Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada

‘Wait until we’ve finished decorating,’ Pen informed her. ‘The entire place will reek of pine and evergreens and the scent of Mrs Neeson’s Dundee cake and shortbread baking in the ovens.’

‘I can’t wait. My mouth is watering already.’

Pen moved one of the potted plants away from the doorframe, then straightened and brushed her hands together. ‘It was lovely to see you and Mr Bennett in the pub last night, Helen.’

Colm, one hand resting on the doorknob as he made to leave, paused. ‘In the pub, was she?’ Although he addressed the question to Mrs Campbell, he fixed Helen with a level gaze. ‘Fancy that.’

‘Yes, she was having a chat with one of her co-workers from London,’ Pen said, and smiled. ‘He seemed a lovely man, Helen. A pity he couldn’t stay.’

‘He had to get back,’ Helen said, flustered, ‘back to London. And I had...errands to run.’ Her eyes slanted guiltily to Colm’s, but their dark-hazel depths gave nothing away.

‘What on earth is all that?’ Caitlin asked as she eyed the plants crowding the floor.

‘Poinsettias,’ Wren replied. ‘It’s Christmas in less than a week, and these just arrived from the greenhouse in Aberdeen. We’ve to decorate the castle, not only for the holidays, but for the wedding, too. Why don’t you run along and get some breakfast? Then you can come back and help us fashion wreaths for the front door.’

‘Don’t we have servants for that?’

‘We do,’ Wren said, exasperated, ‘but I prefer to do a bit of decorating myself. We’d love it if you’d help.’

Caitlin opened her mouth to refuse, as draping swags of evergreen and wiring wreaths and ribbons was the last thing she felt like doing, but refrained. She really needed to make an effort to be nicer to Wren. Besides which, she reminded herself guiltily, she had to tell her sister-in-law the unwelcome news that she and Niall had decided to keep their baby.

And she had to tell her today.

‘Oh, very well,’ Caitlin grumbled, and made her way towards the baize door, and the kitchen. ‘I’ll help you. Just let me have my tea and toast first, while I can still keep it down.’

‘Are you coming, Miss Thomas?’ Colm asked from the doorway. ‘I’ve no time to dilly-dally.’

Helen hesitated. She knew he’d question her about her meeting with Tom the minute they got in the truck, and he’d want to know why she hadn’t mentioned it to him.

And she really didn’t have any answers to give him.

‘I won’t, thank you.’ Her gaze slanted away from his. ‘I think I’ll stay here and help decorate.’

‘Suit yourself.’

With a curt nod, he thrust his flat cap back on his head, and left.

Gemma took delivery of the big white box and carried it upstairs. Thank God it was here! With the wedding only days away, she’d worried it wouldn’t arrive in time.

She set the box down on the bed and lifted the lid.

There it was, she reflected with satisfaction, Dominic’s morning suit...the suit he’d wear in just a few more days, when they got married.

She picked up the jacket by the shoulders and lifted it out, admiring the dark-grey cashmere wool with white pinstripes and the excellent tailoring. Dom would look divine – dashing, and every inch the future Lord Locksley. A pity she hadn’t convinced him to wear a kilt.

Oh, well, this would do. All it needed was...a top hat.

A frown marred her perfect brows as her search came up empty. Where was it? It was imperative that Dominic wear a proper top hat. Grooms at all the smart weddings wore one. Yet there was no hat box in sight.

Swearing under her breath, Gemma stalked out of the room in search of Dominic. What if he hadn’t gone to the hatter’s to get fitted, as she’d asked him to do weeks ago? What if he had no hat to wear at their nuptials?

Her eyes narrowed. First, she’d find him.

Then she’d kill him.

There was no place Dominic could hide that she wouldn’t search, Gemma vowed as she marched down the hallway to the stairs. And when she did find him, she’d tell him in no uncertain terms to get his arse to the nearest hat maker’s to be fitted for a top hat, pronto.

The trouble was, she reflected as she descended the staircase, she’d no idea where to find him. The sneaky little sod had made himself scarce of late, no doubt avoiding the wedding preparations.

Gemma decided to begin a room-by-room search, starting with the drawing room. She’d find her wayward fiancé if she had to look in every room in the castle – all one hundred and bloody fifty of them.

Although she checked in the kitchen, dining room, drawing room, and library, she had no luck. She pushed her way thought the baize door and paused in the middle of the entrance hall. There was no sign of Dom anywhere.

She stalked up the stairs, determined to visit each and every bedroom, study, morning room, and tower in Draemar Castle if need be, until she ran the little bastard to ground.

‘Gemma?’

She looked up, still scowling, to see Tarquin coming down the stairs towards her. ‘Oh. Hello, Tark.’

‘Is everything all right? You look a bit upset.’

‘It’s Dominic,’ she said bitterly, ‘same as it always is. I need to find him, but he’s disappeared.’

‘Are you sure he hasn’t left the castle? Gone into the village, perhaps?’

‘No, I’m certain he’s here. He hasn’t a car, after all, so he can’t have gone anywhere.’

‘He might have called a taxi,’ Tarquin pointed out reasonably. ‘Was there somewhere in particular he needed to go?’

‘Not that I know of. His morning suit’s just arrived and I need him to try it on, and there’s no top hat with it, but there should have been, and now I c-can’t even find D-Dominic to ask him about it!’ she wailed, and burst into tears. ‘What if he’s scarpered? I’ll be one of those s-saddo brides left standing at the altar! I’ll be an object of p-pity and s-scorn, just like Miss H-havisham!’

‘Oh, surely not,’ he reassured her, and patted her – somewhat awkwardly – on her arm. ‘I’ve no doubt Dominic will turn up. Would you like me to help you look? I know this castle like the back of my hand, after all.’

Through sniffles and sobs, Gemma nodded. ‘It’ll take me a week to find him by myself. Thanks, Tark.’

‘Always happy to help a lady in distress,’ he murmured, and held out his arm. ‘Shall we begin?’

Together, she and Tarquin ascended the stairs, and began their search for the elusive Dominic Heath.

Chapter 38 (#ulink_5185600f-7734-5f7c-b9fe-9e3f0adba69f)

Helen took her cup of coffee after breakfast and went to the library to have a quiet moment and a think.

She sat on the window seat and stared outside at the sun glinting off the snow, and found herself once again wondering how Colm had gotten that faint white scar on his thigh. He said it happened on one of the freighters he’d crewed on. Twenty-seven stitches... She shuddered. That was one hell of an accident.

Despite herself, she still had a few lingering questions about Colm...questions he’d thus far avoided answering. Why?

What was he hiding? Was he hiding something?