Wedding Bells at the Dog & Duck

  WEDDING BELLS AT THE DOG & DUCK

  Jill Steeples

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  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  www.ariafiction.com

  About Wedding Bells at the Dog & Duck

  Ellie Browne, landlady of The Dog & Duck, is looking forward to a relaxing Christmas Day before the arrival of her and her partner Max’s baby in the New Year. But with a snowstorm brewing outside, it seems that things might not go quite to plan.

  After the dramatic events of the holiday season, Ellie settles into her new life at Max's huge country mansion Braithwaite Manor, juggling work and family as best she can. When she’s asked to help organise a summer wedding for one of her best friends it’s only natural that her mind turns to her own, non-existent, wedding plans!

  But with Max decidedly lukewarm on the subject and other family complications threatening to disrupt life further, Ellie fears there'll never be wedding bells at the Dog & Duck after all.

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  About Wedding Bells at the Dog & Duck

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Acknowledgements

  About Jill Steeples

  A Letter from the Author

  About the Dog & Duck Series

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  For Nick, Tom and Ellie

  With love

  One

  Christmas Day

  I peered outside through the leaded windows of The Dog and Duck, watching as large snowflakes fell from the sky and settled on the ground in a thick, white, crunchy carpet. Like big soft dancing petals their relentless progress was mesmerising. Inside, the fires in both bars were blazing steadily and the non-drop Blue Spruce was doing its job and standing proudly in the bay window under the weight of an assortment of brightly coloured baubles and twinkling fairy lights. Mistletoe hung in the doorways where, at every available opportunity, I loitered, puckering my lips in anticipation, waiting expectantly for Max to come along and do the honours.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ he wished me, not for the first time that day, as he came across from the other side of the bar where he’d been entertaining some of our guests. He kissed me gently on the forehead, before dashing off again on some errand. I sighed, and looked all around me at the festive fabulousness. Freshly picked holly bursting with red berries, collected from the lanes on my daily walks with Digby, adorned the many picture frames and mirrors on the walls, and gold tinsel festooned every other surface in the pub.

  Honestly, if I’d gone to Harrods and asked for Christmas in a box, they couldn’t have come up with anything more seasonal. Richard Curtis eat your heart out! Even Max who’d been totally against the idea of having Christmas at the pub had finally come round to the idea and I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him, currently wafting around the bar in his Santa Claus pinny, seeing to our guests.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he’d said, a couple of months ago when we’d had the big discussion about this year’s plans. ‘This is our last chance to have a quiet Christmas together before the baby arrives. Just you and me, the dogs and Katy, snuggled up indoors at the manor. Instead you want to cram all the village’s waifs and strays into the pub on Christmas day when you could be taking the opportunity to put your feet up and let me do all the hard work.’

  ‘You don’t really mind, do you, Max? It’s just that I’ve already made plans for the big day and invited a few people along.’

  In fairness, at the time, it was only a few people who I knew would be alone for Christmas, but over recent weeks the guest list had grown to such an extent that we’d had to take the decision to serve Christmas dinner in the barn out in the beer garden just so we could fit everyone around the table. Now, with my back killing me and Junior turning somersaults in my stomach, I wondered if Max hadn’t had the right idea after all. The thought of being at Braithwaite Manor curled up on one of Max’s huge and squashy sofas had never seemed so appealing. It was Christmas Day, I was surrounded by all my friends from the village, who were all full of excited chatter and laughter for the day ahead, and ordinarily I’d have been feeling it too. Today though, my Christmas spirit had all but vanished and all I could think about was getting through the day, mentally counting off the hours until it was all over, when I could snuggle up into Max’s embrace with Digby, my best furry friend and faithful black Labrador, at my side.

  ‘Where is baby Jesus?’ Gemma Jones’s little boy, Alfie, had sidled up beside me, tugged on my skirt and was gazing up at me with wide brown eyes. I looked down at him and smiled, a warm sensation filling my stomach. Puppies, kittens, small people – just the sight of any of these at the moment was enough to bring tears to my eyes. My hormones had a lot to answer for right now.

  I gulped, mulling over Alfie’s question, uncertain if I was up to explaining the nativity story to him right at that moment, until it dawned on me what he meant.

  ‘He’s in his crib in the barn. You’ll get to see him when we go outside for our lunch.’

  Alfie nodded, looking satisfied with my answer, before his little face scrunched up in contemplation. ‘Are you going to have your baby in the barn?’

  ‘Goodness me no. I’m not sure I really fancy that idea,’ I said smiling. ‘I’m lucky. I’ll be having my baby at the hospital.’

  ‘Are you going to call your baby Jesus too?’ he asked earnestly.

  ‘No, no we’re not.’ Although thinking about it, it was probably one of the few names we hadn’t considered. Max and I had bandied about all sorts of possibilities for our child, some traditional, some quirky, some right out there, but anything Max liked, I didn’t much fancy, and any of my suggestions were pooh-poohed by Max. I was beginning to worry that our child would be forever known as the Child with No Name. ‘We don’t know yet if our baby will be a little boy or a little girl so we’re going to wait until they arrive before picking a name.’

