“Then put her back to bed,” he said firmly, huffily punching his pillow and trying to make himself comfortable.
“And risk waking her prematurely?” She leaned over his shoulder. “Oh, Sean, please let her stay. Eliza Jane loved sleeping with me when I was home.”
He squinted open one eye — just enough to be able to see her. “Children have no place in bed with adults. Now it’s ridiculously early, so return that wee child to her own bed and come back to your husband.”
“Is that an order?” she asked.
“Aye.” He gave her a single, confident nod. “It is.”
Catie flounced back over and, using her backside as leverage, bumped her husband off the bed.
There was a loud thud as Sean’s body crashed to the floor. “Mary, mother of Christ!” he exclaimed as Catie laughed into her pillow to keep from waking Eliza.
“Shhhh.” Still giggling, she leaned over the edge of the bed and once again put her finger to her lips. “You’ll wake the wee child.”
Looking furious, Sean reached up and neatly snatched her slight frame from the covers. He might have taught her then and there the wages of such devilment, but her hair, perfectly disheveled, fell forward and framed a face that was beautifully fresh from sleep. She smiled at him so broadly that her dimples showed more profoundly than usual, and his heart turned to liquid. “Have you any bloody idea how impossible it is for me to give you a proper scolding when you smile at me like that?”
Biting the corner of her bottom lip to keep a smug grin in check, she nodded and whispered, “Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas, Mrs. Kelly.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her at length. Twining his fingers through her tresses, he gently rolled her off his stomach and onto the rug, drawing her beneath him.
His attentions challenged Catie’s self-control, for she knew that, like her, his desire was rising quickly. She also knew that, unlike her, he’d forgotten about Eliza Jane. “Sean,” she said, breaking free of his mouth, but he urgently sought it again, sliding his hand up her thigh and around the curve of her hip to cup her bottom. “Sean!”
“What?” he exclaimed in a flustered voice.
She pointed to the bed, and he looked up to find a little round face staring back at him with big blue-green eyes that matched his wife’s.
“Uncle, what are you doing to auntie?” the tiny rosebud mouth whispered.
“Yes, uncle.” Catie chuckled. “What are you doing to me?”
His hand still cupping his wife’s backside, Sean gave her a smart pinch, making her yelp, and then told Eliza in his sweetest voice, “Auntie fell from bed and I was helping her up. Be gone now, lass, and wake your daddy, for I’m sure I heard Santie Claus and his reindeer fly away not ten minutes ago.”
“Presents!” Eliza squealed as she clamored off the bed, over Sean’s back, and out the door.
It was still so early that Catie started to call out to her niece, but Sean covered her mouth with his free hand and silenced her. “Shhhh,” he cautioned, brandishing one of his insufferable, gypsy grins. He then leaned close to her ear and said in his raspy brogue, “Let the lass’s mammy and da sort her out, aye. I’m goin’ to lock the door, and when I return, I’d appreciate findin’ me wife in bed and waitin’ for her husband. Do I make myself clear?”
Before she could consider protesting, his fingers tightened on her bottom again, just enough to inform her that he would oblige her with another pinch if her answer didn’t please him. Her eyes as big and round as her niece’s just moments prior, Catie nodded and scrambled obediently back to the warmth of the covers. From there, she had the delightful prospect of Sean crossing the morning-grey room dressed only in his pajama bottoms. As always, his broad, naked back made her tummy flutter with anticipation of what was to come. He quietly closed and locked the door then came back to bed. Sliding between the covers, he gathered her into his solid arms, and pulled her snugly against his chest.
“Now this,” he said softly and kissed her, “is a proper start to our Christmas.”
Chapter 21
It was late Christmas night when the family arrived back at the townhouse after a long, busy afternoon of serving Christmas dinner and celebrating the holiday with the resident students and staff of Norbury. It thrilled Catie to be able to introduce Dr. Middleton and Prissy to her family and made her proud to share firsthand with Ben and Sarah her and Sean’s life in Savannah. She, too, was proud of Ben and Sarah for joining right in with the festivities and for rolling up their sleeves and filling plates with mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. Indeed, it had been a special Christmas—one the Darcys and Kellys wouldn’t soon forget.
