And the Bride Wore Prada (29 page)

Colm glanced over at his father, who stood nearby, deep in conversation with Penelope and Archie. ‘I’m learning that when you have money, anything is possible.’

She looked at Colm uncertainly. ‘Do you mean?’

‘Have Longworth and I made our peace?’ His words were abrupt. ‘No. Maybe we never will. But you’re right – I’d be six kinds of stupid if I threw his offer back in his face. I’d be hurting no one but myself.’

She touched his arm. ‘I’m glad you reconsidered.’ She smiled and shaded her eyes against the late afternoon sun as the carriage rolled slowly off down the snow-covered drive. ‘You’ve made Gemma very, very happy.’

‘So have you,’ he said gruffly, ‘by not turning her wedding into a red-top exclusive.’

‘In the end, I couldn’t do it. I’m a tabloid reporter with a conscience,’ she finished ruefully. ‘Imagine that.’

His eyes, green-gold today, met hers. ‘I’m proud of you, lass. Truly. Perhaps...’

Helen eyed him expectantly as her heart did odd things inside her chest. ‘Perhaps what?’

‘Ah, nothing.’ He glanced down at his wristwatch. ‘It’s time I got back to the gatehouse. I’ve a lot of thinking to do.’

‘No, Colm,’ Helen persisted, and caught at his hand, ‘wait. Tell me. What were you about to say?’

He met her eyes. ‘I was about to say that maybe that’ll be us, one of these days,’ he said, and turned away to watch the bridal carriage as it rolled off down the drive, sun glinting on the roof.

Helen stared at him, scarcely daring to breathe. ‘What? You mean – the two of us,
married
?’

‘No,’ he retorted. ‘I mean, the two of us riding together in a carriage kitted out in ribbons and greenery.’ At the expression of mingled dismay and disappointment on her face, he grinned. ‘You daft Sassenach! Yes, of course I want to marry you, and soon. What did you think I meant?’

She stared at him in consternation, then flung her arms around him. ‘I want to marry you, too, Colm – even though you’re the most annoying, exasperating, stubborn man I’ve ever known!’

‘Don’t forget “filthy rich”,’ he added, and frowned. ‘In view of my newfound wealth, perhaps I should think twice before I marry ye.’

‘Really? And why is that?’

‘Well...’ He shrugged. ‘You might only want me for my money.’

‘I wanted you before you had a penny to your name,’ she retorted, ‘
if
you recall. Had you asked me last week to marry you, or last month, my answer would’ve been the same.’

A teasing light gleamed in his eye. ‘Is that right? So you say
now
, lass.’

Helen took his arm. ‘Come on, Mr MacKenzie. We can debate my intentions later. Right now, we’ve dances to dance and whisky to drink and a wedding to celebrate.’

‘What about London? I thought you were leaving.’

‘I can send my resignation to Tom via email. Besides, I really don’t want to leave Draemar just yet. I want to stay on at the reception for a bit longer. But I didn’t think you wanted me here.’ She smiled. ‘Now I know you do.’

Colm put his arms around her waist and drew her close. ‘I do want you here. I was too stubborn to say so, I suppose. I’m glad you’ve decided to stay. The gatehouse needs a woman’s touch.’ He bent his head down and kissed her. ‘I love you, lass. Now, let’s go and celebrate.’

Chapter 53

After consuming a Christmas feast of roast goose with all the trimmings, and after watching the Queen’s Speech on television, everyone trailed off to their respective rooms, groaning and yawning, to catch a nap.

‘How does it feel,’ Helen asked Penelope as they remained behind by the drawing room fire, ‘to have your son Colm back?’

‘It’s wonderful.’ Mrs Campbell set her glass of Bailey’s aside and shook her head in amazement. ‘That I should see him again, when they took him away from me just moments after I gave birth in hospital all those years ago – it’s indescribable.’

‘I’m sorry about Andrew.’ Helen laid her hand atop Penelope’s. ‘I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to lose your son.’

‘I thought I’d go mad with grief,’ the older woman admitted. ‘It was a dark, horrible time.’ She hesitated. ‘Andrew was gay, you know.’

Helen regarded her in surprise. ‘No. I didn’t.’

‘No one in the family knew, only Archie; and when he found out, he and Andrew had a blazing row. It was the reason Andrew left to go to Africa.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Helen murmured.

‘I imagine,’ Pen went on quietly, ‘that Michael McFarlane and Andrew were involved. My son never talked about girls, except in passing. They were crazy for him, of course; such a handsome young man he was. But although he dated a couple of girls, Andrew just wasn’t interested in being anything more than friends.’

