Echoes of Pemberley

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

  At this revelation George pointed gleefully up at his aunt as Sean snickered again. Catie snidely acknowledged, “Yes, George, we know, thank you!”

  Although he was quite enjoying himself, Sean once again offered his help. “Would you like me to try, or are you hoping to share a mouth-washing with Georgie? If my aunt is anything like my mam, she’ll insist on it. If one of us older brothers encouraged a younger’s mischief, we suffered the same consequences — sometimes worse.”

  There was no deliberating, Catie nodded solidly in agreement. Rose could be a tough old bird when she wanted to be.

  Sean crouched down in front of the child and whispered into his ear. Catie tried hard to strain her auditory powers but couldn’t hear what was being said.

  When Sean was finished, he sat back on his heels and questioned, “Do you promise then, no more naughty words?”

  Hands clasped in anticipation, George nodded excitedly as Sean reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an intricately carved, tiny wooden horse and handed it to George.

  George’s eyes widened at his reward, and he flipped the carving around in his hand to give it proper examination.

  “My brother Joseph carved that horse and gave it to me before I came here,” Sean said proudly. “I think he would like you to have it. Joseph named him Misneach, that’s Irish for courage.”

  “Oh, no, you mustn’t give him that,” Catie said. “He has more toys than any child could ever want. George, give that back to Sean.”

  With a defying glare, the boy tucked the little horse behind his back.

  “George,” Catie started, but Sean stopped her.

  “It’s okay, really. George, you can keep it. I have many more at home.”

  With this assurance, George took off running to the house before his aunt could make any further demands for the little horse’s return.

  Suddenly alone, several seconds of uncomfortable silence filled the space between Sean and Catie. Fearing conversation, or rather the topic, she thanked Sean for his help with George and started to take her leave, but he reached out and gently grasped her arm. She looked at the point of his hold and raised her eyes to his.

  Sean paused. He loved her eyes, the way she looked at him, sometimes over her shoulder, sometimes with a slight tilt to her head. Blue eyes with sporadic bursts of green as if God couldn’t quite decide and left them in that ambiguous state. They were enchanting. He released her arm and said a bit awkwardly, “I was just going to tell you . . . that if . . . if you want, you could come ’round early this afternoon. You know, to make up for the time you missed yesterday.”

  She lowered her head and spoke to her fingers that were nervously intertwining themselves in and out of each other. “All right, I can come early.”

  He struggled not to reach out and lift her face to his once again. “About two o’clock then?”

  Catie nodded, so Sean turned and left.

  * * *

  Two o’clock on the dot Catie arrived. She went straight to the task of saddling Chloe, glancing at Sean often as he settled Thunder in his stall. When finished, she sat in the schooling ring for nearly half an hour waiting on him, beginning to get annoyed. Finally he called out from the other side of the fence. “Come along then, we’ve not got all day!”

  She looked at him puzzled but urged Chloe out of the gate.

  Sean hadn’t allowed her any serious riding after Catie had refused to share the reason for her fear of galloping. He hadn’t told her this exactly, but Catie was keenly aware that she had not been taken out of the schooling ring since.

  They walked along in silence as the high grass of summer swayed in the breeze below them, giving Catie a light, floating sensation. She ventured a few glances at him, but their eyes always met. So she tried forcing herself to stop.

  “Are we going to practice galloping?” she asked as they rode in the direction of the flats, giving her a slight spark of triumph.

  “Yes, I believe if a person is brave enough to turn their back to a gun, that person should be able to pick up a little speed on a horse.”

  Catie pulled Chloe to an abrupt stop. “How did you know about that?”

  “Everybody knows. That story has been told over and over again the last 24 hours.” Sean pulled his horse alongside hers. “And by the way, I think it showed real misneach.”

  Stunned, Catie asked, “Misneach, courage?”

  “Aye.” Sean nodded, smiling.

  “Maybe you feel it showed courage, but my brother didn’t. Ben only sees what I did, or didn’t do rather — never mind my reasons. God, I hate that he treats me like a child.” It felt good to complain. It felt unshackling, like talking to the tombstones.

