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

‘I didn’t go anywhere for days, weeks afterwards,’ he said dully. ‘Just sat in our flat and drank and slept and stared at the walls. Finally, when I couldn’t put it off any longer, I gathered up the baby’s things – the tiny clothes and the shoes and rattles and suchlike. I couldn’t bear to look at it...any of it. I threw it all in a couple of bin bags and left it on the church steps.’

‘I know how much that must’ve hurt.’

He lifted his head and saw the sadness in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, lass,’ he said softly. ‘I dinnae mean to burden you with my troubles. Or to remind ye of your own.’

In answer, she managed a smile. ‘We’re a pair, aren’t we? “Colm and Helen’s Lonely Hearts Club”.’ Her smile faltered. ‘Tell me, Colm ‒ why is life so unfair? Why do some people sail through it without a hitch, and others – like us – suffer such awful tragedies? Why?’

He pulled her down beside him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. ‘I don’t know, lass. There’s no rhyme or reason to it.’ He paused. ‘But I know this ‒ I’m glad you’re here.’

She lifted her head to look at him quizzically. ‘Really? I thought you despised me.’ She gave him a watery smile. ‘“Ye daft Sassenach”,’ she mimicked.

‘You are a daft Sassenach,’ he retorted, ‘sometimes.’ His voice softened. ‘But you have one redeeming quality. Well...two, actually.’

‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘You make a decent pot of tea. And you put up with myself.’

Later, when the fire had died down to embers and it was fully dark outside, Helen’s eyes drifted open. She and Colm had fallen asleep on the floor, sprawled together in each other’s arms. His breathing was regular, his heart beating steadily against her ear. He smelt of wood smoke and, faintly, of 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.

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