Unfortunately for Catie Darcy, however, no modern-day convenience could control who answered her call for breakfast. It was Rose’s voice on the other end of the line. “Yes, Sleeping Beauty.” Rose sounded antagonistic.
Catie grimaced but spoke cheerfully. “Good morning. Beautiful day, eh, Rose?”
“Morning?” Rose said. “Miss Catie, according to my watch, morning has been behind us for almost an hour now, child.”
“Yes, Nan, so it has. Would there be any breakfast left?” Nan, short for nanny, was a loving endearment still used when Catie hoped to evoke favor or sympathy.
“A few bits about to be taken round to the hounds. If you hope to have them for yourself, I’d recommend you dislodge yourself from your bed and come downstairs.” Rose wasn’t one to mince words, meaning any thoughts of a late morning breakfast in bed had vanished when she answered the phone.
Rose Todd was Pemberley’s housekeeper, the highest position in any large house and a post she had earned. She had come to Pemberley when Ben was just a boy and raised the children and ran the house when the elder Mr. Darcy lost his wife in childbirth. Then, when tragedy dealt a second cruel blow to the Darcy siblings, it was Rose who stood next to Ben and Catie at their father’s grave. She had in every sense become a surrogate for their deceased parents.
Catie laughed. “All right, Nan, I’ll be right down. Don’t feed the dogs just yet.”
She saw him as soon as she entered the kitchen. There, sitting at the long trestle table with Rose, was the same face captured in the light of her torch last evening. Seeing him in the full light of day, she quickly noticed the darkness had not deceived her. He was as handsome as she remembered and wore a large smile as he shared a pot of tea with Rose. Catie’s jaw tightened and her mouth twitched at the sight of him. Sean Kelly, she thought spitefully. “Good morning,” she said quickly, wanting to be the first to speak.
“Good morning, Miss Catie,” he responded with more delight than was necessary.
“Oh,” Rose chirped, smiling. “Have you two met already?”
“Yes, Aunt, I met Miss Catie last evening.”
“Aunt?” Catie looked up from the toast she was buttering. “What do you mean, aunt?
“Rose is my mother’s sister. You didn’t know I was Rose’s nephew, did you?” Sean gave Catie a conspiratorial wink.
Rose’s nephew! Sean Kelly was Rose’s nephew?
The old screen from the garden creaked open and Sarah stepped into the kitchen. Although Sarah Darcy was a striking woman, her ease and kindness was what drew people to her. Everything about her was unassuming and gentle, and made you feel glad you were alive just by looking at her. Her amber eyes were her most outstanding feature, flecked with gold and anchored below mahogany brows that arched into a triangle when she smiled. She was smiling when she entered the kitchen and greeted Sean warmly, praising him for getting George to mount his pony that morning.
Catie scarcely heard the pleasant exchange. She was staring at Sean Kelly, bitterness festering. Like everyone else, he knew all about her . . . or thought he knew. They all thought they knew, thought they understood. She hated the assumptions people made about her and despised their sympathy.
There was a sudden tiny spark in her chest, the kind of spark that abandons reason and usually meant trouble, either for her or someone else. But then again, reason never was any match for Catie Darcy’s temper.
She interrupted their lively conversation. “It may be better for all concerned if Mr. Kelly were to resign his position as riding instructor.” There was an instant hush, and they all looked at her, including Mr. Johnson, who stopped chopping carrots. “Well . . . ” she hesitated. “It’s just, he saw me naked last night and I’m afraid there might be an uncomfortable awkwardness between us.”
“Sean!” Rose gasped wildly, grabbing her chest and turning to him. “What have you done?”
“Nothing! I . . . it was j-just a mistake . . . ” he fumbled.
“What sort of mistake?” Sarah insisted.
“Nothing like that, Mrs. Darcy . . . ” He paused and glanced past the questioning faces of the women in hopes of getting help from the one person who could clarify. It was only then that he realized the purposefulness in her act. Grinning smugly at him, Catie Darcy simply took a casual bite of her toast and shrugged her shoulders. Sean’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He narrowed his eyes at her in disbelief and turned to his aunt to explain.
