colm had said, there was a white terrycloth robe hanging from a peg on the back of the door. She grabbed it and thrust her arms inside the sleeves, not caring that it was miles too big, and knotted the belt securely around her waist. Then she grabbed the damp pile of clothing and cracked the door open.

‘Here,’ she said without preamble, and thrust her things through and into his outstretched hands. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll go and put this stuff in the dryer.’

Her eyes met his, just for an instant, and she bit her lip. ‘Thanks, Colm, for...everything.’

‘You’re welcome.’ With a glimmer in his eye he added, ‘Just be sure you don’t use up all the hot water.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she shot back, and slammed the door.

But as she made her way over to the claw-footed tub and gingerly eased herself in, Helen couldn’t quite keep a smile from her lips.

At the sound of a quiet knock on the morning room door later that afternoon, Wren glanced up from her desk. She’d been writing out cheques and welcomed the interruption. ‘Come in.’

Natalie opened the door a crack and peered inside. ‘Hello, Wren. I hoped I might find you here.’ She lifted up a mug of hot tea. ‘I brought you a cup of tea, and ‒’ she patted her pocket with her free hand ‘‒a packet of Hobnobs.’

Wren stood up and held the door wider. ‘Oh, Natalie – how very thoughtful. Thank you! Come in and have a sit.’

After settling themselves on the loveseat angled in front of the fire, Natalie set the mug of tea aside and leant forward to take Wren’s hands in hers. ‘I wanted to apologize. I’m so sorry for blurting out my news about the baby like that, with never a thought for how it might affect you and Tark—’

‘Oh, nonsense.’ Wren squeezed her hands. ‘It’s I who should apologize, acting like such an overwrought ninny. I’m happy for you, Natalie, truly. For both you and Rhys. I want you to know that.’

‘I know you are. Still – I feel badly. I know how much you and Tark want a baby.’

‘Yes, well, if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. If not—’ she shrugged and reached for the mug of tea. ‘Then I expect we’ll adopt.’

‘Have you tried IVF?’ Nat ventured.

She nodded. ‘Yes. It didn’t take. The doctors say there’s no reason we can’t have a child. We’re both healthy. And yet...here we are, still trying. Still childless. It’s just so bloody discouraging, sometimes.’

‘Well, if it’s any consolation at all,’ Natalie said hesitantly, ‘Rhys and I would love it if you and Tark would agree to be our baby’s godparents. It’d mean the world to us if you would. Truly.’

Wren’s eyes welled. ‘Oh, Nat – we’d be honoured! Of course we will. Consider it done.’

‘Good! Then it’s settled. Now,’ Natalie added as she reached for the packet of Hobnobs and held them out to Wren, ‘let’s gorge ourselves on biccies and have a nice long gossip.’

Chapter 25

‘Where are you going?’ Penelope asked her daughter as she came down the stairs late that afternoon. She eyed Caitlin’s woollen cap and the coat she was buttoning up. ‘You can’t mean to go outside in this weather.’

Caitlin shrugged. ‘Why can’t I? It’s only snow, after all, and I’m in desperate need of a walk. I’m going stir crazy inside this place.’

‘It’s nearly time for dinner,’ her mother pointed out. ‘Stay in, and have a drink with me. I’ve barely had a chance to talk to you since you got home.’

But you had plenty of time to lecture me, Caitlin thought uncharitably. ‘That’s hardly my fault.’

‘Please, darling. I don’t want to argue, I haven’t the energy for it. Come into the drawing room and tell me what you’ve been up to.’

What shall we talk about first? Caitlin wondered. Will I confess that I’ve slept with my married lit professor? Or admit I got booted from uni because of him?

‘All right, Mum,’ she sighed, and shed her coat with bad grace. ‘I’ll stay and have a drink with you.’

‘Don’t sound so enthused. Where’s Jeremy, by the way?’

‘Studying. Or reading. That’s all he ever does.’

They were just going into the sitting room when Lady Campbell breezed through the baize door that led to the kitchen. ‘Oh, there you are, Caitlin. I’ve been looking for you. You have a telephone call.’

‘I do? Who’d be calling me here?’ Caitlin wondered, puzzled. ‘All my friends have my mobile number.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know. Mrs Neeson took the call. You can pick it up in the hall.’

‘Thanks, Gram. Sorry, Mum,’ she apologized, secretly relieved by the interruption. ‘I’ll be right back.’

She hurried across the entrance hall as her mother disappeared into the drawing room and went to the phone on the hallway table. ‘Hello? This is Caitlin Campbell.’