  A lopsided smile curled up Sean’s face, and his Irish accent became heavy. “Oh, stop yer gripin’, lass. Me da would have warmed the back of me britches good had I paid him no mind like that. I’d not be sittin’ so comfortable in my saddle today if I were you.”

  “Don’t tease me! You said I showed courage. Did you mean it or not?”

  Sean thought carefully before responding. “If I said it . . . I meant it. You did what you thought was right, but in the same respect so did your brother.”

  “You can’t have it both ways,” Catie argued. “Either I was right or he was right!”

  Narrowing his eyes, Sean moved his horse close to hers. He didn’t bear the same irritated expression he had the last time he made such an advance, but she eyed him cautiously.

  “Catie Darcy, you cannot go through life on the assumption that, as long as you are doing what is right, there will be no consequences. Not only must you choose your course of action, you must accept whatever comes of that choice. If you knew you were going to upset your brother, would you have done differently?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “There you go then.”

  “Is everything so bloody simple to you . . . so black and white?” Catie rebutted crossly. “Do you find nothing complicated?”

  “Oh, aye!” Sean grinned. “I find many things complicated.”

  “Name one!” she demanded.

  “You.”

  “Me!”

  “Yes, you. When I first met you, I thought you were spoiled, insolent, and selfish. But now . . . well, now I’ve discovered that you aren’t so selfish after all. It’s not very often my first impressions are wrong.”

  “What about spoiled and insolent?”

  Sean kicked his horse into a quick canter and began calling back instructions on the proper seat for galloping. “Remember, forward seat . . . and hover over the saddle . . . ”

  Catie rolled her eyes, shook her head, and followed.

  Chapter 14

  “Bennet Darcy, I have been looking everywhere for you!” Sarah said, walking into the kitchen.

  “Well, here I am.”

  “Why are you down here in the kitchen?”

  “I’ve come to speak with you . . . .and Rose.” He nodded to Rose, who was pouring out cups of tea.

  “I was looking for you for the same reason.” She smiled, delighted. “I have something to ask you.”

  Twice Ben and Sarah began speaking at the same time, but he finally conceded to his chuckling wife. “Please, go ahead.”

  “I am having my ladies’ luncheon in the orangery on Friday and was hoping you would come down and say a few words. It would be the perfect venue for you to announce the reopening of Pemberley and its gardens to the public next summer.”

  Ben looked appalled. “You want me to speak at a ladies’ luncheon? Indeed not! Feel free to make the announcement yourself, but I have no desire to attend a ladies’ luncheon.”

  “There is no call for such condescension, Bennet! What have the fine women of Derbyshire done to deserve such an adamant rejection?”

  “The fine women of Derbyshire have done nothing. I do not have the talent of public speaking, Sarah; you know that, least of all to a room full of chatty women.” Ben pulled at his collar as if it were chok
ing him. “I have agreed to make the announcement at the garden party, nowhere else. On this matter I am fixed,” he declared with finality, hoping to avoid any further attempts at coercion.

  Avoid he did but not without an exaggerated, “harrumph!” from his wife.

  Rose, being the ever so diligent keeper of peace, interjected, “Did you need to speak to us about something?”

  “Oh . . . yes!” He seemed to have lost focus. “I would like to recommend Mark Philips and his wife Annie to fill the Ledfords’ place. It would mean both a higher wage and a larger house for the couple. I understand they hope to start a family soon. Of course, it would also mean replacing Annie, but Mr. Reid’s daughter, Maggie, is in want of a position, and I believe she could nicely fill Annie’s post.”

  Sarah and Rose immediately locked concerned eyes.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No, Bennet, of course Rose and I would want nothing more than for Mark and Annie to take the other position. However . . . ” Sarah paused and glanced apprehensively at Rose.

  “However what?”

  “Well, Annie attends to Catie when she is home from school, and her success with your sister has been . . . extraordinary to say the least.”