“These lads are almost too big for this,” Sean said as he hoisted George, who had fallen asleep in the car, up to his shoulder and began navigating the front steps.
“Almost?” Ben scoffed, lifting Geoffrey, who was as lifeless as his brother, into his arms.
After climbing two flights of stairs, the men gently settled the boys in their beds and began removing their shoes. George stirred, and his eyes fluttered open as Sean brought up the blanket to cover him. He smiled at the child and whispered, “Good night, Georgie.”
“Uncle Sean!” George groaned sleepily. “I’m too old to be called Georgie.”
“Sorry, mate. I forgot how much of a man you are now.” Looking amused, Sean took the boy’s chin in his hand and inspected it carefully. “Why, I think I even spy a wee whisker. I say you’ll be needin’ your da’s razor before Easter, or I’m not an Ulsterman.”
“Uncle Sean,” the boy groaned again but giggled that time.
“Back to sleep this instant, young man,” Ben said in a soft, fatherly voice as he leaned down, brushed back a wavy lock from his son’s forehead, and kissed him. “It’s been a long day.”
“Yes, Daddy.” George smiled at his father, turned onto his side, and closed his eyes.
Sean looked at Ben and, for a second, envied the man. Sure, it was too early for him and Catie to consider having children, but he desired nothing more than to one day be a father, a father to Catie’s babies. “Fancy a cuppa?” he asked his brother-in-law. “Catie put the kettle on.”
Ben nodded and followed Sean out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
In the kitchen, Catie and Sarah were setting out the tea things on the table. “Are the boys still asleep?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah,” Ben breathed out as he sat down. “George woke but only for a moment.”
“Well,” said Catie, filling their cups. “Christmas is over I suppose.”
“Not quite, love.” Sean winked at her and fetched a wrapped package from one of the cupboards. He held it up and ceremoniously read the attached card out loud, “‘Do Mo Bhean Chéile.’”
Looking curiously at him, Catie accepted the gift and read for herself, “Do Mo Bhean Chéile—my wife?”
“For my wife,” Sean corrected.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Open it, silly, and find out.” He smiled sweetly at her.
Catie carefully worked the paper free and gasped. “Oh, Sean! How did you get this? And you’ve framed it so lovely.”
He laughed at her reaction. “I certainly didn’t steal it! I got it at Norbury’s last board meeting—just before Miss Montague let on about her illness. I asked her could I have a copy made for you, but she told me to take hers. She seemed pleased you’d have it.”
“May I see?” Ben asked. He had been anxious to speak with his sister about Annabelle Montague but hadn’t yet had the chance.
Catie handed her brother the picture of Margaret, Willie, and Annabelle during their first summer together at Pemberley. “Isn’t it precious, Ben? Can you believe how young Mother and Daddy were?”
Ben looked at the photograph for some time then rubbed a thumb reverently over the faces of his parents.
“That’s Annabelle.” Catie pointed. “Did Dad ever mention her?”
“No.” Still starin
g at the photograph, he shook his head. “I’ve never heard the woman’s name before you met her.” Ben looked at his sister then. “I’ve been waiting for the proper time to speak with you, Catherine. I feel I must caution you about this woman’s possible motives.”
“But she has none!” Catie said defensively. “And what purpose could it serve if she did? Annabelle has done nothing but tell me about mother…more than I could ever have hoped to learn.” The latter sounded so unjustly spiteful that Catie looked down at her hands, shamefaced. It had been nettling her that she’d learned more about Margaret from a stranger than from her brother, but that wasn’t an excuse for such an outburst. “I apologize, Ben.” Her tone was humble. “I’d no cause to speak to you that way.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” he said. “You’re correct after all. I haven’t told you enough about your mother…our mother…because it still pains me so to speak of her. It is I who owes the apology, Catherine.”
She looked at him then and saw that he still clutched the photograph in his hands. “May I make a copy of this?” he asked her. “I believe this may be the first time Dad and Mum were photographed together.”
Catie nodded. “Of course.”
