Читать книгу Christmas At Pemberley - Katie Oliver - Страница 43

Chapter 36

The summons from her father came that evening, as she’d known it would.

Caitlin gathered her resolve and left her room. She made her way down the hall to her father’s private study and knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ he called out gruffly.

He glanced up as she came inside the room. A fire burned in the grate, casting a burnished glow over the leather chairs and tartan rug and the great mahogany desk he sat behind.

‘If this is about Niall,’ she began, ‘there’s nothing more to say.’

‘It isn’t about him. It’s about what he’s done to you, and what he intends to do about it.’

‘I told you, we’re getting married—’

‘His divorce has to come through first, Caitlin. That takes time. What happens while you wait? Are you having this baby? And if so, who’ll take care of it? Will he help out financially? Have you given a single thought to the practicalities?’

‘Yes, I’m having the baby,’ she said defiantly, ‘and of course I’m keeping it! Why wouldn’t I?’

He leant back in his chair. ‘Wren is under the impression that you’re giving the child up for adoption – to her, and Tarquin.’

Caitlin shifted on her feet. ‘Well, before I talked to Niall, that was the plan, yes. But he wants the baby. He’s over the moon with excitement.’

‘Is he, now?’ Archie’s expression was dark. ‘I’m sure he must feel quite chuffed to know he’s impregnated a girl who’s half his age—’

‘You make him sound ancient! He isn’t. He’s barely thirty-eight. And he wants this baby. Our baby. I thought you’d be pleased that he wants to marry me.’

‘Pleased?’ The word, when he spoke, came out deceptively low. ‘You think I’m pleased that my only daughter has gotten herself pregnant ‒ by a married man, no less – and thrown her education away in exchange for nappies and two o’clock feedings?’

‘I’ll go back to university. When the baby’s older,’ she replied, but the words sounded hollow, even to herself.

‘What about his wife? Have you given a thought to her? He’s breaking up a marriage! And what about Wren? You have to tell her that you’ve changed your mind, and you’re not giving the baby up for adoption. She’ll be devastated.’

Caitlin hung her head. ‘I know she will,’ she admitted. ‘And I’m truly sorry for that. I know how much she and Tark want a baby. But...it can’t be helped. She’ll just have to understand.’

‘Well, lassie,’ Archie said as he thrust back his chair and stood up abruptly, ‘I hope she does. Because I can tell you this much – I damned sure don’t.’

Later that evening, Dominic crept upstairs and came to a stop outside the door to Archibald Campbell’s study. He listened, but heard nothing.

‘Dominic!’ Gemma shrilled from somewhere downstairs. ‘Dominic, where are you?’

Shit. With no time to waste, Dom edged the door open and ducked inside. He needed a place to hide. The room was dark, sunk in shadows, with the only light coming from the flicker of flames in the fireplace.

Once again, his fiancé had a bee up her arse, insisting he go into Aberdeen the next day to see if his morning suit was ready. Morning suit, he thought darkly. More like a bloody mourning suit, marking the loss of his bachelor existence—

‘And what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Archie growled behind him.

Dominic nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around and saw his host sitting in a wing chair in the shadows by the fire, a glass in hand.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered, ‘I thought no one was in here,’ and he turned to leave.

‘Wait.’

Warily, Dominic paused with his hand on the doorknob. ‘I didn’t mean to barge in, mate, truly.’

‘Stay,’ Archie ordered, and lifted his glass. ‘Join me for a drink, Dominic. I’d welcome your company.’

‘Not to be rude,’ the rock star observed as he made his cautious way towards Archie, ‘but you don’t look so good. Are you all right?’

‘Aye, I’m fine. Just having a wee dram and a think. I’ve a lot on my mind.’ He got up and went to a table where a decanter of whisky and matching glasses waited and poured Dominic a drink. His hand was a bit unsteady.

‘Thanks.’ Dominic took the glass. ‘What’s got you in a black mood, if you don’t mind my asking?’

Archie indicated the wing chair across from his, and the two men sat down. ‘It’s my daughter,’ he said after a moment. ‘She’s gone and done something incredibly stupid.’

‘Caitlin? What’s she done?’

‘Where to begin?’ Archie muttered, and scowled. ‘It all started when she was kicked out of university.’

