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

damp wool.

      ‘I love you, Colm MacKenzie,’ she whispered against his chest. ‘You daft Scotsman.’

       Chapter 44

      Christmas music played softly in the drawing room the next evening when the doorbell rang.

      ‘I wonder who that could be, and on Christmas Eve!’ Pen exclaimed as she set aside her glass of sherry and rose from her chair. ‘I’ll just go and see who it is.’

      ‘Perhaps it’s carollers,’ Gemma offered, and turned to Dominic. ‘Ooh, I’d love that! We should’ve got carollers to sing at our wedding tomorrow.’

      ‘If you had your way,’ Dominic grumbled, ‘the entire bloody heavenly host would sing at our wedding tomorrow.’

      Gemma raised a brow. ‘Do you think they’re available on such short notice?’

      ‘For God’s sake, let one of the staff get the door, Mum,’ Caitlin said irritably, and took a sip of her drink. ‘That’s what they’re paid for, after all.’

      ‘Really, Caitlin,’ Wren admonished, ‘must you always be so difficult?’ She eyed the glass in the younger girl’s hand. ‘I do hope that’s not alcohol you’re drinking.’

      ‘It’s club soda,’ Caitlin snapped, ‘since you’re keeping track. And must you always be so judgmental?’

      ‘Ladies, please ‒ it’s Christmas eve,’ Tarquin chided. ‘Let’s put aside our differences for one evening. Surely we can all do that?’ He fixed a stern eye on his sister and wife in turn.