And the Bride Wore Prada (21 page)

‘I told you, we’re getting married—’

‘His divorce has to come through first, Caitlin. That takes time. What happens while you wait? Are you having this baby? And if so, who’ll take care of it? Will he help out financially? Have you given a single thought to the practicalities?’

‘Yes, I’m having the baby,’ she said defiantly, ‘and of course I’m keeping it! Why wouldn’t I?’

He leant back in his chair. ‘Wren is under the impression that you’re giving the child up for adoption – to her, and Tarquin.’

Caitlin shifted on her feet. ‘Well, before I talked to Niall, that was the plan, yes. But he wants the baby. He’s over the moon with excitement.’

‘Is he, now?’ Archie’s expression was dark. ‘I’m sure he must feel quite chuffed to know he’s impregnated a girl who’s half his age—’

‘You make him sound ancient! He isn’t. He’s barely thirty-eight. And he wants this baby.
Our
baby. I thought you’d be pleased that he wants to marry me.’

‘Pleased?’ The word, when he spoke, came out deceptively low. ‘You think I’m pleased that my only daughter has gotten herself pregnant ‒ by a married man, no less – and thrown her education away in exchange for nappies and two o’clock feedings?’

‘I’ll go back to university. When the baby’s older,’ she replied, but the words sounded hollow, even to herself.

‘What about his wife? Have you given a thought to her? He’s breaking up a marriage! And what about Wren? You have to tell her that you’ve changed your mind, and you’re not giving the baby up for adoption. She’ll be devastated.’

Caitlin hung her head. ‘I know she will,’ she admitted. ‘And I’m truly sorry for that. I know how much she and Tark want a baby. But...it can’t be helped. She’ll just have to understand.’

‘Well, lassie,’ Archie said as he thrust back his chair and stood up abruptly, ‘I hope she does. Because I can tell you this much – I damned sure don’t.’

Later that evening, Dominic crept upstairs and came to a stop outside the door to Archibald Campbell’s study. He listened, but heard nothing.

‘Dominic!’ Gemma shrilled from somewhere downstairs. ‘Dominic, where are you?’

Shit. With no time to waste, Dom edged the door open and ducked inside. He needed a place to hide. The room was dark, sunk in shadows, with the only light coming from the flicker of flames in the fireplace.

Once again, his fiancé had a bee up her arse, insisting he go into Aberdeen the next day to see if his morning suit was ready.
Morning suit
, he thought darkly.
More like a bloody
mourning
suit
, marking the loss of his bachelor existence—

‘And what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Archie growled behind him.

Dominic nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around and saw his host sitting in a wing chair in the shadows by the fire, a glass in hand.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered, ‘I thought no one was in here,’ and he turned to leave.

‘Wait.’

Warily, Dominic paused with his hand on the doorknob. ‘I didn’t mean to barge in, mate, truly.’

‘Stay,’ Archie ordered, and lifted his glass. ‘Join me for a drink, Dominic. I’d welcome your company.’

‘Not to be rude,’ the rock star observed as he made his cautious way towards Archie, ‘but you don’t look so good. Are you all right?’

‘Aye, I’m fine. Just having a wee dram and a think. I’ve a lot on my mind.’ He got up and went to a table where a decanter of whisky and matching glasses waited and poured Dominic a drink. His hand was a bit unsteady.

‘Thanks.’ Dominic took the glass. ‘What’s got you in a black mood, if you don’t mind my asking?’

Archie indicated the wing chair across from his, and the two men sat down. ‘It’s my daughter,’ he said after a moment. ‘She’s gone and done something incredibly stupid.’

‘Caitlin? What’s she done?’

‘Where to begin?’ Archie muttered, and scowled. ‘It all started when she was kicked out of university.’

‘Kicked out!’ Dom exclaimed, confused. ‘But...I thought she came home for the holidays.’

‘That’s what she told everyone. But it’s a lie.’ He took a longish sip of his whisky. ‘She was booted out for having an affair...with a professor. A married professor.’

‘Shit.’ Dominic knocked back half of his glass. ‘Well, it could be worse. At least she’s not up the duff.’

‘Ah,’ Archie said grimly, ‘that’s just it. She is indeed, as you term it, “up the duff”. She’s pregnant with this married bloke’s baby.’ He finished his whisky and held out the glass. ‘I’ll have another.’