The telephone rang, making all of them start. Sean looked at his watch as he rose to answer. “It’s a bit late to be ringing someone. Hello. Yes.” He paused to listen, his gaze settling on Catie. “Right, I’ll tell her.” Another pause, followed by, “Yes, goodbye.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, reading his expression.
“That was Robbins. Miss Montague is asking for you.”
***
As Sean rang the doorbell, Ben put a comforting arm around Catie’s shoulder. He had insisted on accompanying her and Sean to Challongate, determined that whatever else Annabelle Montague had to say to his sister in regards to their parents would be said in his presence. Robbins pulled open the door, and in his fatigued expression, they saw visible relief that Catie had come.
“Mrs. Kelly,” he said in a tired voice. “Please forgive me for bringing you out at this late hour, but Miss Annabelle was so insistent.”
“It’s all right, Robbins. I’m glad you did,” Catie assured him then turned to Ben. “Please allow me to introduce my brother, Bennet Darcy.”
“Sir.” Robbins inclined his head in greeting. “May I congratulate you on having a most compassionate and caring sister? I’m sure I could not have endured these last weeks of Miss Annabelle’s illness without her.”
“Thank you,” Ben replied, looking at Catie and wondering how she had matured so much in so little time.
“Mrs. Kelly.” Robbins’ tone became gravely serious. “Our friend may or may not recognize you. I fear her time may be drawing close. She has been in and out of consciousness and quite confused all afternoon.”
“Robbins, I’m so sorry.” Catie reached out and affectionately grasped the elderly man’s hand. Certainly, this must be difficult for him, she thought. “Will you take me to her?”
“Will you take us to her,” Ben clarified as he and Sean stepped close, intent upon not being left to pace in the parlor.
Robbins passed a look over each man then down at the object of their concern. A faint smile creased his worried countenance. “I see you are a woman highly prized and protected by your menfolk, madam.”
“Yes.” Rolling her eyes, Catie reflected his slight smile. “Lucky me, eh?”
Robbins led them up the staircase that graced the large, center hall of the house. The upper corridor was dark with only a small table lamp illuminating their way to Miss Montague’s bedroom. Robbins pushed open the door and spoke to a woman wearing nurse’s scrubs. “Some close friends of madam’s have come, Mrs. Mann. Please allow them their privacy.”
The woman nodded politely and followed Robbins from the room. Before the door was closed, Catie rushed to the bed and took Annabelle’s hand in her own.
“Annabelle,” she said loudly, hoping to reach the dying woman. “I have come. I have come as you asked.”
There was no response, and Ben could see instantly that Catie was most likely too late—that any chance the woman had of speaking to his sister had almost certainly passed. He could tell by the shallowness of her breaths and her struggles to breathe that Annabelle Montague was in her last cherished minutes of life. “Catie,” he came up behind his sister and whispered into her ear. “She doesn’t have much time left, dearest, and I doubt she will be able to speak to you. I think we should leave now.”
“No.” Catie shook her head. “I’m staying. She shouldn’t die alone. No one should.”
“Catie.” Sean took up the task of persuading her, hoping to appeal to her logic. He understood Ben’s concern. Catie had never witnessed someone die. For that matter, he’d never witnessed anyone die. “Miss Montague doesn’t know you’re here, and Robbins is with her. Be rational, lass. Since you’ve met that woman, you’ve possessed an unwarranted duty to her. Now, you’ve paid your respects; let’s leave her in peace. There’s naught can be done now but wait.”
“Then I shall wait.” She looked at him with that blasted steadfast female determination that always made Sean wonder how men ever came to rule the world.
Heaving a flustered sigh, he raked a hand through his hair and then walked to the edge of the room to fetch a chair for her to sit in. He placed it beside the bed. “Sit down then, and I shall wait with you.”
“Thank you, Sean.” She smiled appreciatively at him.
“Don’t thank me, lass. What I should do is put you over me shoulder and take you straight home. And I would were it not for fear of disturbing Miss Montague. Can I get you anything else besides the chair? We may be in for a long night.”
