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

‘Lemme out!’ Dominic howled as he pounded his fists against the door. ‘Somebody get me the fuck out of here!’

Halfway down the stairs, Gemma came to a halt. ‘I can’t go down there,’ she said, and shuddered as she brushed another cobweb away from her face. ‘This is disgusting.’

Tarquin, a few steps ahead of her, turned and looked up at her with a raised brow. ‘You want to find Dominic, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course I do,’ she gritted, ‘but only so I can kick him in the balls and give him his bloody ring back!’

‘Stay here, then. I’ll go ahead and have a look round.’

‘No, wait!’ Gemma’s eyes widened as he started back down the steps without her. ‘Don’t you dare to leave me here!’ She eyed the moss-covered stone wall that pressed in closely on either side, and with another shudder, she hurried after Tarquin.

The floor, if you could call it that, consisted of packed dirt. Gemma wrinkled her nose as she glanced around. It was dim down here, and dank, and it smelled like earth, and moss, and damp.

Oh well , she reasoned uneasily, dungeons aren’t meant to be comfortable or sweet-smelling, are they?

‘Do you really think Dom’s down here?’ she asked Tarquin.

‘I doubt it. But we’d best have a look, just to be sure.’

‘Right,’ she agreed reluctantly, and followed close behind him.

They were halfway along the corridor, its length liberally festooned with cobwebs and inset on either side with thick oak doors, when Gemma came to an abrupt stop.

‘Did you hear it?’ she asked as she clutched his arm, her words breathless.

‘Hear what?’

‘That!’ she hissed. ‘Listen!’

Tarquin tamped down his rising irritation – really, Gemma Astley was more dramatic (and more annoying) than a six-year-old schoolgirl – when he heard it, too. It was a low sort of moan...

...followed by the unmistakable sound of someone bellowing, ‘Get me the fuck out of here!’

Chapter 40

‘Dominic!’ Gemma cried. ‘Where are you?’

They stopped outside the last door along the corridor.

‘Gems?’ he croaked. ‘Gemma, is that you?’

They heard a scrabbling sound, then Dominic – looking a bit wild-eyed – pressed his face against the barred window at the top of the door.

‘How did you end up down here, locked in the dungeon?’ Tarquin asked him in bewilderment.

‘How the hell should I know?’ Dom snapped. ‘The last thing I remember is looking for a set of car keys.’

‘Car keys? Why would you come down to the dungeons to find a set of car keys?’ Gemma demanded. ‘You were drunk, weren’t you?’

He started to protest, then realized there was nothing to be gained by denying it. ‘Yeah, I was. I was drunk. So what? When I’m pissed, at least I can stop thinking about boutonnières and bridal gowns and bouquets for a bit. You’re doing my head in with all this wedding shit.’

She stared at him. ‘Are you saying...are you saying you don’t want to marry me?’

He gripped the bars more tightly. ‘I’m saying I’m having second thoughts about this whole wedding thing. You’ve turned into a bridal-obsessed cow, Gemma! I don’t care whether the guests throw rice or confetti or...or spears, I don’t care if the cake is made of vanilla or marzipan or fucking mud! I just want to marry you, babes, that’s all. I want this wedding to be about us, just us, not about table arrangements or personalized party favours or...or a trending hashtag on bloody Tweeper!’

‘So you don’t want a Scottish wedding with all the trimmings?’ she asked, incredulous. ‘No kilts? No tartans? No horse-drawn sleigh, no white roses or Prada gown or hand-made dried heather wreaths on the end of every pew?’

‘Of course we can have all of that stuff, if that’s what you really want, babes.’ Dominic lowered his voice as Tarquin solicitously stepped away and pretended to study the moss at the end of the hall. ‘You know me – I don’t care if your wedding gown is Prada or Primark. But in the end, none of it really matters, does it? What matters is you and me, exchanging our vows, and,’ he swallowed ‘and spending the rest of our lives together.’

Gemma’s eyes were awash with tears. ‘That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me, Dom. Have I really been such a beast?’

‘You have,’ Tarquin called out.

‘Sorry, babes,’ Dominic agreed, ‘but Tark’s right. You’ve been a fucking nightmare lately.’

She sniffled and stepped closer. ‘I’m sorry, Dom. I never meant to be such a cow, honestly. I just wanted every detail to be perfect for our wedding. For...us.’

He reached through and clasped her hand with his. ‘As long as I hear the vicar say the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife”, that’s all I need to make it perfect, babes. Honestly.’

Gemma squeezed his hand. ‘I love you, Dominic. And you’re right – in the end, that’s all that matters. Now,’ she added briskly, ‘let’s get you out of here. Tarquin!’ she called out. ‘You can stop eavesdropping now and let Dominic out.’

‘Well, I’d be more than happy to do that,’ Tarquin told her as he rejoined them, ‘if I could.’ He indicated the ancient lock. ‘There isn’t a key in the lock. And I’ve no idea where it might be.’

‘But...someone has to have the key!’ Gemma cried. ‘After all, that same someone locked Dom in and took the key. We just have to find it.’

‘But who would do such a thing?’ Tarquin asked, mystified. ‘Surely no one here at Draemar would deliberately lock Dominic in the dungeon and throw away the key.’

‘Somebody did!’ Gemma snapped. ‘It was probably that grumpy ginger-haired groundskeeper, Colm.’

‘No. It wasn’t Colm.’ Dominic shook his head as he began to recall the events of the night before. ‘I shared a bottle of whisky with Archie last night, in his study. I remember wanting to leave the castle, wanting to get as far away as I could, and so I went off in search of car keys. Archie followed me, said he knew of a spare set of keys down in the dungeon and that we’d go and get them.’

‘In the dungeon?’ Gemma echoed sceptically. ‘And you believed that?’

‘At the time,’ Dominic informed her, ‘it made perfect sense. You have to remember, we were both bladdered.’ He scowled. ‘Anyway, we went downstairs, and we staggered all the way down the corridor to the end, until we came to the last door.’

‘This is for your own safety, laddie,’ Archie had mumbled as he turned and left Dominic inside, then swung the door shut.

‘Archie locked me in and took the key,’ Dom said slowly. ‘I remember now.’ As Gemma and Tarquin began to protest, convinced that Archie Campbell would never do such a monstrous thing, he added impatiently, ‘Don’t you see? He did it to keep me from grabbing a set of random car keys and driving off with a half a fifth of whisky in me.’

‘Then all we need to do is find Archie and get that key back,’ Gemma said.

Tarquin sighed. ‘There’s just one problem.’

Dominic eyed him suspiciously. ‘What do you mean, a problem?’ he demanded. ‘What problem? Just go upstairs and get Archie.’

‘That’s just it,’ Tark said. ‘He’s not here. He’s gone to London on a matter of urgent business and he isn’t expected to return until late tonight.’

‘Oh, that’s just fucking wonderful, that is,’ Dominic groaned. ‘So I’m locked in here until God knows when! I need a nice, greasy fry-up. I need a big glass of OJ and vodka. I need some bloody aspirin!’

‘We’ll just have to find the key, then,’ Gemma said firmly. ‘It’s bound to be in Archie’s room somewhere.’