Catie looked down and saw that her muddy footprints followed her to the sink. “Sorry.” She shrugged one shoulder, giving Mr. Johnson a lopsided smile. “But I shouldn’t dally . . . foul mood, remember.” She dried her hands, kicked off her shoes, and hurried up the service stairs to the summer breakfast room where her family had informal evening meals in the warmer months.
Approaching quietly, she could see Ben and Sarah sitting in their respective seats at each end of the table, with their sons, Geoffrey and George, between them. “The post,” she whispered. “Surely they haven’t come already.” Realizing her book was still tucked under her arm, she slid it out of sight on a hall table. She didn’t need Ben seeing one of her “rubbish romance novels” as he called them, especially if her report had arrived from Davenport that morning. Although she was sure she passed satisfactorily, no marks were ever high enough to please her brother.
As if mocking Catie’s apprehension, the room was alight with a comforting chandelier glow. “Hello,” she opened with great enthusiasm, hoping to make light of the hour. She was happy to see they were still on the first course. Not too late, she reassured herself. She received equally cheerful responses from all but Ben, who remained grimly silent. Yes, they most definitely had come. She took a cautious peek at him as a chilled summer butternut squash soup was placed before her, making her stomach rumble with gratitude.
With everyone now in place and served, Ben sent the servant from the room with a slight nod of his head and waited until the pocket doors were pulled securely together before sharply questioning his sister. “Where have you been all afternoon, Catherine?”
She turned to him and her gut tightened. Her brother looked like he had been stewing for hours. Their relationship was a close and affectionate one, but on occasion she would unknowingly wade into the treacherous waters of his temper. “Why?” she asked cautiously as his knitted brow had more written on it than a few grades that didn’t meet his expectations.
“Why? I’ll tell you why! Because your riding lessons were to start today, and the instructor rang up from the stables and said that you never came round this afternoon. That’s why!”
Shutting her eyes tight with a wince of clarity, Catie’s memory was restored. “Oh,” she uttered stupidly.
“Oh?” he questioned, sitting back in annoyance. “Is that oh, I daydreamed my afternoon away and forgot or maybe oh, I was elbow deep in one of those rubbish romance novels and couldn’t tear myself away long enough for my lesson?”
Desperate, Catie cast a subtle but pleading look to Sarah, who took up the cause with the skillful diplomacy only a wife could possess.
“Bennet, could you not settle this matter later?” she put in smoothly. “The twins are eating, and I’m afraid all of this commotion is upsetting their digestion.”
Ben looked over at his young sons and, as if on cue, the two, round faces stared back at him with wide, grayish-blue eyes that matched his own.
Having his father’s attention, Geoffrey decided to speak up in support of his mother. “Yes, Daddy, we are eating and all this com . . . commo . . . What was it, Mummy?”
“Never mind, Geoffrey, your mother’s right,” Ben said quietly, giving his wife’s scolding eye an apologetic glance. He turned to his sister and stated with a somewhat humbled authority, “I’ll speak with you afterwards, Catherine.”
Catie nodded unenthusiastically at him and then gave Sarah a grateful glance. She hadn’t managed a pardon but the temporary reprieve was appreciated.
The rest of the meal went on without incident as Catie remained quiet in her own thoughts. Instead of eating, she moved food around her plate, having lost her appetite from the twinge of dread now lodged in her stomach. She was in for a sermon — a long one no doubt. Ben was determined that, when Catie finished Davenport, she attend Newnham, the all-female college of Cambridge University from which their mother had graduated. He would never neglect a ripe opportunity to lecture his sister on any defect of character that might keep her from being admitted. If only she had remembered that stupid riding lesson.
Lessons had been the bane of Catie Darcy’s existence for as long as she could remember. Piano lessons, flute lessons, tennis lessons, French lessons — the list was endless and demanding and kept her confined to the country each summer, which was just how her brother liked it. Losing both parents before his twenty-fourth birthday, Ben was overly cautious with his loved ones. Nervous Nelly, Sarah had often called him, but Ben’s grief had made him a wary man.