The eldest of five, what some might call rowdy boys, Sean had a talent for turning an angry mob. He had a natural wit and charm that had enabled him to talk the Kelly brothers out of many a scrape since they had left their mother’s lap. He did his best to spin his chance encounter with Miss Darcy at the pond as humorously as possible, artfully speaking in his humble County Down brogue for effect. By the time he had finished, the room had become friendly again and a soft infectious laughter had started to spread. Victorious, Sean turned back to Catie with a checkmate smile he didn’t bother to hide and pleasantly reassured her, “So you see, Miss Catie, you’ve no need to feel uncomfortable or awkward. It was too dark last night to see anything but shadows. You’ve a rather pretty silhouette though . . . if I might say.” At this Mr. Johnson laughed out loud, and seeming eager to put the affair to rest, Rose and Sarah joined him, although a bit less heartily. Luckily for Sean Kelly, none of the three seemed to recall the previous evening’s full moon or cloudless sky.
Mouth mashed into a thin, resentful line, Catie glanced around the room once more, primly folded her arms and left as the checkmate smile faded from Sean’s face.
* * *
“Are you busy?” Sarah knocked and entered Ben’s study at the same time. “Shall I come back?”
“You know better than that.” He smiled up at her and motioned her to his lap. She released a small thankful breath. She was in need of his comfort and snuggled against his chest. “After the figures I’ve been looking at on that page, yours, Mrs. Darcy, is a welcomed one.” His breath was warm on her neck followed by soft kissing lips.
Sarah rose up slightly to peek at the offending figures. “Something tells me if those figures had a few more zeros my figure wouldn’t be nearly as appealing.”
He chuckled quietly against her skin. “Probably not.” Sarah tried to get up but he stopped her. “That was a joke.”
“And a poor one,” she admonished but settled back again without protest.
“You’ve something you wish to tell me,” he said as if stating a fact.
“Do I?”
“Sarah.”
“George laughed this morning.” The words rushed out. Ben was right, she did want more than anything to tell him. She had been afraid that she was making more of it than there was but smiled now as she recalled the minor accomplishment. “His own laugh, not Geoffrey’s.”
“Didn’t I tell you he was going to be fine?” Ben said. “He’s a Darcy. We’ve a tendency to be a bit reserved. It’s in our nature.”
“Yes.” She nodded, accepting his reassurance but by no means convinced. George was more than reserved. He never spoke unless he found the words of his brother worth repeating. He mimicked Geoffrey as if he had no real thoughts of his own.
“Geoffrey has a bold personality,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “It’s only natural for his younger brother to look up to him, wish to be like him.”
“He is older by less than five minutes, Ben.” Sarah made no attempt to hide her skepticism.
“What made him laugh?” he asked, redirecting her.
She smiled again, not fooled but willing to be led back to the promise of hope. “Sean Kelly. He even got our George to mount his pony. That young man certainly has a way with children. You’ll remember I told you about his youngest brother. Rose says the boy — ”
“Sarah,” he stopped her. “Young Kelly is a riding instructor, not some miracle worker. He couldn’t put words in George’s mouth any more than he could bring rain to a drought. The brother started speak
ing because he was ready, not because Kelly put him astride a horse.”
“I know,” she said quietly, studying her hands. “He is very good with them though. You must come watch one morning.”
“Of course I will.” He pulled her tightly against him. “So you’re happy with Rose’s nephew then?”
“Yes, although I’m afraid your sister is not so pleased. She and Mr. Kelly don’t get on very well.”
“Oh.” He sat back, but Sarah didn’t turn to him. Ben had a way of seeing past her words, and she had no intention of telling him how his sister went swimming au naturel last evening while nineteen-year-old Sean Kelly looked on. Shadows and silhouettes notwithstanding, Ben Darcy did not have the humor for any story that involved his sister unclothed within a mile of a teenage boy.
“It’s no great matter,” she said pointedly and gave him a look to match, hoping to hide what he needn’t hear. “A condition we educators would describe as being too young and too full of themselves for their own good.”
