The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2)

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

  She sighed again. “Maybe you’re right. But Bennet Darcy will never stray from tradition, and it still makes me sad to think of him there alone.”

  “That’s enough talk of cemeteries. Get up.” He stripped the covers off her. “We’ve a birthday to celebrate. Get up, I said.”

  “What about work?” she asked, scrambling to her feet. “Won’t you be late?”

  “I took the morning off to be with you. Now get dressed, woman, because I have a surprise or two in store for you today.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Smiling from ear to ear, she gave him an appreciative peck on the lips and hurried off to the bathroom.

  ***

  As they entered the small beach town of Tybee Island, Catie rolled down her window and let her hair fly wildly in the wind. “So, we’re going to the beach?”

  “Yeah.” Sean smiled over at her. “It was as close to Her Majesty’s Kingdom as I could get you. I thought you’d be missing home today.”

  She looked at him, wondering what great deed she had done to be so fortunate. That this beautiful, strong, kind man loved her was worth more than all the pearls in the ocean. “I shan’t ever have a nicer birthday than today.”

  “Is that a challenge?” he asked, grinning.

  “No,” she said. “But promise me, from this year forward, you will always take me to the beach on my birthday. I want to remember this day for the rest of my life.”

  “I promise. But I must warn you, the wind off the Irish Sea has a bite to it in November.”

  “You want to live in Ireland then?” she asked, staring curiously at him.

  “Aye, I do,” he said, glancing from the road to her, hoping to read her reaction. “Would you…consider it?”

  “I would miss Nan,” she replied quietly.

  Sean shrugged. “Aunt Rose won’t stay at Pemberley forever. She’s often said how much she’d like to live closer to Ma.”

  “Maybe, but can we not decide now—today I mean? My last precious drop of youth has now officially evaporated, and this all sounds so grownup….so final.”

  He chuckled. “All right, how about a walk on the beach? Does that sound childish enough, or are you too old and decrepit?”

  “I believe I shall manage.”

  The morning was unusually warm for November with a soft ocean breeze. The beach was empty except for a single jogger and a retiree with a metal detector who was far off up the strand. Catie and Sean took off their shoes and walked for a while, keeping step with a large cargo ship until it disappeared inland, making its way to port.

  “Let’s sit for a bit,” Sean said, unrolling the blanket he’d carried along. Stashed inside were two plastic cups and a bottle of champagne.

  “My, my, you are full of surprises.” She tucked a few unruly locks behind her ear and sat down cross-legged.

  “I aim to please.” Sean sat down beside her, opened the bottle, and filled their cups. “Happy birthday, Catie Kelly.” He kissed her lips tenderly then lifted his cup to hers. “May I see you grey and combing our grandchildren’s hair. Cheers.”

  “I’ll drink to that. Cheers.” She tapped his cup and took a drink.

  They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their champagne. Behind them sea oats topped the dunes in ranks and swayed gently in the autumn breeze while white waves broke on the shore at their feet.

  “Let’s raise our children in a house that has a view of the sea.”

  He glanced over at her, thoughtfully. “How about a view of a sea lough?”

  She nudged him, smiling. “And you’ve one in mind, I’m guessing.”

  He gave her a wan smile. “Catie…I’d really like to put all I’ve learned at university and here at Norbury to use in Northern Ireland. The need is so great there. I’m sure I can make a difference. It’s where I’m supposed to be, I think.”

  She let out a moan and lay back on the blanket.

  “What?” he asked her. “You don’t fancy the idea, do you?”

  “No.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “It’s not that. It’s just…your mother.”

  “What about Ma?”

  “You know very well she’ll be an indulgent granny and spoil our children terribly. They’ll not mind a word I say.”

  “No worries.” He lay down alongside her, smiling so big his eyes fairly twinkled. “Their da will see to it they obey their mammy.”

  “Mummy,” she corrected him. “I may consent to living in Ireland, Sean Kelly, but I shall remain British until I die.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Kelly,” he said, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing it. “I shall strive each day for the rest of my life to make sure you never regret marrying me.”