As the first glass of whisky took hold, Dominic got to his feet and took Campbell’s glass, then made his way to the drinks table. ‘So what do you plan to do?’ he asked over his shoulder as he poured them each a fresh glass. He was proud of himself. He only spilled a tiny bit.

‘What can I do, short of throwing Caitlin out into the snow? And I could never do that.’ His scowl deepened. ‘She says he wants to marry her. He’s getting a divorce from his wife.’

‘That’s good, at least.’

‘Good? My daughter’s breaking up a marriage, Dominic, and she’s about to tie herself for life to the lying, cheating, unfaithful sod who made it happen. There’s nothing good about it. Any of it.’

‘Well, mate,’ Dom said, and gestured expansively, slopping whisky down the front of his shirt as he did, ‘it couldn’t have been much of a marriage, then, could it? I mean, it might seem like the end of the world right now. But look on the bright side ‒ by this time next year? You’ll be a grandfather!’

Archie glared at him and drained his whisky. ‘You’re nae making me feel any better, Dominic. Kindly shut up and pour us another dram.’

As a quiet knock sounded on her bedroom door that evening, Gemma blew her nose and snapped, ‘Go away, Dom. I’ve got nothing to say to you.’

‘It’s Pen. Might I come in for a moment?’

‘Of course.’ Surprised, Gemma tossed aside her bridal magazine and got up to let Mrs Campbell in. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised as she opened the door, ‘I look a mess. I’ve been crying.’

‘That’s to be expected, isn’t it, after finding out you have no wedding gown,’ the older woman sympathised. She indicated the dress bag draped over her arm. ‘I thought this might solve the problem.’

Gemma’s eyes widened. ‘What…what is it?’

‘My wedding dress. It’s an Ossie Clark, made for me when I was still a model.’ She smiled. ‘And much thinner.’

‘An Ossie Clark?’ Gemma blinked. ‘But he designed clothes for Mick and Bianca Jagger, and for all manner of celebrities in the sixties and seventies! That dress must be worth a fortune.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ Pen said briskly as she unzipped the bag, ‘but I’d never part with it, even so. I wore it when I married Archie. Of course,’ she added, ‘I’m a bit taller than you. But a pair of heels should take care of that.’

As she withdrew the dress, a length of cream chiffon with a satin halter-neck bodice, Gemma gasped. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said reverently as she fingered the length of chiffon. ‘I’ve never seen such a gorgeous dress.’

‘Let’s try it on, shall we?’

With a nod, Gemma took off her pyjamas and woolly socks and slid the dress over her head. It fell in a soft, floaty column to the floor. She stared at herself in the cheval mirror, mesmerized. ‘Oh…I love it.’

‘It’s a bit long, but as I said, a nice set of heels should solve it.’ Pen regarded her with satisfaction. ‘It suits you. You look radiant.’

‘Thank you. But…why?’ she asked, turning to the woman in bewilderment. ‘This was your
wedding
dress. I can’t possibly wear it. You’ve been so kind to us – all of us – letting us stay here for weeks on end, feeding us, putting up with Dominic. I’m not even family! I can’t allow you do this.’

‘Of course you can,’ Pen said firmly. ‘You can’t get married without a wedding gown, after all.’ She smiled, and picked up the empty dress bag and turned to go.

Tears filled Gemma’s eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she cried, and flung her arms impulsively around Archie’s wife. ‘I can’t ever repay you for all that you’ve done.’

Pen arched her brow. ‘Oh, but you most certainly can.’

‘Anything,’ Gemma agreed, her expression fervent. ‘Just name it.’

‘Marry your young man,’ Pen said, and reached up to catch Gemma’s hand in hers. ‘And be happy.
That’s
what you can do for me.’

And with another smile, she left.

Chapter 37

Caitlin came downstairs the next morning to find the front door open as Wren, Helen and Colm carried in pots of poinsettia plants and set them down in the entrance hall.

‘That’s the last of the lot,’ Colm announced, and deposited two more plants by the door. ‘I’ll go out to the woods this morning and fetch some greens.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ Helen offered.

‘Mind you bring back plenty,’ Penelope called out as she came down the stairs. ‘We’ll need to drape them along the mantels and the balustrade, and we’ll need extra to make wreaths. And bring plenty of holly.’

Colm nodded. ‘We’ll load up the back of the truck with as much greenery as we can.’

‘Ooh, I love the smell of pine,’ Helen enthused. ‘It’s so Christmassy.’

‘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.’