Christmas At Pemberley: And the Bride Wore Prada. Katie Oliver

old sleds are still around here somewhere. I’ll have Cook pack us up a lovely picnic feast.’

      ‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ Wren enthused as she and Tarquin joined them in the drawing room. ‘Don’t you think so, Gemma?’

      Gemma, her face set in concentration as her fingers flew over her mobile phone, was far too busy with social media status updates to do more than give them a cursory shake of her head. ‘I’m planning my wedding,’ she said grimly, ‘and you wouldn’t believe what a nightmare of frustration and dashed hopes it is!’

      ‘“A nightmare of frustration and dashed hopes”?’ Dominic echoed as he entered the drawing room. ‘Sounds like my first marriage.’

      ‘This is serious, Dom!’ Gemma snapped. ‘I can’t get our wedding favour bags made up in tartan, only in primary colours! Have you ever heard of anything so bloody ridiculous? I can’t bear it if the favour bags clash with the bridesmaids’ gowns. Yellow netting and red plaid just do not go together! It’s doing my head in.’

      ‘Not as much as it’s doing mine in,’ Dominic muttered.

      ‘And the cake,’ she went on, outraged. ‘That’s the third baker who’s told me a wedding cake shaped like a giant Louboutin shoe can’t be done.’

      ‘I should think it entirely possible,’ Wren observed, and clucked in sympathy. ‘Why can’t they do it?’

      ‘Because they’re unreasonable bastards! And because it needs to feed 250 people,’ Gemma added with a scowl, ‘and it needs to be gluten free. And vegan.’

      ‘Oh, my,’ Wren murmured. ‘There’s your problem, dear. Perhaps your expectations are just a wee bit unreasonable—’

      ‘Unreasonable?’ Gemma shrilled. ‘Not giving a bride-to-be what she asks for, that’s unreasonable!’

      ‘Where’re you lot headed off to?’ Dominic asked Natalie in a low voice, a look of panic blooming on his face. ‘Mind if I come along?’

      ‘We’re going sledding, Dominic,’ Natalie answered as she moved past him to follow Rhys, Caitlin, and Jeremy out the door. ‘Since you’re not the outdoorsy type, you probably wouldn’t like it.’

      He grabbed her arm and hissed, ‘I’ll like anything that gets me away from that wedding-obsessed harpy! Please, Nat ‒ I can’t listen to another word about Prada gowns or monogrammed silver bottle-openers or custom-dyed shoes!’

      She nodded in sympathy, having been through the very same thing with her sister, Caro, not so long ago. ‘All right, Dom. You’re welcome to come along.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But you’re going sledding, mind, you’re not standing round texting Max on your mobile the entire time.’

      ‘All right, all right,’ he grumbled, having planned to do just that. ‘But you’d better hope I don’t break my bloody arm. I need it to play guitar, you know.’

      ‘In that case,’ Rhys said dourly, ‘I hope you break both your arms.’

       Chapter 12

      Helen returned to her room after breakfast. She was far too preoccupied with thoughts of Colm – and how much he actually knew – to accompany the others on the sledding expedition.

      She glanced out of her bedroom window, smiling momentarily at the sight of Natalie and Rhys, Caitlin and Wren, even Dominic, careening down the snow-covered slope, laughing and shouting like schoolchildren.

       ‘I know who you are.’

      As she heard Colm’s words echoing in her head, Helen’s smile faded.

      He’d overheard her call to Tom. What exactly had she said on the phone, just before Colm accosted her? Tarquin’s sister had arrived, thankfully saving Helen from further questions.

      But she knew that the canny groundskeeper would bring the matter up again at the first opportunity.

      Frowning, she tried to recall what she’d told Tom.

       ‘Oh, I imagine they’ll tie the knot within the next few weeks. Just as soon as this bloody snow stops falling. And you can bet your arse that when Dominic and Gemma leave this pile of mouldering Scottish stone, I’ll be right behind them.’

      Oh well, Helen sighed as she turned away from the window, there was nothing to be done about it now. She’d do her best to stay out of the Scotsman’s way.

      And if I make any more calls to Tom, she resolved grimly as she went downstairs in search of the library, I’ll make certain to do it in the privacy of my own bloody room.

      Late that afternoon, the sledding party returned to the castle, red-cheeked and half-frozen.

      ‘How was the sledding expedition?’ Tark enquired as they shed their coats and hats and scarves and collapsed on the nearest sofas and chairs in the drawing room.

      ‘Brilliant,’ Caitlin declared, and grinned over at Dominic, ‘except for Mr Rock Star over there, who twisted his ankle and had to be pulled the whole way back on a sled, complaining like a wee girl all the while.’

      ‘It bloody hurts,’ Dom said through gritted teeth as he flung himself into a wing chair by the fire.

      ‘What’ve you done, Dominic?’ Gemma demanded as she strode into the room and came to a stop, a clipboard and a stack of bridal magazines in her arms. ‘Why is your face all screwed up like that?’

      Rhys snorted. ‘His face is always screwed up, if you ask me.’

      ‘No one did,’ Dominic snapped. ‘So kindly shut it. I turned my ankle, Gem, that’s all.’

      ‘Wren’s gone to fetch some Epsom salts so you can soak your foot,’ Natalie told him.

      ‘And his head, while he’s at it,’ Rhys added.

      ‘I’m warning you, Gordon,’ Dominic snarled, ‘if you don’t shut your gob, I’ll—’

      Caitlin’s dog Coco trotted into the drawing room just then and leapt up into her lap. The wolfhounds, incensed by this invasion of their territory by the tiny interloper, set up a chorus of barking.

      With a sigh, Tarquin stood and led the dogs, still growling their displeasure, outside.

      ‘Really, Caitlin,’ Wren said mildly, ‘you know we have dogs here at Draemar. You might have thought to board Coco in a kennel for a couple of weeks.’

      ‘Why should I do that?’ Caitlin shot back. ‘I’m perfectly aware that there are dogs here, Wren. I grew up at Draemar, after all. It was my home long before it was yours. So why should I be required to board Coco in a kennel, when she belongs here, just as much as I do?’

      The two women regarded each other in silent – and mutual – dislike. ‘I’m only saying,’ Wren said in measured tones, ‘that it might have been easier on all concerned if you hadn’t brought the dog along when you came home, that’s all.’

      ‘Easier on you, you mean.’ Scorn coloured her voice. ‘I’m sure you’d like it best if I never came home at all, wouldn’t you, Wren?’

      ‘That’s not true!’ Wren snapped. ‘There you go again, Caitlin, putting words in my mouth—’

      ‘No, I’m only putting the thoughts in your head into words, so that everyone might know how bloody jealous you are of me!’

      ‘What’s going on here? I heard the two of you shouting all the way across the hall.’

      Tarquin, his face a study in anger, stood in the doorway. ‘Can’t I leave you alone with Wren for five minutes without starting trouble, Caitlin?’

      His sister gathered Coco up