  “If I don’t have something to eat soon, what I’m going to regret is this champagne.”

  “All right,” he laughed. “Let’s go.”

  On their return trip, after a nice seafood lunch on the island, Catie noticed they weren’t driving in the direction of home. She looked over at Sean and asked, “Why are you taking me to Annabelle Montague’s house?”

  He smiled. “Nothing gets by you does it?”

  “No.”

  “Because she asked about you at our last board meeting, and I thought you might like to hear more stories about your mum and dad.” He slowed the Wagoneer and turned up Challongate’s drive. “According to Dr. Middleton, you’re the only person he’s ever met that gets on with the crotchety old bird.”

  “Annabelle isn’t crotchety…she’s lonely,” said Catie, looking up at the house as they approached. “Is she expecting me?”

  “Yes, Robbins and I set it up. I’ve a few things to take care of at Norbury; then I’ll come back and get you.”

  “Thank you, Sean. This was very thoughtful.”

  He stopped the car in front of the house and grinned over at her. “We’ll see if you still feel that way after an afternoon with Cruella de Vil.”

  Rolling her eyes, Catie kissed him and got out of the car.

  “Cheerio, love,” Sean wound down the window and called out as he pulled off.

  “Cheerio.” She waved back then took a deep breath and climbed the stairs to the house.

  “Mrs. Kelly.” Robbins opened the door before she had a chance to push the bell. “How very good it is to see you, madam, and happy birthday.”

  “Aw, thank you, Mr. Robbins.” Catie stepped inside. “I must admit, it has been a very happy birthday.”

  “Could that be because the young madam is in love?”

  Having spent her morning with Sean, planning out all their future dreams — their home, their family—Catie blushed. “Does it show that much?”

  “Show?” Robbins said, helping her remove her sweater. “Why, madam, it’s written all over your face. Ah, to be young and in love.”

  “Mr. Robbins, I do believe you are a romantic at heart,” she teased.

  “‘In thy youth thou wast as true a lover.

  As ever sigh’d upon a midnight pillow.’”

  “An English butler who quotes Shakespeare; you must be quite a rarity in the south, Mr. Robbins. How has Miss Montague held on to you all these years?”

  “When I chose a life of service forty-seven years ago, Mrs. Kelly, loyalty still mattered.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Robbins.” Catie put her hand on the man’s arm. “I meant no offense.”

  “None taken, madam. When I came to serve the Montagues, Miss Annabelle was a child of fourteen. I was by her father’s side when he died thirty years later, and he beseeched me to look after his daughter as long as I was physically able to do so. I have been faithful to my word.”

  “How wonderfully gallant you are, Mr. Robbins. I do hope Miss Montague appreciates your devotion to her.”

  “I believe she does…in her way. I’ve no regrets, Mrs. Kelly.”

  She smiled at him. “I can see you don’t.”

  Glancing behind him to be sure they were alone, Robbins leaned close and whispe
red, “I must warn you, madam, our friend is not at all well today. She mustn’t get overly excited.”

  “All right,” said Catie, wanting to know more but knew it would be untoward to question Robbins further.

  “And please don’t tell her I mentioned that she shouldn’t get overly excited. I’ve grown far too old to take any pleasure in her tirades.” Chuckling, he winked at her.

  “You have my word, Mr. Robbins,” she promised, laughing softly with him.

  Again, Robbins led Catie to the sunroom, a later addition to the late eighteenth-century home, which lent stunning views of the back gardens. Miss Montague was in the same chair as before with Muffy snoozing comfortably on her lap.

  “Go on through, Mrs. Kelly,” Robbins whispered. “She’s been expecting you.”

  Catie nodded and walked into the room, her low-heels announcing her as they struck the brick tiles.

  “Come in, child,” Annabelle Montague said without turning around.

  Muffy sat up and yipped then danced excitedly when she spied their visitor.

  “Well hello, Miss Muffy. How are you today?” Muffy yipped once more, and Catie leaned down and scratched behind the dog’s ears.

