* * *
Waiting for her supper, Catie read through Thomas and Mary’s letters fairly rapidly, as there was only a handful. Thomas apparently was in Africa less than a year when he contracted and succumbed to malaria. Whatever “weak constitution” his mother was referring to must have made his recovery impossible.
In reading, she learned that a religious mission is what took Thomas to Africa. Catie discovered Thomas Howell was a man of strong faith. His untimely death was a shame — a waste of a life with true purpose. From his letters, she thought she would have liked to have known her distant cousin, the man who should have been the current master of Pemberley instead of her brother.
The last letter his mother sent to him was sent back to her unopened. Evidently it arrived too late. Catie held the unopened envelope up to the light as she considered and reconsidered whether to open it or not. Fate intervened, at least for now, for Annie had returned with food, and Catie was suddenly violently hungry. She tossed the unopened letter into a scatter of other distractions that had entertained her throughout the afternoon and sat at her writing table to eat.
Annie had strict instructions from Rose to make sure Miss Catie ate properly. The earlier sandwich had been picked at; only the biscuits had received proper attention. Catie rolled her eyes. “I swear that woman creates full time occupation for herself by monitoring what I eat!”
Annie smiled at the complaint and started out, but Catie stopped her. “Where are you going? Aren’t you supposed to make sure I eat?
“I have a few other things to do before I leave tonight,” Annie said. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“But . . . can’t you stay for a few minutes?” Catie asked, not really wanting to eat alone. Annie hesitated, so she implored further, “Please stay, Annie. Was your father never impossible?”
Annie chuckled and took an empathetic step back into the room. “All men can be impossible, Miss Catie. Fathers, brothers, and, since I have been married for almost a year now, I can attest to you that husbands can also be quite impossible.”
“Then I shall never marry!” Catie stated boldly and started to eat.
Annie laughed. “We are not such easy creatures ourselves, remember. The secret to a good marriage is the ability to tolerate each other’s difficult ways. One day soon a young man will catch your eye, and no matter how impossible he may be, you’ll be blind to his imperfections.”
Annie’s speech restored a smile to Catie’s face, and Annie warmed to see it. The girl had actually grown on her over the last couple of years. There was a tender side to Catie Darcy with which few were acquainted.
Annie stayed and talked while Catie ate a hearty portion of creamed potatoes and roasted chicken. When she finished, Annie said her goodnights and left with the tray as Catie moved back to the bed.
The warm meal and hot bath were starting to have the effect Rose had predicted. Fighting heavy eyes, Catie found a cool place on her pillow and let her thoughts drift to Mary, Arthur, and Sean Kelly.
What was Sean doing right then? Did he know she had been sent to her room? Her eyes shut tight with embarrassment at the thought of it — most likely. She had missed her riding lesson; surely Rose would have told him why. She envisioned him alone at the gardener’s cottage, his big smile and blue eyes the color of cornflowers. Finding peace in the vision of him, Catie soon drifted off to sleep.
* * *
By the time the Darcys reemerged from the front parlor, supper had been served to Catie and the twins. George’s fever had faded, and he and Geoffrey were watching television. After looking in on their sons, Ben and Sarah crossed the landing to the family’s bedrooms.
The sight they encountered on the other side of Catie’s door made them shake their heads in unison. Every light in the room was on, and the floor and bed were scattered with papers, magazines, and crude sketches of horses. Sound asleep amidst it all was Catie. It looked as though she had been in the middle of some very important business and simply passed out.
Sarah took up the job of settling her into the bedcovers, while Ben loosely brought the scatter on the bed into an unorganized pile. Amongst Catie’s clutter was Mary Darcy’s unopened letter to her son, Thomas. It went unnoticed by Ben and was haphazardly stacked with the rest of the papers on Catie’s bedside table.
Gazing upon Catie’s sleeping face, Sarah frowned regretfully. “Oh, I hate she’s fallen asleep already.” Sarah had been raised in a home where you did not go to bed with matters unfinished and had convinced Ben to speak with his sister tonight.
