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

Caitlin nodded. ‘Niall. His name is Niall, and yes. He’s married. But he’s getting a divorce.’

      Lady Campbell snorted. ‘So they all say. Has he been relieved of his teaching position?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘That’s outrageous. I shall see to it that he’s sacked at once.’

      Caitlin sat up, alarmed. ‘No, Gram, you can’t do that! Please!’

      ‘Whyever not? If a professor ‒ and a married one, at that ‒ is having relations with a student, then it’s my duty to report him and ensure that he’s sacked!’

      ‘You can’t, Gram,’ Caitlin said firmly, ‘and you won’t, because, you see,’ she lowered her voice, even though the doors were closed ‘Niall is Jeremy’s father.’

      Lady Campbell regarded her granddaughter in shock. ‘Do you mean to tell me that this professor of yours, this married man, this...this person you slept with at university...is that nice young man’s father?’

      Caitlin didn’t respond. But her silence spoke volumes.

      Her grandmother groped behind her for a chair and lowered herself onto the cushion with a dazed expression.

      ‘Gram, are you all right?’ she asked, her expression anxious. ‘Can I...can I get you something?’

      ‘I really don’t know,’ Lady Campbell said faintly. ‘I’d ask for smelling salts if such things still existed. Since they don’t, kindly pour me a wee dram, if you would. Neat.’

      ‘Of course.’ Caitlin went to the drinks table and poured a healthy measure of whisky into a tumbler, then carried it to her grandmother and handed it over.

      The older woman nodded her thanks and took a lengthy sip. ‘A vast improvement,’ she murmured a moment later, and set the glass aside. ‘Now I shall be much better equipped to handle this mess.’

      ‘Mum figured it out,’ Caitlin admitted. ‘Or she very nearly did. She thinks I’m sleeping with Jeremy.’

      ‘You’re not, are you?’

      Caitlin bristled. ‘No, of course I’m not! What kind of girl do you think I am?’

      ‘You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?’ Lady Campbell retorted. ‘Whatever were you thinking, Caitlin Morag, sleeping with that young man’s father?’

      ‘I didn’t know Niall was his father! I borrowed Jeremy’s notes in economics class, and afterwards he bought me a coffee at The Grind, and we talked a bit, and became friends. It wasn’t until,’ she blushed ‘until later that I realized he was Niall’s son. And by then, it was too late.’

      Her grandmother pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘Well, it’s a fine kettle of fish you’ve landed yourself in, young lady. Have you broken it off?’

      ‘Yes. I’ve told Niall we’re through, and that I never want to see him again.’

      ‘And did you mean it?’

      ‘Yes, Gram, of course I meant it!’ Caitlin said indignantly. ‘Getting involved with Niall MacDougal was the stupidest thing I ever did. I never, ever want to see him again.’

      ‘Hmph.’

      ‘Don’t you believe me?’

      ‘My dear girl,’ Lady Campbell announced as she pushed herself to her feet, ‘I do believe you. But I also remember from my own footloose and fancy-free days that a young woman’s mind is a very, very changeable thing.’

      Natalie came down the stairs just as Rhys returned. She stopped halfway down, one hand resting atop the banister. ‘Oh. Rhys. You’re back.’

      He glanced up. ‘Natalie.’

      ‘Where have you been? I was worried…’

      ‘Sorry. I went for a walk. I needed to clear my head.’ He took off his gloves and thrust them in his pocket.

      ‘And did you? Clear your head, I mean.’

      ‘Yes. The walk helped, and having time alone to think. But it was Colm who set me straight.’

      Natalie blinked. ‘Colm? You can’t mean it! What could Colm possibly know about being a father?’

      ‘Nothing,’ Rhys said equitably, ‘which was exactly his point. None of us know anything about being a parent until we become one.’ He frowned. ‘I didn’t exactly have a stellar example to follow, you know. My stepfather was a nightmare.’

      ‘Yes. But he wasn’t your real father, Rhys,’ Natalie pointed out, ‘Alastair was ‒ is. And even though Alastair didn’t know about you until you were grown – which wasn’t his fault – he’s a wonderful man.’ She paused and added, ‘So...you’re not still angry with me?’

      He looked up at her, startled. ‘I was never angry with you. Annoyed, perhaps, and thrown off balance by the news – but not angry, no.’

      Relief made her knees wobbly. ‘Good. I thought...oh, never mind what I thought.’

      ‘You thought I didn’t want the baby.’

      She caught her lip between her teeth and nodded. ‘I cried for ages.’ She felt tears welling up even as she said it. ‘Sorry.’ She dashed the tears away with the back of her hand. ‘My hormones...they’re all over the place at the moment.’

      ‘No, I’m the one who’s sorry.’ Rhys let out a pent-up breath. ‘I shouldn’t have shouted at you, I shouldn’t have run out on you like I did. I was wrong, and I acted like an arse.’

      Natalie sniffled. ‘It’s all right. It was a shock. For both of us.’

      ‘It scares the hell out of me,’ he admitted. ‘Imagining myself as a father? It’s inconceivable. But after thinking it over, I realized that we’ll figure it out together, you and me.’

      ‘Of course we will,’ Natalie agreed. ‘Just imagine a little Natalie or Rhys running around in a few years’ time. It’ll be fun!’

      ‘Dear God,’ he muttered. ‘Baby clothes. Prams and cribs. Nappies.’

      ‘Rhys!’

      ‘Never mind all that, I’m sure we’ll manage very well with little Natalie or Rhys. More importantly ‒ how are you feeling, darling?’ he asked as he came up the stairs and drew her into his arms, his face etched with concern.

      ‘Much better,’ she answered truthfully, and smiled as she relaxed into his embrace, ‘now.’

       Chapter 22

      ‘Would you look at this!’

      Gemma flung herself into a seat next to Dominic at breakfast the next morning and held up her mobile phone in disgust.

      With a scowl – he hadn’t yet had his coffee and was in a foul mood – Dominic let out an audible sigh. ‘What is it now, Gems? If it’s anything to do with all this wedding crap, I can tell you right now ‒ I’m not bloody interested.’

      ‘Yes, it’s to do with “all this wedding crap”, as you so rudely put it,’ Gemma snapped. ‘The London Probe’s just posted about our wedding – to 165,000 followers.’

      ‘Isn’t that what you want?’

      ‘No! Not when it spoils our secret. Go on, look!’

      Grumbling, he snatched the mobile she waved at him and squinted at the screen. ‘Will Christmas wedding bells be ringing soon for randy rocker Dominic Heath & his fiancée, Gemma?’’

      He shrugged and handed the phone back. ‘So? I’ve been called worse