‘Kicked out!’ Dom exclaimed, confused. ‘But...I thought she came home for the holidays.’

‘That’s what she told everyone. But it’s a lie.’ He took a longish sip of his whisky. ‘She was booted out for having an affair...with a professor. A married professor.’

‘Shit.’ Dominic knocked back half of his glass. ‘Well, it could be worse. At least she’s not up the duff.’

‘Ah,’ Archie said grimly, ‘that’s just it. She is indeed, as you term it, “up the duff”. She’s pregnant with this married bloke’s baby.’ He finished his whisky and held out the glass. ‘I’ll have another.’

As the first glass of whisky took hold, Dominic got to his feet and took Campbell’s glass, then made his way to the drinks table. ‘So what do you plan to do?’ he asked over his shoulder as he poured them each a fresh glass. He was proud of himself. He only spilled a tiny bit.

‘What can I do, short of throwing Caitlin out into the snow? And I could never do that.’ His scowl deepened. ‘She says he wants to marry her. He’s getting a divorce from his wife.’

‘That’s good, at least.’

‘Good? My daughter’s breaking up a marriage, Dominic, and she’s about to tie herself for life to the lying, cheating, unfaithful sod who made it happen. There’s nothing good about it. Any of it.’

‘Well, mate,’ Dom said, and gestured expansively, slopping whisky down the front of his shirt as he did, ‘it couldn’t have been much of a marriage, then, could it? I mean, it might seem like the end of the world right now. But look on the bright side ‒ by this time next year? You’ll be a grandfather!’

Archie glared at him and drained his whisky. ‘You’re nae making me feel any better, Dominic. Kindly shut up and pour us another dram.’

As a quiet knock sounded on her bedroom door that evening, Gemma blew her nose and snapped, ‘Go away, Dom. I’ve got nothing to say to you.’

‘It’s Pen. Might I come in for a moment?’

‘Of course.’ Surprised, Gemma tossed aside her bridal magazine and got up to let Mrs Campbell in. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised as she opened the door, ‘I look a mess. I’ve been crying.’

‘That’s to be expected, isn’t it, after finding out you have no wedding gown,’ the older woman sympathised. She indicated the dress bag draped over her arm. ‘I thought this might solve the problem.’

Gemma’s eyes widened. ‘What…what is it?’

‘My wedding dress. It’s an Ossie Clark, made for me when I was still a model.’ She smiled. ‘And much thinner.’

‘An Ossie Clark?’ Gemma blinked. ‘But he designed clothes for Mick and Bianca Jagger, and for all manner of celebrities in the sixties and seventies! That dress must be worth a fortune.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ Pen said briskly as she unzipped the bag, ‘but I’d never part with it, even so. I wore it when I married Archie. Of course,’ she added, ‘I’m a bit taller than you. But a pair of heels should take care of that.’

As she withdrew the dress, a length of cream chiffon with a satin halter-neck bodice, Gemma gasped. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said reverently as she fingered the length of chiffon. ‘I’ve never seen such a gorgeous dress.’

‘Let’s try it on, shall we?’

With a nod, Gemma took off her pyjamas and woolly socks and slid the dress over her head. It fell in a soft, floaty column to the floor. She stared at herself in the cheval mirror, mesmerized. ‘Oh…I love it.’

‘It’s a bit long, but as I said, a nice set of heels should solve it.’ Pen regarded her with satisfaction. ‘It suits you. You look radiant.’

‘Thank you. But…why?’ she asked, turning to the woman in bewilderment. ‘This was your wedding dress. I can’t possibly wear it. You’ve been so kind to us – all of us – letting us stay here for weeks on end, feeding us, putting up with Dominic. I’m not even family! I can’t allow you do this.’

‘Of course you can,’ Pen said firmly. ‘You can’t get married without a wedding gown, after all.’ She smiled, and picked up the empty dress bag and turned to go.

Tears filled Gemma’s eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she cried, and flung her arms impulsively around Archie’s wife. ‘I can’t ever repay you for all that you’ve done.’

Pen arched her brow. ‘Oh, but you most certainly can.’

‘Anything,’ Gemma agreed, her expression fervent. ‘Just name it.’

‘Marry your young man,’ Pen said, and reached up to catch Gemma’s hand in hers. ‘And be happy. That’s what you can do for me.’

And with another smile, she left.