  Disappointment flickered over Alfie’s features.

  ‘Oh, there you are!’ Gemma came rushing over and took hold of her little boy’s hand. ‘You’re not bothering Ellie, are you?’

  ‘No, he’s fine. You were just asking me about the baby, weren’t you, Alfie?’

  From his vantage point at around about my kneecaps, Alfie tilted his head to look up my dress, a mischievous grin on his face, and was rewarded with a stern telling-off from his mum.

  ‘Stop it, Alfie. That’s very rude.’ She turned to me, her serious expression suppressing a smile. ‘Sorry! I bet you’re wishing you never invited us along in the first place. You should be taking it easy while you can. You won’t have much opportunity when the baby arrives.’

  ‘Oh, but I am. I’m under strict instructions from Max not to do anything.’ A sigh slipped from my mouth. My pregnancy had been relatively easy,
apart from a bit of morning sickness in the early days, but now I was fed up with my body holding me hostage and people treating me like I was an invalid. Admittedly, I couldn’t see my toes, barely managed a wink of sleep at nights and had developed an unbecoming waddle as I walked, but aside from that everything was hunky-dory. ‘I’m just desperate to get back to some kind of normality.’

  Gemma laughed ruefully. ‘Are you kidding? Nothing will seem like normal for a long time to come.’

  I gave a weak smile in return. I suppose with five young children of her own, Gemma would know about these things. It was all a mystery to me. Even with Junior’s arrival imminent, I still couldn’t quite believe I was about to become a mother. Honestly, ‘out of my depth’ didn’t nearly cover it. It was almost as if it was happening to someone else. I put that down to the fact that none of this was planned. I’d always thought a baby was something for the future, at a time when I had my whole life in order, but life has a habit of throwing you a curveball when you least expect it. I looked down at my huge bump, cradling my arms around its fullness. Not that I’d want to change anything in the slightest.

  ‘Still,’ Gemma went on, ‘you haven’t got long to wait now.’

  ‘A couple of weeks.’ Although from where I was standing that seemed like a lifetime away.

  ‘Ha, no,’ said Gemma, looking from my bump to my face intently, observing me as though she was a midwife at the maternity unit, and not my barmaid. ‘I reckon the next day or two.’ She nodded sagely. ‘You mark my words.’

  Mulling over that thought, our attention was commanded by Max, who was standing at the bar, pinging a spoon against a glass.

  Ah, the Max effect. Warm squidgy vibes engulfed me. It hadn’t lessened in the slightest, in all the months that I’d known him. Just to catch a glimpse of him across the room, to see his dark wayward hair doing its own thing, his intelligent questioning eyes, the warm wide smile on his lips, still stirred feelings inside me which I wasn’t sure were entirely appropriate for a heavily pregnant woman.

  ‘Okay everyone, if you’d like to make your way out to the barn, lunch will be served shortly. Just a word of warning. You can’t fail to have noticed the crazy weather out there, the snow has been coming down heavily for the last couple of hours. We have cleared and salted the path, but just be careful. We don’t want any broken bones or any nasty accidents.’ Max fixed his brown eyes on me, raising his brows, as though I might be prime candidate for an accident. Then as his gaze warmed and softened, I felt myself smile, a warm sensation flooding my chest.

  ‘I can’t believe this weather,’ said Polly, one of my best friends and owner of Polly’s Flowers, the shop next door. She was currently hanging on to the arm of her new boyfriend, George, as though her life depended on it, something to do with the number of glasses of Prosecco she’d been knocking back this morning, I imagined. Still, it was lovely to see her so happy. Seeing them, a proper couple now, so loved-up and content, only added to the festive feeling. George had moved into the village this year, taking up residence in our family home, while my parents were away working in Dubai. It took me a while to figure out what he was doing in the village, and despite my unsubtle attempts to find out, it was Katy, Max’s younger sister, who put me out of my misery by informing me that George was none other than the bestselling author GG Williamson.

  That had certainly caused a frisson of excitement in the village. Katy, having read all of his books, was one of his biggest fans and was now hanging onto George’s other arm, leading the way out into the beer garden, chattering away excitedly.

  Gemma rounded up her five kids and husband, shooing them in the direction of the back door and Dan, my right-hand man and bar manager, who’d been keeping all our guests’ glasses filled over the last hour or so, took hold of his girlfriend Silke’s hand and stepped backwards, waiting for everyone to go through in front of him.

  I owed a huge debt of gratitude to Dan. He’d volunteered to move into the pub with Silke while I was on maternity leave to take up the role of caretaker/manager. As it happened, the narrowboat they lived on was due to go into the shipyard for urgent repairs over winter and was likely to be out of action for a couple of months, leaving them homeless, so them moving into the pub had worked out well for everyone concerned.