Catie Darcy may have been wealthy beyond comprehension, but her world was a sheltered one. The death of her beloved father in many ways had closed the green, rolling hills of Pemberley Estate around her like a grassy sea of solitude, and she, the lone survivor of a sunken ship. Nothing she had come from still existed.
On the way to Ben’s study, the same study used by generations of Darcy men, Catie strolled leisurely down the long, wide gallery of Pemberley. No need to hurry; the longer Ben cooled the better. The ornate hall housed the portraits of their ancestors, each one with a story of their own. Some were noble while others . . . well, others were quite romantic. Catie stopped in front of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy, hanging prominently side-by-side at the end of the gallery. Fitzwilliam’s gaze was ardent and looked left towards his life’s love, while hers, affectionately warm, flickered softy rightward in return. Their love was a legacy that had been passed down through the generations, a favorite story of the young descendant who stood before them.
Looking solemnly up at the couple, Catie sighed. “Romance wasn’t always rubbish, at least not two hundred years ago when you two met and fell in love, eh?” Their descendant found her answer in their loving expressions, forever locked in a devoted gaze. She sighed again and left them to each other.
When she reached the study door, which was slightly ajar, her brother appeared to be working, so she spoke to gain his attention. “Bennet,” she said softly, using her little sister voice. If Catie Darcy was the lone survivor of a sunken ship, her big brother Ben was her life raft. Fourteen years her senior, he was all she had left in the world. She hated disappointing him.
He looked up just long enough to wave her in and then returned his attention to whatever he was reading. She made herself comfortable in the chair in front of his desk and waited. He often made her wait, or squirm rather. Catie likened this tactic to when a predator lames its prey and then tauntingly circles the helpless victim for some time before finishing the kill.
He finally began, reading from the paper in front of him. “‘Miss Darcy is an unmotivated student, she daydreams, lacks focus in her studies . . . ’ need I continue?”
They had come. “Was all that written on my report?” she asked, craning to see the paper in front of him.
“No. That is what Miss Spencer relayed to me when I called Davenport this afternoon to inquire why the devil I am paying such premium tuition for these grades.”
“I may lack focus at times, but my grades aren’t that bad.” She met his eyes with a challenging look.
“Cambridge is a competitive university, Catherine, and not that bad isn’t going to suffice. I’m sure that I need not tell you that I am sorely regretting not lining up tutors for the summer. It’s important that you — ”
“I needed the break, Ben,” she interrupted. “I’ve had governesses and tutors every summer since . . . ” Every summer since Daddy died. They didn’t talk about Father, so the words remained at the back of her throat. Her eyes betrayed her though as they rested on the picture frame sitting on Ben’s desk, her father smiling with his arm affectionately over Ben’s shoulder. “I’ll knuckle down next term, I promise,” she said softly, lowering her eyes to her hands. The man had been dead for eight years, and yet his presence — or absence — beat between them like a living heart.
“Catie,” Ben started. He had looked at the picture as well. This was never easy. He was Catie’s guardian but not her father. He got up and came around the desk to
be closer to her. “All right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice softer now. “Next term you’ll knuckle down, but in the meantime, please take your riding more seriously. Both Mother and Father were avid riders, and I know they would have wanted you to be as well.”
Ben had a passion for horses: a trait passed down to him much like the desk on which he leaned. For generations their family history was filled with champion horsemen and horsewomen. But unlike her parents, her brother, and her long dead ancestors, Catie Darcy was not a skilled equestrian. In fact, she didn’t even like riding — feared it really. Having been thrown from a horse shortly after her father’s death, she hated any real speed on horseback.
When she was eight years old, Catie had ventured out alone on her pony, which was no small infraction of the rules. Inexperienced, she lost control of her mount, and the panicked animal tossed its tiny rider like a weightless rag doll. But since she wasn’t too badly hurt, no one ever discovered her little misadventure.