“This is between brother and sister, Sarah; don’t worry yourself. We’ll iron out our winkles in the morning.”
His wife nodded and smiled at the sleeping girl. “I do hope we have a daughter this time, Bennet.”
“Sarah Darcy!” Ben feigned surprise. “Are you with child?”
Sarah raised a mischievous eyebrow. “For a man who claims to have knowledge of everything that goes on under the roof of Pemberley, surely you are mindful of your own transgressions, sir.”
“Oh! A transgression you call it!” he said a little too loudly, which caused a cross look to spread over Sarah’s face and a finger to be brought to her lips.
“Shhh, you’ll wake her.”
Ben stood tall, folded his arms, and narrowed his eyes. “You may have as many children as you wish, Mrs. Darcy, as long as you give me sons. No daughters — I forbid it.”
Sarah chuckled quietly. “So am I to understand that you have taken up the high office of determining the gender of our children? I’d say that’s a pretty big leap for a mere self-proclaimed pew sitter like yourself, Mr. Darcy.”
Together they turned off the lights and left the room in each other’s embrace. “So, um, do you fancy a little transgressing, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked as he closed Catie’s door softly behind him.
Sarah tilted her gaze up at him with a seductive sparkle in her eye. “I don’t believe that is the proper use of that word, Bennet.”
“Oh, you’re quite right!” he said softly, grinning wolfishly. “There will be nothing proper about it . . . let me assure you.”
Chapter 13
Talking to tombstones had been a long-abandoned, childhood habit of Catie’s. But there she was, lying flat on her back on an ornate bench, staring at puffy white clouds, speaking at ease with the dead.
“He doesn’t want me to have a mind of my own, Dad. I am never to question his authority or think for myself. He tells me to grow up and then sends me to my room like a child. And Daddy.” Catie sat up and looked at her father’s headstone. “I am far too old to be sent to my room!”
In the first years after her father’s death, Catie would seek justice in the Darcy family cemetery. Whenever she and her brother were at odds, she would go to her father and tell her side of the story, just as she had done when he was alive. What brought her there today she couldn’t say. Was it the word “burden” Ben used that caused her to seek the comfort of her father? Or perhaps, it was how close she came to joining her ancestors. Whatever the reason, as soon as she reestablished her freedom, the cemetery was her first stop.
After spending an uncomfortable amount of time clutched in Rose’s bosom, listening to how she frayed her poor nerves, Catie’s reprieve from Rose’s hold came in the form of a call from her brother. She had been expecting his summons all morning. Not only had she expected it — she was prepared for it.
In the wee hours before daylight, tossing and turning in her bed, Catie had decided to uphold the proverbial routine they had found so easy over the years. She would tell him what he wanted to hear, not what was in her heart and mind. This was becoming more and more difficult, but her motives were weighty and complicated.
For the entirety of her young life, Catie’s love and admiration for her brother were enduring. However, after the ordeal at the Ledfords, the devoted sister added debt to this list. Her indebtedness to him — beyond calculation; she owed Ben.
Not only did he save her life, but
when her world caved in eight years earlier, it was Ben who picked up the pieces. Burden or not, he picked them up. His loyalty to his sister was commendable and steadfast, and she, in return, would repay that loyalty. So she went to him ready with an apology and full of the promises she knew would appease him. Catie wondered whether this was how George felt — a life trapped in Geoffrey’s shadow, never having the courage to step out and stand in his own light.
“Good form, Catherine,” Ben replied softly when she had finished. Of course he realized that she was placating him. He himself had stood on the other side of that desk many times, gut churning before his father or grandfather, employing the same consolatory tactics. But like Catie, he had a strong desire to be on even terms again.
He excused his sister with a brotherly wink, not yet daring to seek affection from the rigid form before him. She hadn’t mentioned the heated words they had exchanged the day before, but she was angry. He could feel it like static — unseen but prickly. And why shouldn’t she be? Like she said, he wasn’t her father. Ben just hoped his sister wouldn’t implement a long drawn out installment of the silent treatment as she was known to do after any perceived injustice.