“Coffee,” she said mildly, cutting her eyes up at him. “Please.”
“Aye, coffee.” Sean gave Ben’s shoulder a clap—a ‘tag, you’re it’ of sorts — and stepped out.
Ben came to stand behind his sister and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Must you always give that man a run for his money, dearest?”
“It is returned in equal kind, Brother, let me assure you.”
He was silent for a moment then said, “You have grown up a great bit the months you have been away. You are not the same girl who kissed me goodbye on the steps of Pemberley.”
“I’m no longer a girl, Bennet.”
“No,” he agreed. “No you’re not. I should hardly recognize you had your looks altered. Sarah and I are proud of the woman you are becoming, Catherine.”
She turned and looked up at him, but a faint moan from the bed made her turn back. “Annabelle,” Catie leaned in close and said. “Annabelle, I’m here as you asked.”
The woman’s eyes popped open and set an almost ghostly gaze upon Bennet Darcy. She then looked at Catie and blinked as if her eyes were deceiving her. “Willie? Margaret? Is that you?” The words were hoarse and low, but Ben and Catie understood them.
“No, madam,” Ben started to correct her, but his sister grabbed hold of his arm and stopped him.
“Yes, Annabelle, we are here, Willie and Margaret.”
“You came?” Annabelle’s heavy-eyed gaze passed between them several times.
“Yes, Annabelle, we’re here.” Catie brought the woman’s hand to her cheek.
A tear dropped from the woman’s eye and streamed towards her pillow. “Margaret, I’m sorry,” came a throaty whisper, faint but sincere.
“Please, Annabelle,” Catie replied, her own voice suddenly thick with emotion. “Let us forget the past. Willie and I are here, and I promise we won’t leave you.” The heavy lids closed, and Catie’s hold on Annabelle’s hand tightened. “Annabelle! Annabelle, stay with us!”
“You must rest now, Annabelle.” Ben edged himself onto the bed. He then looked at his sister and said, “Tell her to rest, Catherine. Let her go peacefully. It is unkind to make leaving this world difficult for her.”
“I can’t.” Tears streaming down her face, Catie looked at h
im and shook her head. “I thought I was strong enough to do this, Ben, but I’m not.”
“It’s all right,” he said softly as he reached over and pulled Annabelle Montague’s cold hand from Catie’s. Patting it tenderly, he brought his mouth close to the dying woman’s ear and told her in a kind yet confident voice, “You can rest easy now, Annabelle. I have your hand. I’m with you. Don’t be afraid, dear.”
Within a few minutes, Annabelle Montague’s breathing slowed and she quietly passed away—at peace and unburdened.
Ben sighed heavily and gently laid Annabelle Montague’s hand back on the bed. “She’s passed, Sis.”
Catie turned away and saw, with great relief, that Sean had returned and stood waiting for her. “She’s gone, Sean,” she cried out as she ran into his embrace.
“I know, cailín,” he whispered into her hair. “I heard. And I’m right here as I told you I would be.”
“I’ll inform Mr. Robbins,” Ben said and left, giving them a moment alone.
***
When Catie’s breathing lapsed into the deep, even cadence of sound sleep, Sean left their room, making no more noise than a whisper. He was tired and should have been settling in to bed next to his wife rather than slipping downstairs, but his mind wasn’t ready to let go of the day. Once he’d gotten Catie home and alone in their bedroom, she began crying anew, a hard cry that seemed to possess her. As Sean held her heaving, trembling body against his, he sensed his wife’s grief cut far deeper into her soul than the passing of Annabelle Montague. Catie didn’t say, but Sean knew that she cried for Margaret, for her mother. The sad affair at Challongate made Sean realize that Miss Montague’s relationship with Margaret was most likely why Catie became so attached to the woman in the first place. Before that night, Sean was pretty sure his wife had never grieved over the death of her mother. It was a release of sorrow long overdue.
He stepped into the parlor and unplugged the fairy lights—another British term that ruffled Etta’s feathers—and made his way to the kitchen. He pulled open the fridge and squinted into the bright light without a clue of what he was searching for.
The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2) Page 26