Sarah sighed through a brief smile. It wasn’t often now that she thought of herself as the teacher she once was, but remembering always made her smile. She had only been teaching for two years when Ben proposed. It was her mother’s profession, and she came to the calling naturally. He did not ask her to give up her work when fate handed him an eight-year-old girl to raise but she did. The decision was hers, and she looked up at him now without regret.
“Rose says Catie might have actually met someone who matches her own obstinacy.”
He exhaled heavily. “I don’t care whether they get on or not. I just want Catie to occupy her time with something other than taking off on her bicycle for hours at a time with nothing but a damn book as company. It’s not normal, Sarah.”
“Did you not just tell me that Darcys have a tendency to be reserved, that it’s in their nature?”
“Reserved she can be all she wants,” he said a bit more tersely than he intended. “But it’s time she grew up and stopped romanticizing life. She’s not a little girl any longer.”
“You’re right,” Sarah agreed, not to pacify him but because it was true. Not only was Catie prone to melancholy, preferring her own company most of the time, but she was proving to be a rather late bloomer. “But, Bennet . . . ” Sarah started to share these thoughts but was interrupted by a knock on his door. She moved to get up, but he held her in place. “Let go!” she hissed and giggled at the same time, squirming to free herself.
“Oh, let them have their gossip. The last good scandal was weeks ago when that dog ran up and down Kympton Way with old Granny Doyle’s knickers over his head. Ashridge has been as dry as winter grass of late, and Mrs. Darcy all randy in the afternoon will provide well for them, don’t you agree?”
“Bennet!” She swatted at him, but he reared back and she missed.
“Enter!” he called out, laughing low and roguishly in her ear, tightening his hold lest she leap out of his lap.
A maid entered. Janice Kirby. It was all Sarah could do not to visibly cringe. Unmarried and in her mid-thirties, Janice worked for the Darcys three mornings a week. Blushing, Janice ducked her head at the sight them, grinning despite herself. If Ben had hopes of creating gossip, Janice was by far the best vessel. Her father was the village grocer, and when she wasn’t working for the Darcys, she minded his store.
“Yes, Janice?” Sarah spoke with such feigned dignity that she might have mistaken her own voice for some old dowager.
“The man Mr. Darcy asked me to watch for has arrived, madam.” As Janice spoke, Sarah felt Ben grow tense.
“Thank you,” he said as Janice bobbed her head and disappeared through the door.
“What man?” Sarah turned to him, suddenly unconcerned with being rumored as a wanton wife.
“A Mr. Sams. Charles Worthington hired him. All’s well, Sarah, but I must go and speak with him.”
She stood and watched him shrug into his jacket. “Has this to do with that Wesley Howell person?”
“It does,” he answered, tugging at his sleeves. “And hopefully Mr. Sams has some promising news.”
“What sort of man is this Mr. Sams?”
Ben stopped at the door and turned back to her. “The kind I’d prefer to speak with in the drive rather than invite inside the house.”
“Bennet.” Sarah’s brows drew together with concern. “That sounds serious.”
“Don’t worry yourself, darling; he shan’t be here long.”
* * *
From her window seat, Catie Darcy had a lovely view of the front avenue, the lily pond, and the courtyard. The sun rose on the front side of the house, making her room cheery in the mornings and a tranquil refuge in the afternoons — the very reason the room had been chosen for her and many a young woman before her. And she, like so many of them, spent much of her time in the window seat. Centuries of afternoons had been passed there, dreaming of marriage or waiting for a social call from a lover. Today however, Pemberley’s young Miss Darcy listened to music louder than was appreciated and flipped through an American teen magazine that her brother would call “rubbish.”
A car pulled onto the gravel court, and she lifted her head. It was no one familiar, but this wasn’t unusual. Ben often conducted business from the house. She watched as a man got out of the car, but oddly, he didn’t approach. Instead, he looked around as if he was expecting someone and then leaned against the bonnet and lit a cigarette.
Several minutes passed before Ben finally descended the front steps, crossed the drive, and joined the man. Catie quickly reached over and turned off her music, but even with her window pushed fully open, she could hear nothing but muffled voices. So she resumed flipping through her magazine, content to glance down at the men in between pages. Like a watchful owl perched on a high limb, she liked to observe unseen and unnoticed.
