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

‘Yes,’ she said with a trace of defensiveness. ‘And why not ‒ they’re generally very reliable! And the test definitely showed I was pregnant. There was a blue line, and everything.’

‘Did you follow the directions? With some of these kits, you have to wait at least a week after your last missed menstrual period before you take the test, you know.’

Natalie stared at him in dismay. ‘Oh. Well, no, it hadn’t been a week. More like, erm, a couple of days. And I didn’t bother reading the directions. I thought all one did was wee on a stick.’

McTavish smiled at her. ‘Well, it’s no matter. You’re not pregnant this time. But there’s no reason to think you won’t be ‒ whenever you and your husband are ready to have a child, that is.’

‘I hope so,’ she said wistfully. ‘I want a baby so badly.’

‘At least now we’ll have a bit of time to prepare for it,’ Rhys observed as he stood up.

‘I want to do up the nursery when we get back to London. I was thinking yellow – but a pale, buttery yellow, not a bright, sunny yellow,’ Natalie decided. ‘And white trim for the chair rails...and what do you think about some lovely Jessie Wilcox Smith prints for the wall over the baby’s dressing table?’

‘I think,’ Rhys said as he placed his hand at the small of her back and ushered her towards the door, ‘that perhaps we should wait until we know we’re actually having a baby before we start making all these plans.’

‘But that’s ridiculous,’ she protested. ‘Why leave everything until the last moment? We can at least get the nursery sorted. Pale yellow is a nice, neutral colour, perfect for a boy or a girl, don’t you think?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, but glanced back at the doctor and waggled her fingers. ‘Goodbye, Dr McTavish. Thank you.’

‘Goodbye, Mrs Gordon,’ he said, and smiled. ‘Good luck to you, Mr Gordon.’

‘Thanks,’ Rhys replied as Natalie went ahead of him and out the door. ‘I think I’m going to need it.’

‘What do you think, Tark,’ Wren mused later that morning as she eyed the tower room, ‘about turning Andrew’s study into a nursery?’

Tarquin paused by the narrow window and turned to look at her. ‘A nursery?’ he echoed. ‘Well, we’d need to talk to my mother about the possibility first,’ he said, choosing his words carefully. ‘She’s very...possessive of this room. Andrew spent a great deal of time here, and his books and travel souvenirs are all she has left of him. That’s why everything’s remained untouched.’

‘I know that,’ Wren said, ‘but life does go on, Tark. Even Pen admitted at dinner not long ago that after eighteen years, it was time to move on. This room is perfect for a baby – it’s small, but not too small, and quiet...and it’s not that far from our own room, it’s just round the corner and up a quick flight of stairs.’

‘But wouldn’t you prefer a room on the same floor, one a bit closer to us? Think of all those midnight feedings, stumbling up and down the stairs. Besides, the tower room is too isolated for my liking.’

‘I don’t agree.’ Wren crossed her arms against her chest. ‘We’ll get a baby monitor, Tark. That way, we can hear every sound the baby makes, and be upstairs in an instant, if necessary.’

‘It isn’t only the room that’s got me concerned.’ He frowned. ‘It’s my sister.’

‘Caitlin? Why? What on earth do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ Tarquin said firmly, ‘that I don’t think we should hang our hopes too much on her. This adoption is only a possibility, after all, not a certainty. We haven’t signed any legal paperwork. And Caitlin – well, she’s changeable, she always has been. I love my sister, but I don’t trust her.’

‘You’re not being fair.’

He crossed the room and stopped before Wren. ‘I don’t want to see you hurt if this adoption doesn’t go through, darling, that’s all.’

‘Caitlin doesn’t want the baby. She told me so. She won’t change her mind about this, Tark, I’m sure of it. So you needn’t worry.’ Wren smiled and kissed him on the mouth. ‘But it’s so sweet that you do worry. And I absolutely love you for it.’

Dinner at Draemar that evening was fraught with tension. Gemma excused herself several times to go and pace the hallway outside and shout on her mobile phone as she dealt – rudely ‒ with florists and caterers and bridal assistants.

‘Honestly,’ she grumbled as she returned to her seat after a run-in with the wedding-cake maker, ‘what’s so difficult about making a black-and-white chequerboard pattern in the cake? A white cake, alternated with chocolate, with white frosting...what could be simpler? Topped off with a pair of Louboutin shoes made out of white icing sugar, with red-dyed bottoms, that’s all I want. Is that so much to ask?’

‘Have you got your wedding gown yet?’ Natalie asked. ‘I’m dying to see it.’

‘No. It’s gone to Northton Grange, to Dominic’s house.’

‘Oh, no,’ Nat said in dismay. ‘What’ll you do?’

Gemma shrugged. ‘I’ll have one of the staff send it here, I suppose.’

‘There is no staff at Northton G just now,’ Dominic informed her. ‘I sent everyone home for the hols when you decided to have the wedding here. Couldn’t see the point of having them all hanging round for no reason.’

‘What?’ she sputtered. ‘If there’s no one at your house, how am I to get my wedding gown sent here?’

It was Dominic’s turn to shrug. ‘Dunno.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ll just have to go and fetch it, then.’

‘In case you forgot, Gems,’ he pointed out, ‘I haven’t got a car. And the forecast says we’re getting a shedload of snow soon.’ He scowled. ‘ There’s a surprise.’

‘I don’t believe this,’ Gemma wailed as she rose to her feet. ‘I’m getting married in just a few days’ time, my wedding gown’s in Northton Grange, and there’s a bloody snowstorm on the way!’ She turned on Dominic. ‘And you don’t even care.’

Dominic stared morosely into his whisky and didn’t bother to answer. He and Gemma barely spoke to each other these days. He avoided her as much as possible, and spent his time in the castle hiding out in one of the dozens of unused rooms, or closeted himself in the television room at the top of the east tower. Thankfully, Draemar offered up plenty of excellent hiding places.

What the hell had he got himself into?

‘Babes,’ he began, ‘don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.’

‘Don’t worry? Don’t worry ?’ she snapped. ‘I have no wedding gown, you knob! What am I supposed to do now – make a gown out of a pair of drapes, like Scarlett bloody O’Hara?’ She shoved her chair back and strode to the door. ‘Never mind. I’ve already figured out a solution.’

‘You – you have?’ he asked hopefully. ‘What’s that?’

‘Let’s just cancel the entire bloody wedding.’

‘Oh, shit,’ Dominic grumbled, and stood up. ‘Sorry, everyone. Brideasaurus is on the loose,’ and he hurried off after his furious fiancée.

‘Rhys and I have some news,’ Nat said in an effort to fill the sudden, awkward silence.

‘Oh? What’s that?’ Tarquin asked. ‘Good news, I hope?’

‘Well...no, it’s not good, not exactly. It’s a bit disappointing.’ Natalie took a deep breath and reached out to take Rhys’ hand in hers. ‘I’m sorry to say, I’m not actually pregnant after all.’

‘What?’ Wren exclaimed, dismayed. ‘Oh, dear! But – how can that be? Nothing’s wrong, I hope?’

‘No. It’s my own fault,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t follow the instructions on the test kit. I’m sometimes a bit impatient…’