‘Caitlin?’ a familiar male voice enquired. ‘I’m glad I caught you at home.’

Her fingers tightened on the receiver. She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe his nerve. ‘Niall! Why did you call me here?’

‘Well, I must say, that’s not exactly the response I was hoping for,’ he replied. ‘I called because we need to talk.’

‘We said everything we needed to say before I left Edinburgh. I lost my place at university because of you,. My parents are still furious.’

He hesitated. ‘You didn’t tell them about us, did you?’

‘No! Of course I didn’t. But Gram knows,’ she added. ‘She’s very smart, my gram. She figured it out. She wanted to have you sacked, but I talked her out of it.’

‘Thank you for that.’ He let out a pent-up breath. ‘I’m sorry for the whole mess, truly. More sorry than you know. I’ve had a word with a couple of key people, and I’m reasonably certain I can get you reinstated...provided we agree not to see one another other again.’

‘Oh, trust me ‒ that won’t be a problem.’

‘Cait, darling,’ he chided, ‘don’t be like that. I miss you terribly…’

‘Yes, I’m sure you do.’ Her words were acid. ‘You miss having me at your beck and call. You miss having someone to make your tea and toast. You miss having me in your bed…’

‘I do miss that,’ he admitted, unperturbed by her accusations. ‘All of it. I won’t lie. But more importantly, I miss you. I’ve left Miriam, you know.’

There was a brief, charged silence as Caitlin absorbed this bit of information. ‘That doesn’t mean anything. Married people separate and get back together all the time.’

‘I’ve also filed for divorce.’

She sank down onto the cushioned bench in the hallway. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I’ll show you the paperwork if you like. But to do that, I’d have to see you again.’

‘That’s impossible.’ Although she spoke firmly, the certainty had left her voice. ‘I’m back home, at Draemar. And I don’t want to see you again. I...I can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it hurts too much, Niall!’

She thought of all the times he’d promised to take her to dinner, or away for the weekend, and called at the last minute to cancel. She thought of the meals she’d cooked for him in her tiny Chalmers Street kitchen, roast beef or chicken with lashings of gravy from a packet, grown cold and unappetizing by the time he finally slipped away from his wife.

He was always sorry, so very sorry; and she’d relent, and forgive him, and let him in. They’d have the most amazing sex, and she’d lie in his arms afterwards and think that really, she was very lucky, and she should be happy to settle for whatever scraps of his life he gave her.

‘I’m tired of sneaking around,’ she said now. ‘I’m tired of the broken promises and the last-minute cancellations. I just,’ she paused to blink back tears ‘I just can’t do it any longer.’

And before he could protest, or persuade her to give him another chance, she choked out a goodbye, and rang off.

‘Caitlin!’ Her mother stood waiting in the drawing room doorway. ‘Are you coming in?’

Caitlin blinked back her tears and stood up. ‘Yes. Sorry, I just finished my call. It took a bit longer than I thought.’

‘Who was it?’ Penelope enquired as her daughter crossed the hall to join her. ‘One of your university friends?’

‘Yes,’ Caitlin said, and managed a smile. ‘No one important.’

Chapter 26

Helen emerged from her bath half an hour later, warm and flushed and wrapped in Colm’s robe. It was amazing what a tub of hot water and bubbles could do for a girl.

‘Feel better?’ Colm enquired as she padded, barefoot, downstairs and into the sitting room.

‘Much, thanks.’ She eyed the whisk in his hand curiously. ‘And what are you doing?’

‘I’ve put your clothes in the dryer. They’ll be ready soon. In the meantime, I called the castle to let them know you’re here. And I thought you might be hungry,’ he held up the whisk ‘so I’m making a wee bite to eat.’

‘You needn’t have done that.’ Helen, despite herself and despite Colm’s scowl, was touched. ‘But I’m glad you did – I’m starving. What are you making us? Can I help?’

‘You can butter the toast, if you like. It’s only eggs and bacon, nothing fancy.’

‘That sounds gorgeous,’ Helen said, and meant it. She followed him into the kitchen – tiny, even by the most generous of standards – and busied herself spreading butter onto the thick slices of toasted brown bread. ‘I’ll make a pot of tea.’

They bumped elbows or brushed against each other more than once in the close confines of the kitchen. Other than a glance from Colm or a muttered ‘sorry’ from Helen, neither of them acknowledged their physical proximity.

When at last the toast was buttered and the tea was brewed, Colm piled scrambled eggs and a rasher of bacon onto a platter, and they sat down to eat at the scarred wooden table.

