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

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