Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada

‘You have,’ Tarquin called out.

‘Sorry, babes,’ Dominic agreed, ‘but Tark’s right. You’ve been a fucking nightmare lately.’

She sniffled and stepped closer. ‘I’m sorry, Dom. I never meant to be such a cow, honestly. I just wanted every detail to be perfect for our wedding. For...us.’

He reached through and clasped her hand with his. ‘As long as I hear the vicar say the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife”, that’s all I need to make it perfect, babes. Honestly.’

Gemma squeezed his hand. ‘I love you, Dominic. And you’re right – in the end, that’s all that matters. Now,’ she added briskly, ‘let’s get you out of here. Tarquin!’ she called out. ‘You can stop eavesdropping now and let Dominic out.’

‘Well, I’d be more than happy to do that,’ Tarquin told her as he rejoined them, ‘if I could.’ He indicated the ancient lock. ‘There isn’t a key in the lock. And I’ve no idea where it might be.’

‘But...someone has to have the key!’ Gemma cried. ‘After all, that same someone locked Dom in and took the key. We just have to find it.’

‘But who would do such a thing?’ Tarquin asked, mystified. ‘Surely no one here at Draemar would deliberately lock Dominic in the dungeon and throw away the key.’

‘Somebody did!’ Gemma snapped. ‘It was probably that grumpy ginger-haired groundskeeper, Colm.’

‘No. It wasn’t Colm.’ Dominic shook his head as he began to recall the events of the night before. ‘I shared a bottle of whisky with Archie last night, in his study. I remember wanting to leave the castle, wanting to get as far away as I could, and so I went off in search of car keys. Archie followed me, said he knew of a spare set of keys down in the dungeon and that we’d go and get them.’

‘In the dungeon?’ Gemma echoed sceptically. ‘And you believed that?’

‘At the time,’ Dominic informed her, ‘it made perfect sense. You have to remember, we were both bladdered.’ He scowled. ‘Anyway, we went downstairs, and we staggered all the way down the corridor to the end, until we came to the last door.’

‘This is for your own safety, laddie,’ Archie had mumbled as he turned and left Dominic inside, then swung the door shut.

‘Archie locked me in and took the key,’ Dom said slowly. ‘I remember now.’ As Gemma and Tarquin began to protest, convinced that Archie Campbell would never do such a monstrous thing, he added impatiently, ‘Don’t you see? He did it to keep me from grabbing a set of random car keys and driving off with a half a fifth of whisky in me.’

‘Then all we need to do is find Archie and get that key back,’ Gemma said.

Tarquin sighed. ‘There’s just one problem.’

Dominic eyed him suspiciously. ‘What do you mean, a problem?’ he demanded. ‘What problem? Just go upstairs and get Archie.’

‘That’s just it,’ Tark said. ‘He’s not here. He’s gone to London on a matter of urgent business and he isn’t expected to return until late tonight.’

‘Oh, that’s just fucking wonderful, that is,’ Dominic groaned. ‘So I’m locked in here until God knows when! I need a nice, greasy fry-up. I need a big glass of OJ and vodka. I need some bloody aspirin!’

‘We’ll just have to find the key, then,’ Gemma said firmly. ‘It’s bound to be in Archie’s room somewhere.’

But although she and Tarquin abandoned Dominic to look in Archie’s study and bedroom, then the library and the drawing room and even the kitchen, the key was nowhere to be found.

‘What’ll we do?’ Gemma wailed as she turned to Tarquin. ‘Poor Dominic! There’s no way to slide a food tray under the dungeon door; there’s not even space enough between the bars in that bloody window to hand him a bottle of beer!’

‘Alcohol’s what got him into this mess in the first place,’ Tarquin pointed out sharply. He sighed. ‘I’ll just have to go into the village and get a locksmith to come out and have a look. There’s a chap who specializes in antique locks.’

‘Well, go on and get him, then, and hurry!’ Gemma urged him. ‘There’s no time to lose. The wedding’s just two days away. And without Dominic, there won’t be a wedding!’

As he turned to go back downstairs, Tarquin suddenly remembered something.

‘I think I might know where the key is.’

‘You do?’ Gemma clutched his arm. ‘Where is it? Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I only just remembered. There’s an old key ring with dozens of antique keys hanging on a hook in the buttery. It’s been there ever since anyone can remember.’

‘Do you think the key to the dungeon is there?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tark said, and made his way downstairs with Gemma close behind him. ‘But it’s worth a look.’

Chapter 41 (#ulink_13cf661b-c56a-52a2-bcff-a2e40ad11125)

As she came downstairs later that morning, Caitlin Campbell paused on the last step. Draemar Castle was looking very festive.

The mantels, mirrors, banisters and doorways of the drawing room, library, entrance hall, and dining room were draped with fresh greenery and filled the castle with the scent of pine and spruce. A fire blazed a welcome in the drawing room fireplace.

A twelve-foot tree stood in the corner, glittering with icicles and woven with strands of white fairy lights. Christmas music played at a low volume on the old Roberts radio, and a tray with shortbread and mugs of hot cocoa sat on the coffee table.

‘There’s sherry, too, if you’ve a mind,’ Mrs Neeson announced as she brushed past Caitlin with a cut-glass decanter of Amontillado in hand and set it down next to the shortbread and cocoa. ‘Now I’d best get back to the kitchen, seein’ as I have waitstaff to supervise, and a wedding dinner to put on the table tomorrow, as well as the family’s Christmas supper afterwards.’

‘Everything looks lovely, very Christmassy,’ Caitlin approved as she entered the drawing room and surveyed her surroundings. ‘What can I do to help?’

Pen handed her several boxes of fragile German Christmas ornaments. ‘You can start by hanging these on the tree, if you like. Do you remember them? They were always your favourites.’

Caitlin took the boxes and set them carefully down. ‘Of course I do.’ They’d had these ornaments for as long as she could remember – a pink-cheeked skier, a snowflake, an angel, a Swiss chalet with tiny wreaths on the windows – each of them made of blown glass and meticulously hand-painted.

She remembered when one of the ornaments, a Scottie dog with a plaid scarf wound around his neck, had slipped through her fingers and shattered on the flagstones in the entrance hall. Six-year-old Caitlin had been inconsolable.

Now, as she took the decorations from the boxes and began to hang them from the branches, her throat thickened.

Would she trim a tree like this with Niall’s son or daughter one day? Would the two of them find a way to build a life together, or would her father – and Niall’s son Jeremy – make a future between them impossible?

At least none of the houseguests knew she was pregnant, thank God. Only Gemma.

But as she glanced down at the slight swell of her stomach, Caitlin bit her lip. It would only be a matter of time before everyone else noticed.

‘How are you feeling?’ Wren enquired in a low voice as she came to stand beside her.

‘Fine,’ Caitlin said shortly.

‘I’m glad. If there’s anything I can do...’

‘There isn’t.’ She hung one of the Swiss chalet ornaments and turned away from Wren’s hurt expression. She knew she was being beastly, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Knowing that she wouldn’t be giving her baby up for adoption to Wren and Tarquin after all made her feel horribly guilty.

Caitlin took a deep breath and set the empty box aside as she turned back to Wren. There was no time like the present...

‘We need to talk, Wren. It’s important.’

‘Of course,’ her sister-in-law agreed, her face at once eager and hopeful. ‘What is it? Is it about—’