‘So you think he and Michael were lovers?’

She met Helen’s eyes. ‘I’m sure of it. I think they had an argument on the boat that day, and it got heated. Andrew was the jealous sort, and he always had the devil’s own temper.’

‘You don’t mean,’ Helen’s eyes widened, ‘do you think Michael
killed
your son?’

‘Not deliberately, no. When the police finished their investigation – it wasn’t much of an investigation, at any rate ‒ I hired my own private detective, and he went over the sailboat again. He found traces of blood on the cam cleat.’

‘Traces the Freeport police missed?’

Pen shrugged. ‘They were looking for a drowning victim, not a murder victim. Not that I think Michael killed my son deliberately,’ she hastened to reiterate. ‘I think they argued, and fists flew, and Andrew fell and hit his head on the cleat, and died. Michael probably panicked and threw his body overboard, knowing the current was strong and would carry him away.’

‘It makes sense,’ Helen agreed slowly. ‘More sense than Andrew trying to swim to shore in the middle of a squall.’ She frowned. ‘Why didn’t you pursue the matter? Press charges?’

‘There was no proof, only conjecture on my part. And what good would it have done?’ she asked bitterly. ‘Andrew was dead. Putting Michael in prison wouldn’t have changed that.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Helen looked at the former fashion model and away again. ‘That first evening, when I saw Andrew’s photograph,’ she confessed, ‘I noticed that he and the Campbell men shared a certain resemblance. I...oh, it sounds stupid now, but – I became convinced that Colm
was
Andrew.’

Penelope stared at her. ‘Why on earth would you think such a thing?’

‘I’m a reporter,’ she admitted. ‘For the London
Probe
. I looked into Andrew’s death, and learnt that he’d wanted no part in running the family’s distillery. That, coupled with the fact his body was never found, made me think that perhaps he’d staged his own death.’

‘Oh, believe me, I entertained the very same thought,’ Mrs Campbell admitted after a moment. ‘I imagined Andrew was alive and well and living under an assumed name somewhere. Brazil, perhaps. But no matter how bitter the rift with his father,’ she finished firmly, ‘my son would never have disappeared without letting me know he was alive. That’s how I know he’s truly gone.’

‘Ah, here you are.’ Colm thrust his head around the doorway and nodded at Helen. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Can I interest you ladies in a cup of something warming?’

‘If you mean something a bit stronger than tea,’ Penelope said, ‘then yes, I’d love it. However,’ she added, her eyes smiling as she stood and glanced down at Helen, ‘as tired as I am, I think I’ll head up and take a nap before supper, and leave you two to yourselves.’

When she’d gone upstairs, Colm sat down on the sofa next to Helen and slid his arm around her shoulders. ‘So you’re staying, then? You’re not going back to London?’

‘Well, I’ll need to go back eventually to get my things, and to let the flat...but no, I’m not going back to London to stay. Unless you want me to?’

‘What I want,’ Colm said, his eyes not leaving hers, ‘is for you to stay here with me, Miss Thomas, and share my gatehouse, until we can go to London together and check out this townhouse in Mayfair I’m to inherit from my father.’ He hesitated. ‘He’s invited me to come and visit him.’

Helen took his hand. ‘You should go,’ she said simply. ‘Give him a chance, Colm.’

‘Will you come with me?’ he asked, and slanted a glance at her.

‘Of course I will, if that’s what you want. I can pack while we’re there, and I’ll arrange to have the rest of my things put in storage.’

‘The rest of your things?’

She shrugged. ‘Yes, you know – books, and clothes, and my Toby jug collection.’

‘You collect Toby jugs? Dear God.’

‘What’s wrong with that? They go with my crockery collection. And my antique spoon collection. And my Elvis toss-pillow collection.’

Colm kissed her. ‘Is that right? I may be having second thoughts, then, lass.’

‘Second thoughts? About what?’

‘About marrying you.’

Helen’s heart quickened. ‘You should never tease a girl about a serious subject like marriage, Colm. It isn’t nice.’

‘Who says I’m teasing?’ He kissed her again, then moved his lips – slowly ‒ down the length of her neck. ‘I’m dead serious.’

Helen glanced at the door and squirmed. ‘We’re in the
drawing
room, Colm! Anyone could walk in.’

‘True. That’s what makes it fun.’ His mouth made its leisurely way back up to her ear and began to nibble and lick the lobe. ‘Besides, who wants to be nice?’ he growled. ‘Not me.’

And as Colm reached around to unzip her dress with impatient fingers, Helen could only just manage to murmur her complete agreement.