  “You even sound like your mother, Catherine,” Annabelle said, putting out her hand to her young guest.

  “Do I?” Catie asked, squeezing the hand affectionately. For some odd reason she couldn’t explain, she felt an almost family-like bond with Annabelle Montague. “I’ve often been told how much I resemble Mamma but never that I sounded like her.”

  “Well, you do. Margaret’s is a voice I shan’t ever forget.”

  “Thank you for inviting me to call this afternoon, Annabelle. I so enjoyed our last visit.” Catie took a seat beside her hostess’s chair and immediately saw the truth in Robbins’s caution concerning her health. Since she had last seen Norbury’s chief benefactor, the woman’s complexion had grown pallid, and the hand she’d offered felt cold and waxy. “Shall I fetch us some tea?” Catie asked, wondering if she was chilled.

  “No, thank you.” Annabelle waved off the offer. “I’m content at the moment. So, twenty-one today you are…with your whole life ahead of you.” The small, almond-shaped eyes narrowed on Catie’s—not in a menacing way but suspicious. “Which makes me wonder, why marry so young?”

  “Why not?” Catie shrugged. “I love Sean. Miles separated us for four cruel years, and we grew tired of it. His mother is sister to my childhood nanny who raised me as her own daughter practically. Sean and I, we are almost like cousins. I believe our union was Destiny. Call me a hopeless romantic, Annabelle, but I still believe we are born with fated soul mates, and Sean Kelly is mine.”

  “Well then, it seems I’ve no need to ask my next question.”

  Catie gave Annabelle Montague a slight, knowing smile. “I would have married Sean Kelly had he been heir to the Kingdom. I love the man—not the fancy. I may be a romantic but a pragmatic one. My brother saw to that.”

  “I see you’ve been posed that question before.”

  “Rather.”

  “Still, you must admit, the Irishman is quite proud.”

  “As a peacock, and strange as it may sound, I love him all the more for it. I don’t think I could love a complaisant man.”

  “You most certainly are a Darcy, young lady,” Annabelle chuckled then coughed a tight, wheezing cough that made her grimace. “Maybe if we are to visit, child, I’d better take that tea you offered.”

  “Of course.” Catie started to rise but noticed Robbins by the door. He gave her a single, butler-like nod then disappeared into the hall. “Robbins is fetching it,” she said then asked, “Should I come another day, Annabelle, when you are feeling more up to it?”

  “No, I’m only going to sit here, and having someone to sit with me makes it more tolerable.”

  Chapter 17

  For over an hour, Catie sipped tea and nibbled on tea biscuits while listening with rapt attention as Annabelle Montague told the story of her next summer at Pemberley Estate. The woman’s eyes sparkled with youth when she spoke of William Darcy, and her small laugh was that of a girl’s when she recalled the late night pillow chats she shared with Margaret.

  Catie was saddened to hear that her mother’s home life had not improved when Annabelle returned to England in 1946. With her parents still embroiled in a bitter separation, sixteen-year-old Margaret sought and found refuge at the safe haven of Pemberley House with William’s family. “It was obvious that your grandmother longed for a daughter of her own, for she was especially fond of Margaret. Practically took her in as her own.” Annabelle stopped to pour herself another cup of tea. “Your mother and grandmother spent many hours in each other’s company. I for one could never bear the tedium of long afternoon teas and female prattle when I was a girl...”

  As Annabelle spoke, the image of Margaret, young and alone, filled Catie with an overwhelming compassion, causing a layer of well-mortared resentment to crumble and fall away, which surprised her. For until that moment, Catie didn’t even realize she was resentful. It was strange, she thought that, by way of a stranger, a long-lost childhood friend from Margaret’s past, she was finally able to weave a bond with her mother—finally able to make a tangible connection with the ghost that had haunted her since birth. Thank God the Darcys took you in, Mamma. Otherwise, what might have come of you?

  Annabelle began to cough and broke Catie’s reverie. The deep, choking hack momentarily consumed the small frame until the older woman was able to spit her efforts into a napkin she kept by her chair. Taking a long drink of water, Annabelle eyed her visitor. “I do beg your pardon, Catherine,” she said once she had successfully cleared her throat.