  “I can see no reason why Maggie can’t attend to her needs just as well,” Ben argued. “Catie no longer requires supervision.”

  “Bennet, need I remind you of the number of different caregivers she has gone through over the years? Granted she is older now, but I fear this change may be a difficult one for her.”

  “And for us!” Rose chimed in as Sarah nodded a worried agreement in her direction.

  “Good Lord.” Ben shook his head. “You women do have a tendency to over-egg the pudding!”

  “I beg your pardon.” Rose sounded as indignant as Sarah looked.

  “What I meant, Rose, is . . . don’t worry so . . . ma’am,” he added the “ma’am” for good measure.

  “Oh, off with you!” Rose gave Ben a pardoning shoo from the kitchen.

  “Er . . . what shall I tell Mr. Reid?” he turned back from the door and asked warily.

  “You can tell Mr. Reid that we women will egg the pudding as we see fit.” Sarah’s mahogany brows arched expressively.

  Ben opened his mouth but then closed it, nodded, and left the kitchen.

  * * *

  Pemberley’s orangery was built in the early eighteen hundreds by Fitzwilliam Darcy for his wife, Elizabeth, on their fifth wedding anniversary. However, by the end of World War II, the building had fallen into disrepair. When Ben married Sarah, he had the dilapidated orangery demolished and a new one built on the sight as a wedding gift for his new wife. Gardening was as much a passion to his bride as horses were to Ben, and he thought the new orangery would be a most befitting welcome for Sarah.

  The day before her luncheon, Sarah was in the orangery with two gardeners making the final touches. The long glass conservatory had the appearance of a tropical forest. The sounds of fountains permeated throughout, and a fragrant humidity filled the air. She was pruning one of her beloved lemon trees when Catie entered through one of the large wooden doors.

  The girl’s attempts to be interested in both Sarah’s gardening skills and the upcoming luncheon did not fool her. Sarah was far too wise to be duped into believing Catie’s company was only for conversation. But she entertained Catie until the true purpose of her visit surfaced.

  “Oh, Sarah!” Catie cried dreamily, hands clapped together in exuberance with an expression to match. “How wonderful it looks in here!”

  “Thanks,” Sarah replied as she continued to snip branches.

  “Though this orangery is not as big as the original one, I do believe it’s much more intimate and romantic. Would you not agree?” Catie climbed upon a wrought iron bench and plopped herself onto its backrest.

  Sarah, who was more than unconvinced with the wistful speech, dourly responded, “Catherine, please sit on that bench like a proper young lady. There are gardeners about.”

  “Oh . . . yes, Sarah, of course.” Catie slid obediently to the seat.

  This was a bit too cooperative, making Sarah stop her work and stare inquisitively at the younger woman. She couldn’t help but think that, if she were a harp, her strings were being deliberately plucked. “All right, Catie, what is it that you want?” she finally asked.

  “Want? Whatever do you mean, Sarah?”

  “I mean, you are in want of something, so stop trying to butter me up and just ask me whatever it is you came to ask me.”

  “Well . . . er . . . now that you mention it, I was going to ask you something. Do you not think it would be polite to invite Sean Kelly to the garden party? Rose always attends, and I thought he might enjoy a party.”

  “My, my . . . this is a change of attitude. Last I heard, you considered him to be arrogant and bossy.”

  “Weellll . . . he is awfully bossy. But then again, Sarah, all men can be rather impossible at times. It really shouldn’t be a reason not to invite him.”

  Sarah chuckled. Sean Kelly’s youth and rugged good looks hadn’t escaped her when he arrived. So much so, she had an initial twinge of worry that Catie might develop a schoolgirl crush on her handsome riding instructor, but the worries quickly subsided with Catie’s constant complaining about Sean Kelly’s strict manner and superior attitude. These complaints had recently diminished somewhat, however, and Sarah couldn’t help but wonder if her earlier concern should now be warranted. She questioned, “Catie, you aren’t developing feelings for Sean, are you?”

  “Why, Sarah . . . whatever do you mean?”