  My move into Max’s imposing Georgian house, Braithwaite Manor, wasn’t half as traumatic as I suspected it might be, although I realised for most people the idea of moving into a mansion would be far from traumatic. I’d put it off to the last minute possible though, reluctant to leave The Dog and Duck, the place that had been my whole world for almost two years, telling everyone I’d be back soon. What was I thinking? For so long I’d been so emotionally invested in the pub, that I’d been reluctant to let go of the reins. It had been a whirlwind couple of years admittedly. Thinking back to when I first returned home to Little Leyton, from my busy corporate life in London, to take some time out to consider the next steps in life, I could never have imagined just how dramatically my life would change.

  I’d been looking for a simpler way of life, running my own doggy day care business and working shifts at The Dog and Duck. Only I’d got so much more than I’d bargained for. When Eric, the landlord of the pub and close family friend, had expressed his intention to retire, there were concerns that the pub would be sold and turned into a carvery or, worse still, developed into a luxury private home. I was determined not to let that happen. Max had been the village’s knight in shining armour, stepping in to buy the pub, in memory of his grandfather, Noel, who’d been a much-loved customer for many years, and someone we all remembered fondly. Max had no interest in managing the pub himself and had asked me if I would take over the running of it. It took me little less than a nanosecond to agree.

  That was our business relationship sealed and it was only a matter of weeks before our personal relationship grew into something much stronger too. Despite my instant and overwhelming attraction to Max, I’d had my reservations. He was unlike anyone I’d ever met before. Headstrong, go-getting, undeniably drop-dead, take-my-breath-away gorgeous, oh and filthy rich too. Not that that had mattered to me in the slightest. It was just the heady combination spelled Danger with a capital D. What would the hot-shot property developer and lord of the manor have in common with me? Well, as it turned out, a mutual attraction and fascination that neither of us could ignore.

  The rest, as they say, is history.

  I sighed, closing my eyes for the briefest moment, the events of the last couple of years flashing through my mind in vivid technicolour. I had no reason to worry. The pub was in safe hands – Dan knew as much as I did about running a good pub and he and Silke would do a great job in my absence. While I would miss being here on a daily basis, I had other more important priorities now.

  Max, our baby, Katy and Digby.

  We were a little family unit and I needed to take time out of my busy working life to just enjoy this new chapter. The pub would still be here waiting for me when I was ready to return to work.

  ‘I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this,’ said Arthur, an old family friend and one of the pub’s most long-standing customers, as he eased himself out of the cosy armchair next to the fireplace. He collected his walking stick, which had been resting against the inglenook fireplace and straightened himself, every movement made in slow motion. A smile appeared at his lips.

  ‘My Marge would always put on a lovely spread at Christmas. The dinners we had! Mmmm. She’d do all the cooking herself, you know? She made a lovely bread sauce, and Yorkshire puddings the size of billowing clouds. We’d have everyone round, there’d be twelve or fourteen of us sometimes. A bit like today.’ He nodded at the train of people heading in the direction of the barn. ‘Such happy times. That was why I was so pleased when you invited me along. Brings back lovely memories,’ he said wistfully.

  ‘Aw, and I have lovely memories of you and Marge at Christmastime too. Every year you would pop round to the cottage
on Christmas Eve for a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie, to drop off my present. It was the same gift every year – I would have been horrified if it wasn’t – an annual and a selection box, and I can remember that feeling of excitement as I put the present beneath the tree. Christmas Day, after all the excitement had died down, I would curl up on the sofa and read my annual and work my way through all the chocolates in the box.’ I laughed, thinking how I wouldn’t have minded doing the same thing right now. ‘We’re very happy to have you here with us today, Arthur,’ I said, reaching out to take hold of his free hand, knobbly with veins, and squeezing it tight.

  Josie, my best friend from way back when, and her husband, Ethan, brought up the rear, with baby Stella, my gorgeous little goddaughter, held in the arms of Eric, Josie’s dad. Everyone who was important to me was here today, apart from my parents who were on standby to fly over from Dubai just as soon as my baby deigned to put in an appearance.

  Just then, as we were making our way out to the barn, there was a loud and insistent banging on the door. Max had locked it earlier knowing we wouldn’t be open to the general public today.

  ‘Who on earth is that?’ said Josie, almost indignantly.

  ‘Someone wanting their Christmas Day pint, no doubt,’ said Ethan.

  ‘Tell them there’s no room at the inn.’ Eric chuckled to himself.

  I waddled over and called through the door, ‘Sorry, we’re not open.’

  Another bang came then, louder and more urgent this time. Maybe it was a friend or villager come to pass on their good wishes for the season. Sharing a curious look with Eric, I went to unlock the door, but he stepped in, coming over from behind me to reach up to unbolt the heavy lock. He pulled open the old oak door and a biting blast of cold air whipped through the entrance, snow flurries obscuring the view of our visitor, creating a snow globe effect.

  ‘Crikey, that weather is insane.’ Josie shivered. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’