Katie Oliver - Christmas At Pemberley - And the Bride Wore Prada

‘So I find myself pregnant,’ she finished, frowning down at the slight swell of her stomach, ‘with no idea what to do. I mean, I can’t go through with it – can you see me with a baby? – but I can’t imagine having an abortion, either.’

‘There’s always adoption.’

Caitlin nodded. ‘I’ve thought about that. I could disappear somewhere for awhile – somewhere far away and warm, like Corfu, or Tuscany. I haven’t started to show yet. I could have the baby, and put it up for adoption.’ But even as she spoke, her eyes swam with tears.

‘There’s another solution,’ Wren offered cautiously.

‘Really? What’s that?’

She leant forward and fixed her gaze on Caitlin’s. ‘You could have the baby here, at Draemar. And Tarquin and I could adopt it, and raise it as our own.’

‘No.’ Caitlin surged to her feet. ‘It would never work.’

‘Why not? We’d do everything legally and properly, I can assure you. Only think about it, Caitlin. This child is a Campbell, and as such, he or she is Tark’s flesh and blood! Why give the baby away to strangers? You know how badly we want a child of our own.’

‘Yes, I do know that. But how will we explain the situation when the child gets older? How will we explain that I’m not his aunt, but his mother? And what if you change your mind in a few years’ time?’

‘I’d never change my mind, nor would Tarquin.’ Wren’s words left no room for doubt.

‘What if...what if I change mine ?’ Caitlin asked quietly. ‘What if I decide, in a year, or two, or ten, that I want my child back? What then?’

‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’

Slowly, her expression troubled, Caitlin stood up. ‘I’ve got a lot to think about. Thanks for listening to me, Wren. Please...please don’t say anything to anyone about this?’

‘Of course I won’t. It’ll be our little secret.’

Caitlin gave her a hesitant smile, and left.

‘I’ve a package for you, Miss Thomas.’

Helen, just coming down the stairs that afternoon, paused on the last tread as Colm came towards her across the entrance hall. A flush of heat warmed her cheeks as she reached out to take the slim cardboard envelope from his outstretched hand.

‘Thank you, Mr MacKenzie,’ she murmured. ‘I’m much obliged.’

He raised his brow but said nothing, only nodded and turned away. She and Colm had agreed to keep their relationship a secret, so as not to raise any unwanted questions.

How could they explain what had happened last night at the gatehouse to anyone else, when they didn’t fully understand it themselves?

Halfway to the door, he turned back. ‘I’m cooking dinner on Sunday, if you fancy joining me. I’ve a leg of lamb on offer. And plenty of roasted veg.’

‘You made it to the grocery store, then?’ The sun was out for the first time in days, and the distant sound of a snow plough echoed up the hill from the main road.

‘Nae. I raided Mrs Neeson’s pantry.’

Helen smiled. ‘What time shall I be there?’

‘One o’clock-ish. No need to bring anything,’ he added before she could ask. ‘Just yourself.’

‘I’ll be there.’ Still smiling as Colm departed, Helen glanced down at the envelope in her hand. It was postmarked from London but the return address was unfamiliar.

Curious, she slipped a finger under the flap and slid out several stapled pages. It was a report...the Freetown police report on Andrew Campbell’s death. A note from Tom was clipped to the top.

Quickly, before anyone might see her, Helen took the document and went into the library, relieved to see it was empty. She shut the doors behind her and sat down to read.

Helen – Took their bloody time to get this report to me, but I reckon the law, like everything else in Freetown, moves slowly... Campbell’s death was ruled ‘death by misadventure’ – fancy term for an accident. Drowning, no evidence of foul play. All pretty cut and dried.

When are you back in London? Are you coming back, or staying on permanently in the land of sporrans and haggis? Tom

Helen unclipped the note and began to read. Andrew Campbell and a recent acquaintance, Michael McFarlane, had rented a sloop and snorkelling equipment and headed out to the Banana Islands to spend the afternoon swimming and diving.

A squall kicked up unexpectedly, overturning the boat and pitching the two men overboard. Although McFarlane clung to the hull and was eventually rescued, Andrew decided to strike out and swim the twelve miles to shore.

He never made it.

Helen lowered the pages to her lap with a frown. Campbell was an excellent swimmer, it was true; but even an athlete would’ve been daunted by the storm conditions that day. The swells were enormous, the sea wild and unpredictable for several hours. Surely Andrew wouldn’t have risked striking out on his own in such conditions.

Why didn’t he stay with the boat, like McFarlane? Why did he decide to swim to shore instead?

Had something happened on that boat? Something that made Andrew feel the need to leave?

As she returned the pages to the envelope, Helen’s expression was troubled. The police report, although full of useful information, raised far more questions about Andrew Campbell’s death than it answered.

Chapter 30

Wren couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

‘You’re looking very happy today, darling,’ Tarquin observed as he joined her in the morning room and kissed her. ‘Any particular reason?’

She wanted to tell him about the possibility of adopting Caitlin’s baby, but she’d promised not to breathe a word of the pregnancy to anyone, particularly not to Tarquin. ‘I’m just happy to see the sun back out, I suppose. All this snow we’ve had of late, and the dreary grey skies...’

He went to the windows and observed the softening blanket of snow with satisfaction. ‘A few more days of this, and we might even see the ground again.’

‘Just think how fun it’ll be, once we have a child of our own, Tark,’ she said as she joined him and slipped her arm around his waist. ‘We can go sledding, and we’ll build a snowman; and in the summer we’ll go on walks, and pick wild berries, and go sailing on the loch, and...oh, I can hardly wait.’

He glanced at her in surprise. ‘You make it sound as if we’ll have a child very soon. Do you know something I don’t?’

She smiled at him, longing to tell him. But, ‘Of course not,’ she said lightly. ‘Wishful thinking, that’s all. Now – would you like a cup of tea with your toast this morning, or would you prefer coffee?’

Colm let himself outside and paused to study his surroundings in satisfaction. The sky was a clean-swept, clear blue, with nary a cloud – or a flake of snow – to be seen. A few more sunny days like this, and within a week or so, all of the snow would be a distant, melted memory.

He was just about to head down the hill to the gatehouse when the growl of an engine reached his ears. A low-slung sports car crested the drive and proceeded cautiously towards the castle, then slowed to a stop.

Colm frowned. Who in the world?

He watched as a tall, well-dressed man emerged from behind the wheel and stood, resting one arm on the roof. Although his dark hair was peppered at the temples with grey, it did nothing to lessen his attractiveness. He fixed Colm with a pleasant yet quizzical expression.

‘Can you tell me, please,’ he called out, ‘if this is Draemar Castle?’

‘Aye, it is,’ Colm answered. ‘Are you looking for someone in particular?’

‘Yes.’ He glanced at the castle in interest, then returned his attention to Colm. ‘My name is Niall, Niall MacDougal. I’m looking for Miss Caitlin Campbell.’