Thankfully, this didn’t appear to be the case as halfway to the door she stopped, turned around and addressed him again. “Bennet?”
“Yes, Catie,” he answered in a hopeful tone.
“I just wanted to say thank you . . . you know . . . for everything.” Ben looked oddly at her. But before he had the opportunity to question the reason for such gratitude, Catie turned again and left.
It was then that she took her grievances and complaints to the high court of the departed. Which was most likely what goaded her to the cemetery in the first place, the luxurious freedom to speak freely. Catie placed flowers on both her father’s and mother’s graves and left.
As she happened by the stables, not completely by accident, her feelings were mixed between whether she wished or feared Sean Kelly to be there. Although the thought of seeing him caused her chest to tingle, she knew avoiding him completely was clearly not an option.
Fortune was finally playing in her favor again. Sean Kelly was not only there but working with the twins, allowing Catie the pleasure of observing him unnoticed. Her fortune was not to be long enjoyed, though. Geoffrey caught sight of his aunt and waved. Catie smiled faintly and returned the gesture, and then turned away for a quick, hopefully unnoticed, escape.
“Catie!” Sean called out.
Her back to him, Catie screwed her eyes shut. She would have preferred Ben lock her in the old bell tower and feed her nothing but stale bread and Mr. Johnston’s day old-tasting milk for the remainder of the summer instead of facing him. She took a deep breath, pasted on what she hoped was a natural-looking smile, and turned back.
Her approach lifted Sean’s heart, and her smile made him hopeful that she and Mr. Darcy had settled their differences. He took a deep breath, inhaling the heady scents of stable, hay, and horse and cautioned himself. He had tried to pretend it was the warm season or maybe just the romance of their surroundings, any feasible reason that he was frequently and unwittingly lost in thoughts of Catie Darcy.
The night at the pond when he first laid eyes on her was often conjured up in his quiet moments. The moonbeams, filtered by the thick summer canopy, had illuminated her. She had reached to the sky, as if offering her lean, naked body to the gods. He remembered hearing his own heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he watched in the black silence of his cover. He couldn’t move or divert his eyes from the beautiful siren that held him rapt. Much like now. Snap out of it man, he reproached himself.
By the time Catie reached the three, Sean had taken George off his pony and was handing him over to her. “If you don’t mind, hold little Georgie for me. Geoffrey wants to pick up his pace a bit.” His smiled at her through a face glistening from exertion.
“No, Mr. Kelly, I don’t mind.” Catie took George and nestled him on her hip.
Sean grimaced and shook his head. “Could you please stop calling me Mr. Kelly? It makes me feel as old as my father.”
“But . . . I thought you said . . . ”
“Oh, the mister thing,” he said, waving a dismissing hand. “That was only craic. I really never believed you would carry on with it for so long.”
“Craic?” she repeated questioningly.
“That’s Irish for fun. You know, like a good joke.” Laughing at the indignant expression that was spreading quickly over Catie’s face, Sean took hold of Geoffrey’s lead. “How ’bout it, mate, fancy a good go?” Geoffrey nodded gamely, so Sean bellowed with his usual vibrant energy. “Well, man, let’s hear an aye, sir, then!”
“Aye, sir!” the child yelled out eagerly.
Feeling bested yet again, Catie uttered smartly under her breath, “Maybe I’ll just call you an insufferable ass . . . Mister Kelly!”
The comment was of course meant for her alone, but George, who was still propped on Catie’s hip, smiled largely and repeated, “Insus . . . a . . . ble ass.”
Mouth open in disbelief, Catie gasped dramatically and dropped the boy to the ground. George Darcy had never echoed anyone but his brother. Had it not been for the naughty word he chose to repeat, Catie would have been thrilled. But as it was, she couldn’t very well allow him to use such language. “No . . . no, George, naughty word!” she scolded.
George’s chin rose in challenge and he repeated, “Insus . . . able ass!”
