‘I’m terribly sorry for popping in on you like this,’ he apologized, ‘but I wouldn’t have come all this way if it wasn’t important.’
He was as handsome as she remembered, despite the grey in his hair and the gaunt, tired lines of his face. ‘Are you ill?’ she blurted, instantly regretting the words. ‘I’m sorry, that was rude of me. It’s just that you look—’
‘Like hell?’ he finished dryly, and nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid I am. Ill, that is. That’s partly why I’m here.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘We’ll discuss it after dinner,’ Archie said in a low voice as he took his wife’s arm. ‘For now, let’s be proper hosts and enjoy Christmas Eve with our company. Come along, Graeme, and meet my family.’
‘We’ve quite a gathering tonight,’ Archie observed after everyone at the table had been introduced and provided with a glass of wine. He picked up his own glass and raised it high. ‘To Christmas Eve; to warm fires; and to friends, new and old. Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ they all chorused.
‘So there’s to be a wedding here at the castle tomorrow, I take it?’ Graeme Longworth enquired.
‘Yes! But how did you know?’ Gemma asked, curious.
‘Well, aside from seeing the bouquets of white roses and white bunting strung up everywhere,’ he observed with a smile, ‘Archie told me all about it in the car on the way up here.’
‘The wedding’s very hush-hush,’ Natalie explained as she picked up her glass and took a tiny sip. ‘I think it’s terribly romantic! Dominic’s famous, you know – he’s a rock star ‒ and he and Gemma don’t want their wedding overrun with paparazzi.’
‘I completely understand,’ Longworth agreed.
‘I don’t believe it!’ Gemma’s mother said, and eyed her daughter in disappointment. ‘Do you mean to say your wedding photos won’t be in the London Probe and all those other red tops, then?’
‘No, Mum. At least, not until after the wedding,’ Gemma amended. ‘That’s the way we wanted it.’
‘Are you nervous, Dominic?’ Lady Locksley asked.
‘Why should he be nervous?’ Rhys remarked, and raised his brow. ‘After all, he’s been married once – well, nearly twice – before, and to the same woman.’
‘Thanks so much for pointing that out, Gordon.’ Dominic glared at him. He reached out and took Gemma’s hand in his. ‘Keeley was a mistake. Both times.’
Natalie turned to her husband. ‘Really, Rhys,’ she admonished him, ‘I have to agree with Dom. That’s all in the past.’ She lifted her glass. ‘Let’s look to the future, and have a proper toast to the happy, soon-to-be-married couple, Dominic and Gemma!’
‘Slàinte,’ Tarquin called out. ‘To Dom and Gemma’s health and happiness.’
They’d barely toasted and tucked in to their starters when the doorbell rang.
‘Oh, bother,’ Pen murmured, and laid her napkin aside as she stood. ‘I’ll see who it is. Mrs Neeson has her hands full at the moment.’
She hurried into the entrance hall, her glass of wine in one hand, and opened the door. ‘Helen!’ she said warmly, and smiled. ‘We’d almost given up on you and Colm.’
‘I know, and I’m so sorry we’re late,’ Helen apologized. ‘We went into Northton Grange this morning, and it started to snow again, and we had the devil’s own time getting back.’
‘Not to worry, we’re just on the starters,’ Pen assured her. She peered over Helen’s shoulder with a frown. ‘Speaking of Colm – where is he?’
‘He’s just coming. He went back to the car to fetch something.’
‘I see. Well, come in, dear. You look lovely, by the way. That emerald green dress really suits you. Go along into the dining room if you like. I’ll wait for Colm. ‘
‘Thank you.’
As Helen strode across the hall in her Christmas finery to join the others, Pen heard someone come in, and turned to greet the groundskeeper.
But the man standing before her in the doorway, a large, cream-coloured box in his hands, wasn’t Colm. This man was clean-shaven, his dark-ginger hair neatly combed back from his forehead; and he was impeccably dressed in a suit and tie.
And his face – so angular, and so strikingly handsome ‒ was as familiar to her as her own.
The glass of wine slipped through Pen’s fingers and shattered onto the tile floor.
‘Oh, my God!’ she gasped, her face gone pale. ‘It can’t be! After all this time...I scarcely dared to hope. But it’s you, isn’t it? It’s my own, dearest Andrew!’