  “There’s no need,” Catie replied. She knew she shouldn’t ask Annabelle to continue. Robbins had warned her that the woman was not well. But Catie wanted so badly to hear more; she couldn’t bear to stop now.

  “Ahhh, what glorious days those were,” Annabelle said dreamily and put her head back. Clearly, she too wanted to continue. “That summer, your mother and I, we were nothing but young, silly girls who found a fresh beauty in everything our eyes beheld. Our bodies were blooming, and our hearts began to ache with the fever of romance. The previous summer we were only children, but by 1946, we both fancied ourselves quite in love.”

  “With Daddy?”

  “Yes.” Annabelle smiled a faraway smile. “William Darcy…a more magnificent creature I would never find. At sixteen, he was tall, handsome, and full of life. A boy at that age is a man bejeweled with the innocence of youth and blessed with the power of time. He is the past, present, and future all at once for that fleeting second of his life. He is commanding yet vulnerable. He is ready to take on the world, yet there is still so much for him to learn.”

  “My father was all of those things?” Catie asked, wide-eyed. “I only remember a distinguished man with a graying forelock that dropped down over his brow.” She laughed softly. “Daddy’s idea of playing with me was grabbing the racing news and watching from a chair while I ran about the lawn. You make him sound so vivacious…so full of spirit.”

  “Time may grant us the fortune of wisdom, Catherine, but cunningly steals the vitality we must expend to gain it.”

  “But that summer you were young, still in the springtime of your lives.”

  “Yes,” Annabelle said, her voice laced with remembrance. “Have I told you about the hot air balloon?”

  “No,” Catie replied, leaning forward so as not to miss a word.

  “It was just a whim really—a young chap trying to impress a couple of girls,” Annabelle explained, chuckling, “but your grandfather got word of it and ohhh…was he furious.”

  “What happened?” Catie asked.

  “Times were hard in those days…even at Pemberley. The war was over, but England was still being rationed. Though the country was rebuilding and morale was still soaring with patriotism, many people were struggling to make ends meet.”

  “What
did Daddy do?” Catie had often heard of her father’s childhood antics, which had the unpleasant result of going against his authoritative father’s grain.

  “What he did, Catherine, was make people smile when it seemed they had nothing to smile about,” Annabelle stated, pausing briefly for effect before she went on. “It was the end of July when a down-on-his-luck circus owner, who was traveling the countryside in a circus wagon pulled by six horses, stopped in Ashridge, hoping to sell a few of his sideshows.”

  “Daddy bought a circus?”

  “No, but he did buy one of the man’s attractions: a colorful, patchwork, hot air balloon. The circus man said he got a shilling per customer and couldn’t sell the balloon for less than twenty pounds.”

  “Twenty pounds! That must have been a fortune then.”

  Annabelle nodded in agreement. “It was. It could take a laborer several weeks of hard work to earn twenty quid in 1946. If truth be told, it was really Margaret and I who were to blame. We encouraged Willie with our own childish excitement.”

  “Was he able to fly it?”

  “Indeed. Willie rounded up a handful of your grandfather’s field workers to help him get the monstrosity in the air.”

  “Oh, what brilliant fun!” Catie exclaimed.

  “Oh, it was fun. Those men made quick work of that balloon, and in no time your daddy was floating above the rolling hills of Pemberley in a square wicker basket, pretty as you please.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, his ever-present sidekick, Horace Harold was with him of course.”

  “Uncle Horace! Horace Harold is my godfather.”

  “Yes, he would be.” Annabelle’s eyebrows arched in a way that said she wasn’t surprised. “Anyway, you can imagine the hoopla of a giant balloon floating over Pemberley Estate. Men and women stopped work, and children, as giddy as May Day, ran through the fields chasing Willie and his balloon. It was all very thrilling—that is, ’til your grandfather got word.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh is right. He was there—along with your mother, me, and the rest of Ashridge—when Willie landed. By then it was no secret what your father paid for the balloon.”