Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada

He shrugged and handed Rhys over a tumbler of whisky. ‘Solitude. Quiet. Being my own boss.’

‘Thanks.’ Colm’s life, Rhys realized, wasn’t that much different than his own. Oh, they were worlds apart in terms of their livelihoods; but they both held fast to their independence.

Yet more and more, Rhys’s old life – flying all over Europe on business travel, living out of a hotel, indulging in the occasional brief (and meaningless) relationship, the freedom to do as he damn well pleased – was slipping away. From the time he’d left home at sixteen, he’d been responsible for himself, and himself only. Soon he’d be responsible not only for his wife, Natalie, but for their yet-to-be-born son or daughter as well.

And he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

Colm lowered himself to the sofa and Rhys followed suit, and the men lapsed into silence as they sipped their whiskies, content for the moment to mull over their thoughts as the fire spit and crackled before them. The warmth of the room and the whisky soon spread through Rhys.

‘My wife’s pregnant,’ he said after a moment, and frowned down into the amber depths of his glass. ‘I just found out this morning. I’m not sure how I feel about it.’

‘You’re not happy?’

‘Yes. No. Oh, hell...I don’t know.’ Rhys glanced up. ‘What about yourself? Do you have any kids?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Nor a wife, either.’

‘You never married?’

‘Once.’ The word was abrupt. ‘It was a long time ago. Why don’t you want a bairn, then?’

Rhys drained his glass. ‘The thought of a baby, helpless and dependent on me, scares the hell out of me. My stepfather...he beat my mum, and hurled abuse at me on a regular basis; he came home most nights in a drunken stupor. How can I hope to be a proper father, with him as my only example?’

Colm shrugged and reached out to pour them each another dram. ‘No man knows what he’s doing when he becomes a father, I reckon. You just muddle through it as you go. And the fact that yours was a bastard should show you what not to do with your own wee one.’

‘What about you?’ Rhys asked, emboldened by the whisky burning its way down his throat. ‘What was your father like?’

Colm gazed into the fire, his expression unreadable. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said finally. ‘I never knew him.’

‘Why not? What happened?’

Colm pushed himself to his feet. ‘The day’s getting on, Gordon, and I’ve plenty to be doing. If you’ll pardon me now, I’d best get back to it.’

Chapter 19 (#ulink_0d606bc7-cdfd-5024-a049-9e1760e3a87d)

Natalie lifted her head from the pillow as someone knocked on the door.

‘Rhys?’ she asked hopefully, and sniffled.

There was a pause. ‘No, it’s Gemma. Can I come in?’

Disappointment swamped her. Gemma. Not Rhys. ‘Just a minute,’ she called out, and got up to peer into the dressing table mirror. Quickly, she added a flick of mascara to her lashes and ran a brush through her hair.

A moment later she opened the door. ‘Hello, Gemma. Come in.’

‘Nat, I need your help,’ Dom’s girlfriend said without preamble, and marched inside. A bridal magazine was tucked in the crook of her arm. ‘I’ve a million wedding details to take care of, such as whether to serve roast duck or beef en croute at the reception, and I’m in really desperate need of your advice—’

She broke off as she caught sight of Natalie’s face. ‘You’ve been crying,’ she exclaimed, and tossed the magazine aside to take her by the arm. ‘Come and sit down and tell me what’s wrong, right this instant!’

‘Are you quite sure you have time?’ Nat asked with a trace of bitterness. ‘We haven’t spoken in months, ever since you got engaged to Dominic.’

‘We haven’t?’ Gemma blinked in surprise. A guilty look flitted over her face. ‘Oh. No, I suppose we haven’t. Sorry – I’ve just been so consumed with wedding stuff. Never mind that,’ she added, ‘tell me what’s going on now. Why are you crying? Is it Rhys?’

Nat sniffled again. ‘Yes. No. Oh, it’s all such a mess!’ she choked out, and burst once again into tears.

Gemma leant forward and slipped an arm around her heaving shoulders. ‘Shh,’ she murmured as she patted Natalie awkwardly on the back. ‘It can’t be that bad.’

‘Th-thanks,’ Nat hiccupped. ‘But it is that bad.’

‘What’s Rhys done, then?’ she demanded as she drew back. ‘Shall I have a word? Give him a piece of my mind?’

‘No, Gemma. It’s not the sort of thing you can “have a word” about.’ Natalie pulled away and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘What sort of thing is it, then? Tell me! Whatever it is, it’s got you upset.’

‘It’s me.’ She lifted her tear-stained face to Gemma’s. ‘I...I’m pregnant.’

‘Pregnant?’ Gemma echoed, and squealed. ‘But that’s fabulous news!’ She engulfed Natalie in a lengthy, Prada-scented hug. ‘A baby – that’s what you’ve longed for, isn’t it?’ She leant back and regarded her with a frown. ‘Why the long face and tears, then?’

‘It’s Rhys,’ Nat admitted. ‘He’s furious. When we got married, we agreed to wait a year or two to have children, and enjoy being a couple first. And I was fine with that. Truly, I was. But now I’m pregnant, and he thinks-he th-thinks…’

‘He thinks you did it on purpose,’ Gemma finished grimly.

Natalie nodded miserably. ‘Yes. We had a huge row, and we shouted at each other, and he said awful things to me. And then he stormed off.’

‘Oh, Nat,’ Gemma reassured her, and reached out to take her hands, ‘you know Rhys. He’s got that temper, he always has done. He’ll calm down after a bit. And once he does, he’ll come back, and he’ll see that he was wrong, and apologize, and you’ll have spectacular make-up sex.’

‘Do you...do you really think so?’

‘I know so. Now, in the meantime,’ she reached for the bridal magazine she’d tossed aside earlier and began flicking through the pages ‘what do you think of this peau de soie for the bridesmaids’ gowns, instead of the silk...?’

With nothing else to do but read until dinner time, Helen threw her book aside and decided to go outside for a walk. She’d seen Rhys striding off down the drive earlier. He’d looked decidedly angry.

Probably had one of those silly, newly married arguments, she reflected with a wistful smile. Perhaps he hadn’t kissed Natalie good morning, or she’d neglected to pack his favourite sweater, or something equally ridiculous.

She’d been a new bride once, too. David had brought her burnt toast one morning before work, and she’d snapped at him. He’d snapped back and told her if she didn’t like it she could make her own damn toast.

Soon their words grew heated, and David picked up one of his grass-stained trainers from the floor and threw it at her. It whizzed by her ear and knocked over a lamp.

After the initial shock, she’d started laughing. They laughed until they could barely draw breath. Then they’d fallen into bed and made love until they were both ruinously late for work.

Her smile faded, and she thrust the memory away.

The thought of fresh Scottish air and a brisk, mind-clearing walk was a welcome one, and she reached for her coat. She could think, not about David and her long-ago life, but about Andrew, and Colm.

Perhaps the cold and the solitude would stimulate her mind and provide some answers to the questions that currently troubled her, Helen decided. She was beyond curious to see the police report from Freetown she’d asked Tom to get.

She left her room and went down the hall, and paused at the top of the stairs. Voices drifted up from below – Gemma and Dom’s – having a rather heated discussion about the wedding.