“George!” Catie scolded again, but the child only said the words again, smiling widely as he did so. Apparently he was enjoying himself.
The sight of Catie wagging her finger caught Sean’s attention, and he slowed Geoffrey’s canter. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing!” Catie grumbled.
“It is something! You are telling off wee Georgie, plain as day.”
Instinctively bringing her arms into a huffy fold, Catie replied, “He repeated something I said. That’s all.”
Sean smiled warmly as he squatted down to George’s level. “Good for you, mate! Tell Sean what Auntie said.”
Standing above Sean, Catie began a vigorous campaign of head shaking to keep her young nephew from sharing, but George smiled again, almost evilly this time, and pronounced quite boldly, “Insusable ass!”
“George Fitzwilliam Darcy!” Catie shrieked.
Sean stood and faced her. “You know, Georgie, I believe I’ve heard that endearment before.”
Cheeks glowing a rosy pink, Catie stuttered, “I . . . er . . . I wasn’t expecting him . . . It’s just . . . Well! He’s never repeated me before!”
“He has done that a few times with me lately as well.” Sean raised a disapproving brow, leaned close to her, and whispered, “But fortunately my language is not quite so vulgar.”
Catie saw that the corners of his mouth were fighting a considerable grin, and she giggled. Her giggle broke his grin free, and it spread and lit his face.
An hour later as the foursome walked back to the house, George, holding tightly to Sean and Catie’s hands, swung out his feet every few steps, begging the two for a high swing. They obliged, but George shook his head with displeasure.
“Sorry, George,” Catie said apologetically. “I’m swinging as high as I can.”
“Give me your hands, Georgie,” Sean offered. “I’ll give you a good go ’round.”
Catie watched as Sean granted each of the twins several high twirling spins, enjoying their squeals of laughter as their feet left the ground. Although she knew he had the strength, she fought off the improper urge to ask for a turn. Decorum had often been the ruin of enjoyment for Catie Darcy. She knew roughhousing on the lawn with her riding instructor would never be proper behavior.
The sight of the house was encouragement for Geoffrey to run ahead; he knew a snack would be waiting for him, and the boy had the appetite of a man. George, who normally followed his brother everywhere, uncharacteristically lingered behind.
&
nbsp; “George,” Catie looked down and questioned. “Are you not ready for a biscuit?”
“Insusable ass!” was her nephew’s reply. It appeared that these were the only words he was now willing to say.
A concerned look spread over Catie’s face, taking her color with it. “George!” she said worriedly.
“Give me a go,” Sean said. “The lad listens well to me.”
“No!” Catie dismissed. “He is my nephew and he will do as I say!” She deliberately displayed a very cross look, folded her arms and declared, “George Darcy, if you use that naughty word again, I am going to drag you by the ear straight to your mother!”
To Catie’s surprise George mimicked her every movement, including the cross look and said, “Insus-able ass!”
After gasping another fair amount of air for effect, Catie attempted to resolve the problem by worsening George’s consequence. This time, however, she placed her hands firmly on her hips and put a more serious tone to her voice. “George! Do not say that word again or I shall take you to Rose, and she does not allow little children to say naughty words! She’ll clean your mouth with soap, and trust me . . . it isn’t pleasant . . . I know!”
All of Catie’s efforts made no difference to George, who again mimicked her every movement and repeated the ill-fated remark.
While watching this display of wills between the two Darcys, Sean snickered annoyingly in the background.
“Will you stop laughing?” Catie turned on him, frustrated. “It isn’t helping!”
“Sorry,” Sean said, trying hard to suppress his merriment. “You, Catie, are in what I would call a conundrum.”
“A what?” Catie asked perturbed.
“A conundrum,” Sean repeated. “It’s a puzzle or problem with no easy solution. You can’t very well tattle-tell on Georgie when it was you who taught him the naughty word.”
Weighing his logic, Catie tapped a deliberating finger on her chin in agreement. “This is true. The first question they will ask is where did he learn such a word?”
Echoes of Pemberley Page 15