The front door swung open as Pen crossed the front hall to the stairs. She paused as Caitlin and Niall came in on a blast of cold air, the shoulders of their coats dusted with snow. They were holding hands and laughing.

Their laughter froze as they caught sight of her.

‘Mum,’ Caitlin said warily as she dropped his hand. ‘I thought you’d gone to bed.’

‘I was just on my way.’ She hesitated, then extended her hand to Niall. ‘I’ve not had the pleasure, Mr MacDougal. I’m Pen Campbell, Caitlin’s mother.’

‘The pleasure is decidedly mine, Mrs Campbell.’ He came forward and shook her hand firmly. ‘Niall MacDougal.’ He paused. ‘I apologise for the circumstances. I want you to know that I truly love Caitlin, and I mean to make her happy.’

‘I believe you will.’ She managed a smile. ‘Now, let’s say no more about it, shall we? If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to my daughter alone for a moment.’

Surprise flickered across his face. ‘Of course.’ He turned to Caitlin and brushed his lips against her cold cheek. ‘I’ll be in the drawing room.’

She kissed him. ‘See you in a bit.’ As he left and made his way to the drawing room, Caitlin turned to her mother. ‘What’s this about?’ she asked, her expression still wary.

Pen extended her hand. ‘Come upstairs for a moment. There’s something I want to show you.’

Bewildered, Caitlin took her hand and followed her upstairs and into her parents’ bedroom. ‘Where’s dad?’

‘Still in his study, talking – and no doubt drinking – with Graeme. This is nothing to do with him, at any rate.’ Pen went to the wardrobe and withdrew a dress bag. ‘This was my wedding gown,’ she said as she unzipped the bag, ‘and I offered it to Gemma when her own gown couldn’t be had.’

‘But she’s got it back now.’

‘Yes. So she has no need of this dress.’ Penelope paused, her eyes steady on her daughter’s. ‘But you will. Eventually.’ She withdrew the gown and held it up.

Caitlin eyed the chiffon and silk confection in mingled admiration and bewilderment. ‘It’s beautiful, mum. But I thought – I thought you didn’t approve of Niall. You don’t want us to marry.’

‘I didn’t, at first,’ she agreed, and laid the dress aside on the bed. ‘And I won’t lie, I still have my doubts. But,’ she added as Caitlin bristled, ‘I can see how much he adores you, and you, him. I just hope he doesn’t break your heart. I don’t think he will. But none of us have any guarantees, do we?’

‘No, we don’t.’ Caitlin met her mother’s eyes. ‘I may not be able to wear it in another month or two.’

‘We can always have it altered. And it’s a very forgiving dress. But if you prefer,’ Pen added, ‘we’ll go shopping for a gown of your own.’

‘I want this one,’ Caitlin assured her firmly, and flung her arms around her mother. ‘Thanks, mum,’ she breathed. ‘We’ll be happy, Niall and I. You’ll see.’

Pen held her close. ‘That’s all I want, my darling. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

Chapter 54

‘I’m still so angry at your sister I could spit.’

Tarquin tamped down his irritation as he changed out of his dinner clothes and got ready for bed. ‘Wren, it’s been a long day, and we’re both tired. I told you not to trust Caitlin; she’s as changeable as the wind and twice as frustrating to deal with. We’ll look into adopting a child.’

‘But adoption takes
ages
, Tark. And I’m so, so tired of all of this endless, endless waiting.’ She began, hopelessly, to weep.

He let out a breath and dropped to his knees beside her at the dressing table. ‘Don’t cry, darling, please,’ he pleaded as he wrapped his arms around her. ‘You know I can’t bear to see you cry. I feel like this is all my fault.’

‘Your fault?’ Wren drew back and looked at him, startled. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘The last test indicated I’m the one who’s infertile, not you.’

‘That was only one test, Tarquin, and it wasn’t conclusive,’ she said firmly. ‘The doctor said so.’

‘“Not conclusive” doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.’

She kissed the top of his head and stood up. ‘It also doesn’t mean that it
is
. Please, don’t blame yourself, Tark. It’s no one’s fault. It’s time I got ready for bed, too. And I don’t mean to complain, I’m just tired. We both are. You’re right ‒ it’s been a long day.’

Tarquin yawned and settled himself in bed. ‘No worries. I’ll just have a look at the morning’s headlines while you’re in the shower.’

She nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.

As the water began to run in the shower stall, Tarquin reached out to the bedside table for his reading glasses. They weren’t there. He frowned. What the devil had he done with them?

He was just about to throw on his robe and go downstairs to search for them when there was a piercing shriek from the bathroom.