Negotiation, it seemed, was her best course now. “All right, for two weeks,” she declared. It was bold of her she knew, but Ben and Sarah had promised her a summer free of tutors and lessons and hired the riding instructor at the last minute. “And then if I’ve made no real progress, I want to be allowed to quit.”
“Two weeks!” Ben’s face reddened. “I have already paid for six, Catherine!” He breathed deeply to calm his annoyance and, looking at her, contemplated for a moment. He shouldn’t let her off so easy on her grades; she was certainly capable of higher marks. And furthermore, she deserved a sound talking-to for missing her riding lesson, but he didn’t want to start the summer on a bad note.
“Fine, two weeks of strong effort,” he said. Darcys were known for their negotiating skills, and he certainly wasn’t going to come away empty-handed. “And then . . . well, we’ll talk about it.”
“Thanks, Ben.” Satisfied with her success, Catie sprang up and gave him a sisterly kiss on his cheek. “Sleep well, Brother.” Assuming herself the victor in their little agreement, she patted his shoulder consolingly and turned to leave.
“Catie.” Ben grabbed hold of his sister’s wrist before she was out of reach. “Strong effort!”
“Yes, Ben.” She nodded to further her compliance and repeated, “Strong effort.”
“And, Catie,” he said, tilting his head. “Please come to supper on time from now on, eh, dear?”
“Oh, yes . . . of course, Ben, I apologize about that.”
“And one more thing, dearest,” he continued, still holding her. “In the future, do me the favor of bathing first?”
“Oh, right.” She blushed, remembering the sweatiness from her ride and her muddy feet in the kitchen. “Sorry about that too.”
* * *
As soon as the house was fully quiet and she was sure no one would notice her absence, Catie tip-toed down the service steps and left through a side door. With only the glow of her torch to guide her, she padded her way through the dimly lit, walled garden to the path beyond. Moving downhill, the terrain seemed to urge her forward as her bare legs brushed against the profuse, damp flora, leaving wet streaks that tickled her skin. An unusual but welcomed wave of heat had settled in the valley, ushering in a humid night after the warm afternoon, and she greatly desired a swim. When she arrived at the black, still water of the pond, she stepped out onto a small dock and began removing her clothes.
Catie slid out of each article of clothing and dropped them lazily to the wooden planks. Once finished, she stood fully naked and allowed the warm night to caress her skin. Stretching her body long and taut, she reached to the heavens as if sacrificing herself to the full moon that reflected on the water at her feet. Then, without further hesitation, she jumped in, instantly feeling the muck underfoot. She turned onto her back and drifted out toward the middle as the cold, relaxing water streamed smoothly over her bare limbs. Not quite to the deep center where she liked to float, she was startled by a man’s voice.
“Who’s there?” it called from somewhere in the darkness.
Shocked, Catie shot up out of the water and called back, “Who is there?”
“My name is Kelly, Sean Kelly.”
“Sir, can you please turn away so I can climb out and dress?”
“Sure, miss,” he answered with the faint undertones of a chuckle.
As Catie swam to the ladder to pull herself out of the water, she kept a watchful eye in the direction of the man’s voice, hoping he was honoring her request. She hesitated momentarily but then scurried up the ladder and began hastily dressing, while she firmly informed the stranger that he was trespassing on private property. She heard the rustle of his footsteps and could tell he was moving towards her, making her quickly fasten her shorts and tuck in her wet tee-shirt to be as presentable as possible.
Finished, she nervously grabbed her torch, clicked it on, and pointed it directly in his face as he stepped out of the darkness and onto the dock, raising a hand to protect his eyes from the beam. He was young, attractive, and smiling at her. Catie took a sharp breath.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was just out enjoying the warm evening.” He laughed lightly as he turned and gestured toward the direction she had just come from. “I’m a summer tenant of the small cottage on the other side of the drive.”
His voice was solid and deep and accented with Irish, making Catie feel as if his words were sticking to her wet skin when he spoke. “Oh.” She moved her torch away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to blind you. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”
“No worries.” He smiled down at her now.
“From Ireland are you?” she asked.