The stranger lit one cigarette after another as Ben listened, calmly at first. Then he began to pace. Curious, Catie put the magazine aside and watched more closely. Although the man was still leaning against the car, casually smoking, Ben was now flailing his arms as he spoke. Filled with that strange sense of safeguard that exists between siblings, she jumped down from the window seat and hurriedly made her way downstairs.
A bank of windows stood fully open in the small parlor off of the hall, and she went to them. Sister or not, she couldn’t very well race out to Ben’s side, but she could listen and be there if he needed her.
When Catie reached the windows, she smacked her lips with regret. It was over. Ben was already heading back to the house, bringing a look of sheer rage with him that made her gut tighten. She started to go and meet him, but he stopped and turned back. Then, with a voice more livid than his sister had ever heard, he shouted, “Take care of this, Sams! I don’t give a damn about the money, but I refuse to allow my family’s good name to be tarnished. And furthermore, I’ll be bloody well damned to the devil before I let Pemberley fall into the wrong hands again.”
“Again?” Catie echoed in a whisper.
She was at the parlor door when he came inside the house and her presence surprised him. “Catie! What are you doing there?” Ben’s expression was as hard as his tone.
“I heard shouting. Is everything all right?”
“What did you hear?” he asked, softer but still firm.
“Just shouting,” she said, swallowing the truth. “Who was that man?”
His eyes flicked over her head and into the parlor. “A business associate, no one for you to concern yourself with. Now run along and stop eavesdropping at open windows.”
“I wasn’t,” she said, not caring how insulted she sounded. God, I hate when he treats me like a child. “I heard shouting and thought you might need help.”
Ben studied his sister momentarily. The top of her head had yet to fully reach his shoulder and he easily outweighed her by five stone. “Thank you, Sis,” he said contrite and somewhat amused. “But as you can see, I am quite capable of taking care of myself.” He
raised his wrist and looked at his watch. “Now shouldn’t you be heading off for the stables? I don’t really care to make another round of apologies to young Kelly.”
Staring up at him, Catie made no attempt to move. Annoyed, Ben breathed deep and then released a rush of frustrated air while thoughtfully rubbing the back of his neck, as if he might find there beneath his hairline some better way of dealing with his sister. “Catie, sometimes business and money matters get heated, that is all. Now please do as I say and stop fretting over a few harsh words between men, all right?”
He might as well have given her a lollypop or a pat on the head for all that explanation was worth. But it was all she was going to get, and she knew it. “All right,” she repeated quietly.
“Good. I’ll see you at supper then.” Smiling now, Ben gave her one of his brotherly winks that felt more patronizing than usual, and then he was gone.
Chapter 4
Sean heaved the last two buckets of water over the stall doors with a grunt. By the twelfth trip, the buckets had grown heavy and his arms tired. “Don’t be a glutton now, buachaill,” he warned the aging gelding behind the door. He removed his flat cap to swab a handkerchief over his brow and the back of his neck as the horse whinnied loudly and snorted in response. Sean chuckled and patted an offered nose. “Aye, you like the Gaelic, eh, mo buachaill,” he crooned to the horse. “Perhaps your ancestor was the steed of a great Celtic warrior then? Cùchulainn’s Liath Macha maybe; he was a fine Ulster lad, eh?”
“That the last of it, Kelly?” Clancy asked brusquely. He was a tiny man, a former jockey according to Aunt Rose, but he had a deep and ragged voice, much like Sean’s larger, barrel-chested father.
“Yeah, that’s it.” Sean smiled down at Pemberley’s stable master. Tiny or not, the sixtyish man ran a tight ship — or stable rather. Nothing was out of place, and the cobblestone floor was as clean as the kitchen’s. “Need anything else?” he asked. Clancy was without a groom today, so Sean had graciously filled in. He wasn’t hired to water horses or muck stalls, but the work was familiar to him, and he liked the routine.
Echoes of Pemberley Page 3
