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

the two women left, discussing the relative merits of fish versus fowl, Caitlin moved to follow them. She didn’t want to talk to Wren about the baby, not just yet. She needed time to think first, to find the right words.

      But what were the ‘right words’ to tell someone – namely, Wren ‒ that she’d changed her mind and was keeping the baby?

      ‘Caitlin, wait.’ Wren turned from the window and followed her. ‘You said you wanted to talk to me...about the baby.’

      ‘I do,’ she hedged, ‘but I’m a bit busy just now. I promised Tark I’d make ginger cookies while I’m here. He loves my ginger cookies. It’s nearly Christmas, after all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d best get started—’

      ‘Please.’

      A world of pleading and hope was contained in the word.

      Caitlin sighed and turned around. ‘All right. Let me just close the doors so we can have a bit of privacy.’

      ‘Have you decided whether to have natural childbirth or not?’ Wren enquired as Caitlin moved to shut the doors. ‘It’s better for the baby, you know. Much less traumatic. You could give birth in one of those water pools…’

      ‘I’m having a baby,’ Caitlin said irritably, ‘not... baking a custard in a bain-marie.’

      ‘It’s a very lovely, very gentle way to give birth.’

      ‘Honestly, I haven’t given it much thought. But I’m sure I’ll want every pain medication on offer. The truth is,’ Caitlin admitted as she went to one of the sofas and sank down, ‘I’m terrified.’

      ‘Tark and I will go with you, if you like. We’ll be your...your birthing partners. Isn’t that what they call it nowadays? And I can help you pack whatever you’ll need in hospital.’

      As she looked over into her sister-in-law’s excited, enthusiastic face, something of her own mixed feelings and misgivings must have shown. Wren’s smile faltered.

      ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Caitlin stared down at her hands, twisting the onyx ring on her finger round and round. ‘I just have a lot to think about at the moment.’

      ‘You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?’

      Caitlin looked at Wren, and the words she’d started to say ‒ no, of course I haven’t – remained unsaid. What was the point in lying? She had changed her mind, because of Niall, because he wanted her and he wanted this child she was carrying.

      ‘You’re keeping the baby,’ Wren said evenly.

      ‘I – yes, I am. I’m sorry,’ she added in a rush, ‘but Niall asked me to marry him, which caught me completely by surprise, and he wants this baby—’

      ‘What about me?’ Wren’s words were low but fierce. ‘What about what I want? You said you wouldn’t keep the child, that you were giving it up for adoption. To us. To Tarquin and me.’

      ‘I know I did,’ Caitlin said. ‘But things have changed. I’m sorry, Wren, truly—’

      ‘Sorry?’ she echoed, and let out a sharp, bitter laugh. ‘No, you’re not sorry. You’re enjoying every minute of this, aren’t you?’

      Caitlin stared at her, stunned. ‘What? How can you say that?’

      ‘You don’t like me, Caitlin. You never have. That’s plain enough, and has been from the day I married Tarquin and moved in here. You resent me – for living in the castle, for having a place in Tark’s life, for taking attention away from you. Because everything’s always all about you, isn’t it? Caitlin Campbell, the golden girl.’

      ‘That isn’t true!’ she retorted, incensed.

      ‘It is true! Despite the fact that you’re a spoilt, over-indulged girl who’s never wanted for anything, you’ve always been jealous of me. All the little digs, the barbed comments...did you think I didn’t notice?’

      ‘You swanned in here and acted as though Draemar was yours, right from the very first day. You redecorated the drawing room – there was nothing wrong with it – and you let your stupid dogs have the run of the place. You made me feel unwelcome every time I came home from university, like I didn’t belong any more. “Why did you bring your dog home, Caitlin?’”’ she mimicked. ‘“You’re upsetting the household! You know we have dogs at Draemar.”’

      ‘Well,’ Wren said, her voice unsteady as she stood up, ‘you got your revenge for my supposed sins, didn’t you? You offered me something you knew I wanted – a baby of my own – and then you snatched it back away again. That was the plan all along, wasn’t it?’

      ‘Do you honestly think I planned this?’ Caitlin said incredulously. ‘I told you, I changed my mind because Niall wants to marry me! It is his baby, after all.’

      ‘Ah, yes – Niall. He’s nearly twice your age, he’s cheated on his wife with you, and he’s broken up his family for you. He’s quite a catch, isn’t he?’ She strode to the door. ‘There’s one consolation in all of this, though.’

      ‘Oh? And what’s that?’ Caitlin snapped.

      Wren’s smile was tight. ‘It’s only a matter of time before he cheats on you, Caitlin. Because those sorts of men always do.’

      So saying, she flung open the doors and left.

       Chapter 43

      Late that afternoon, Helen got in her car and drove the short distance to the gatehouse. She was determined to talk to Colm, to make him understand why she’d done what she did and to admit that she was wrong to do it.

      She marched up the steps and rapped on the door.

      Of course, there was no answer.

      You stubborn bloody Scot, she thought grimly. Next, she tried the door, but it was locked. She couldn’t call him, either, as he didn’t have a telephone.

      ‘What need do I have for a phone?’ he’d told her once, full of scorn. ‘Anyone at the castle who needs me knows where to find me.’

      ‘But...what about anyone else who might need to speak to you?’

      ‘There isn’t anyone else,’ he retorted, and changed the subject.

      Well, Helen told herself, he couldn’t stay locked inside that damned gatehouse forever.

      ‘I know you’re in there, Colm MacKenzie!’ she shouted at the door, her gloved hands clenched at her sides. ‘You’ll have to talk to me, sooner or later.’

      Silence.

      Furious, she turned away and strode back to her car. She stalked down the walkway, lost in black thoughts – stupid, stubborn man; why couldn’t he mind his own bloody business, snooping on her laptop like that – when she slipped on a patch of ice, and fell.

      With a cry of mingled pain and rage at her own stupidity, she tried to stand. Pain radiated through her ankle and half the way up her calf. Tears threatened; she blinked them away and gritted her teeth as she tried once again to get to her feet.

      But with nothing to pull herself up on, no wall or hedge for leverage, she couldn’t get back up.

      Helen let out a breath of frustration. If she could only manage to stand, and if she took it very slowly, she might – possibly ‒ make it back to the bloody car—

      A hand reached out and gripped her arm, none too gently. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Colm growled as he bent down to glare at her. ‘Why can’t you ever leave things well enough alone?’

      ‘Why can’t you