The accent significantly thickened as he tucked his thumbs in his jeans, performed a little jig and responded, “Aye . . . what was it, lass, me name or me brogue that gave me away?” Catie grinned briefly. “Northern Ireland actually — ever been there?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m Catie Darcy. I live at the manor.”
“Yes, I know,” he said.
“You know?” Her eyes narrowed with consideration. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“We haven’t. I know who you are because I’ve been hired as your riding instructor for the summer.” He smiled again, wider this time.
Riding instructor? Stop staring at him! Audrey Tillman would have something extremely clever to say right now. “You . . . ” she stammered, feeling suddenly awkward in her own skin. She wasn’t expecting him to be young or good looking. Flustered, Catie knelt down and busied herself with tying her shoes. “You told my brother that I didn’t come round for my lesson today.” The words flew out of her mouth, hot and accusing.
Stunned, Sean looked down at her. He chuckled lightly. “Sorry. Was I mistaken? Did you come round for your lesson?”
She stopped and cut her eyes up at him as a rush of red raced up her neck and filled her face. “Listen . . . er . . . what did you say your name was again?”
“Mr. Kelly,” Sean supplied formally. Chew on that your majesty!
Standing up, Catie’s brows rose. “Did your parents bother giving you a Christian name, Mr. Kelly?” she asked so snappishly she surprised herself.
He chuckled again. “They did. I was properly christened Sean Donovan, but seeing as we are to have a student-teacher relationship — ”
“Mister?” she interrupted him, her expression as incredulous as her voice. “Surely you don’t expect — ”
“I do,” he cut her off as she had him.
“But that’s ridiculous! Exactly which rock have you been under for the last century?” She mockingly glanced about as if she might see the offending boulder upturned somewhere.
Her hair had partially come loose from her ponytail during her swim and there were several wet ringlets plastered to the side of her face, distracting him. All the more reason to keep all interactions with Catie Darcy as professional as possible. Still, he had to admit he enjoyed ruffling her feathers. Clearly, the little mi
ss wasn’t used to being crossed. And damned if she wasn’t even more beautiful spitting mad.
He answered coolly, “No rock. I just prefer proper boundaries if it’s all the same to you.”
Catie’s mouth opened and closed. She reached down to gather the last of her belongings still scattered on the dock. “If it’s proper boundaries you want, Mr. Kelly, call me Miss Catie.” She straightened again and met his eyes. “Just as the rest of the help does.” It was a nasty remark she knew, but like Ben, her temper could get the best of her. Catie brushed by him and stormed off, sure she heard him laughing behind her.
She hadn’t gone far when he called out, “Three o’clock tomorrow then, Miss Catie . . . sharp!”
Giving each step a portion of her fury, she made her way home along the dark pathways, knowing all the turns and steps. Reaching the sanctuary of her bedroom, Catie hurled her damp clothes on the floor, angrily changed into a pair of warm pajamas, and then fell on her bed. “Mister,” she hissed hatefully. “He couldn’t be more than three years older than me.” As she seethed, her mind’s eye drifted to his face. His sharp nose and firm chin were softened by his kind blue eyes that seemed to dance when he smiled. “Mr. Kelly,” she hissed one more time before reaching up and turning off the light.
Chapter 3
A bird singing outside her window and the dull hum of a vacuum woke Catie from a deep sleep. Her eyes were having trouble adjusting to the light, reminding her that she had forgotten to close the drapes before going to bed. She sat up, only to let her body fall back to the mattress, and pulled the covers over her face. “Oh, why must they hoover so early in the morning?” she grumbled into the sheets. After a few minutes of trying to decide whether to get up or remain put, she picked up the receiver to ring down and have breakfast brought to her room.
Modern conveniences had been added slowly to the old stone manor for most of the twentieth century. Catie’s own father, being a contemporary man and lover of technology, made his own prolific contributions to the seventeenth-century dwelling. From plumbing to electricity, security systems to controlled temperature zones, the house was eventually modernized with careful attention to maintain its historical integrity.
Echoes of Pemberley Page 2