‘Sorry it’s only eggs,’ Colm ventured as he poured milk into his tea. ‘I need to do a shop, but I haven’t had the time.’

‘It’s perfect,’ Helen assured him, and bit into a slice of crisped bacon. ‘What do you need? I can ask Mrs Neeson to add your things to the weekly grocery order if you like.’

‘Oh, aye, that’d save me a trip. This place keeps me busy. I haven’t time for much else.’

‘What do you do, exactly?’ Helen asked as she picked up her cup and sipped her tea. ‘If you don’t mind my asking,’ she added.

He shrugged. ‘I look after the grounds, mostly. I make sure the roads are cleared, deliver packages up to the castle, run any errands the Campbells might have...and in the autumn,’ he grimaced ‘I take the toffs grouse hunting.’

Helen wrinkled her nose. ‘That must be fun.’

‘Mostly I just haul the guns round. The Campbells have a proper gamekeeper.’

‘What did you do before you came here to Draemar?’

His expression grew guarded. ‘This and that. I did a stint in the army. Tended bar. Worked as a short-order cook for a bit.’

She was treading on dangerous ground, she knew it; but Helen couldn’t resist one more question. ‘Did you ever do any traveling? To...oh, I don’t know – to Africa, for instance?’

‘Why d’ye ask?’ he said evenly.

‘Just curious, I suppose. All that talk of Andrew and his travels to Australia and the Sierra Leone made me wonder if you’d ever ventured anywhere interesting.’

‘I’m afraid I’ve never been outside the UK, Miss Thomas. Travel requires money.’ He reached for the platter of eggs. ‘And that’s something I’ve never had.’

‘So you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth, then?’ she asked lightly. She hadn’t failed to notice he’d returned to calling her ‘Miss Thomas’ once again.

He levelled his gaze on hers. ‘No. Far from it. Why so many questions? You just can’t stop prying for ten minutes, can ye?’

‘Look, Colm,’ Helen said, trying – and failing ‒ to hold on to her temper, ‘I know you don’t trust me. I get that. You know I’m a reporter, and so everything I do or say is suspect. But honestly, all I want is to get to know you a bit better. That’s all I’m guilty of...whether you believe it or not.’ She stood up and took her plate to the sink and dumped it in. ‘I’ll do the washing up.’

He was silent as she turned on the tap and reached for the dishwashing soap. With a vicious squeeze, Helen squirted the liquid into the sink and scrubbed at her plate with barely contained anger. Of all the stubborn, paranoid people she’d ever known, Colm MacKenzie took the bloody cake.

‘Here, let me.’

She looked up a moment later to see Colm, plate in hand, standing beside her at the sink. ‘No. I’ve got it.’ Her words were stiff as she thrust her plate with a savage motion into the dish rack. ‘I don’t need your help.’

‘I know ye don’t,’ he retorted, ‘but I’m fond of my dishes and I’ve no wish to see you break ’em into a million bits. Now, move over, woman, and let me rinse.’

‘Where on earth is Helen?’ Wren observed as she unfolded her napkin at dinner that evening. ‘I’ve not seen her all afternoon.’

Caitlin shrugged. ‘She said she was going out for a walk earlier. But that was hours ago.’

‘Perhaps we should send someone out to look for her?’ Wren suggested anxiously to Tarquin.

‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ he replied, ‘but if you think we should, Rhys and I can go out and search for her.’

Mrs Neeson thrust her grey-permed head around the dining room door. ‘Pardon the interruption, but I’ve just had a call from Colm. Miss Thomas is with himself down at the gatehouse. He said not to worry, and don’t wait dinner.’

‘Now that’s an interesting turn up,’ Rhys observed thoughtfully as Mrs Neeson departed.

‘What is, darling?’ Natalie inquired.

‘I’m surprised that Helen ‒ who’s made it quite plain she detests Colm ‒ has evidently just spent the afternoon and a good part of the evening in his company.’

‘Well, you know what they say,’ Lady Campbell observed.

‘What’s that?’ Natalie asked her.

‘Sometimes, my dear, there’s no accounting for taste.’ She lifted her brow. ‘Or for attraction.’

Chapter 27

When the dishes were washed and dried and put away in the cupboards, Colm excused himself to go and fetch Helen’s clothes. ‘They should be just about dry now, and you can get dressed and be on your way.’

‘Yes,’ she muttered, stung. ‘I’m sure you’ll be only too glad of that.’

He eyed her in surprise. ‘What?’

‘I said, I’ll be glad to have my clothes back,’ she replied tartly. ‘Then I can leave you to yourself.’