  “Catie Darcy, your brother might buy that innocent schoolgirl act, but I know better. I was sixteen once myself, and it was not all that long ago!”

  Catie blushed at the question. “Sean and I are nothing more than friends. You’re right. I didn’t like him at all at first, but now that I have gotten to know him better . . . he’s . . . well, he’s not so bad.”

  Being only thirty years of age, Sarah had not completely forgotten the pangs of youthful infatuation. She smiled sweetly, sat on the bench, and nestled Catie under her right arm. “I do think it would be polite to invite Sean. I shall make him out a proper formal invitation at once.”

  Catie sprang up cheerfully. “Thanks, Sarah!”

  “Catie,” Sarah said softly, taking the girl’s hands into her own. “You know . . . I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

  “Yes, I know.” She squeezed Sarah’s hands reassuringly and rushed off, her mission accomplished. On her way out, Catie broadsided her brother on his way in.

  “Catie, watch where you’re going!” Ben dislodged his sister from his chest.

  “Sorry, Ben,” she apologized, giggling, as the two fell into an impassable side step of each other. Ben finally stopped, took his sister by the shoulders, and gently moved her to one side. “Er . . . sorry again,” she said without giggling this time.

  “It’s all right, Sis, just slow down.” Patting her shoulder, Ben sent her on her way.

  Catie had been weighing heavily on Ben’s mind of late. The afternoon he had left her crying in her room troubled him still. In all of his years as a doting brother never had he been as severe with Catie as he was that day. Not a minute went by that afternoon that he didn’t think guiltily of her sitting alone, crying in her room.

  The morning she came to him in his study, he would have liked to wrap her in his arms and apologize for being such a brute. But he didn’t. “A history of sound discipline has served England for centuries, Bennet Fitzwilliam.” His grandfather’s voice rang hard in his ears. Ben’s life had been one of structure and obedience. Whether at home or school, his father or grandfather, a prefect or teacher, Ben Darcy had had a typical English upbringing. He had learned to toe the line.

  His father had been whimsical, followed his fancies and where did it get him? He died, basically killed himself in his recklessness, and left his already motherless children fatherless as well. Ben’s
jaw tightened as the resentment rose suddenly and then receded, as predictable as the tide.

  It wasn’t his father’s fault, he told himself. Catie’s tears had wrenched him since her arrival home from the hospital. Those first days of her life at Pemberley, crying out for a mother who would never come, caused a much younger Ben to heave his supper one night. He had to harden himself to those cries early on. He had to be her rock, not some weakling that spilled his supper over a crying baby. He would make her strong, capable of taking on whatever else this cruel world had to throw at her. He would see to it that she was the Darcy his mother and father would have wanted — would have raised themselves had they lived to do so.

  Sarah was right. Catie was growing up, becoming a woman. Her very appearance was evidence of it. Seeing her as the perpetual little sister, her brother had not noticed Catie’s maturity for the most part until Mr. Ledford’s indecent actions made him wake up and take notice.

  “What is going on with her hair, Sarah?” Ben asked approaching his wife.

  “Whose hair, darling?” Sarah responded somewhat distractedly, never looking up from her work.

  “Catie’s hair, she wears it down constantly now. Why would she be doing that?” He glanced worriedly in the direction of Catie’s departure.

  Sarah shrugged. “She probably just wants to look a little older.”

  He frowned. “Whatever for?”

  Annoyed, Sarah again stopped her work and rested her gloved hands on her hips. “Did you come all the way out here to discuss your sister’s hair, darling?”

  “No, of course not, I came out here to discuss your luncheon.”

  “Oh . . . ” Sarah cried excitedly. “Have you decided to speak?”

  “Certainly not, I have come to speak to you concerning Catie.”

  “Catie?”

  “Yes . . . I . . . I . . . ”

  “You what?”

  Ben was dead serious. “I believe in the not-so-distant future my sister may start to develop an interest in . . . in boys, Sarah.”

  She snorted and laughed at the same time, quickly covering her face with a glove in embarrassment.