Echoes of Pemberley

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

Outside the stables, Catie noticed Sean was already mounted up and holding Chloe’s reins. “So I’ve improved in my gallop so much I am again enjoying the luxury of stable hands, I see,” she said smugly.

  “Hardly.” He grinned, eyes as bright as his face. “It was getting late, so I saddled your horse for you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “Thank you, by the way,” Catie replied as she stepped up on the mounting block. “Sorry I’m late. I was practicing my piano.”

  “You play?”

  “Yes,” she grunted as she adjusted her stirrups.

  “Do you play well?”

  Sitting back up, she smiled. “Oh, I’m not one for bragging. You must ask your aunt; she was privileged enough to partake of my talents this afternoon.”

  “All right, I will.” Sean’s eyebrows, as coal black as his hair, rose in question. “So, Catie Darcy, where are we going?”

  “Follow me.” She urged Chloe into a strong, even gait as Sean followed, smiling proudly at her skilled, easy canter. Catie Darcy was petite, but by no means was she frail. She descended from a long line of hale and hearty Darcys, and Sean saw from the beginning that hers was a physique that could master her mount and become one with the horse.

  They skirted around Pemberley to a hidden lea between the dwelling and the hills that rose up behind it. Sean took notice of an old, stone chapel attached to the more ancient right wing of the manor. Probably original to the house, he surmised.

  “I was christened there!” Catie called over to him as they rode past stained glass windows, gleaming in the sunlight. “So were the twins and my brother!”

  Once they had passed the chapel, Catie pulled Chloe to a stop. “Sarah thinks Ben should let it out — you know, for weddings and such. But he won’t hear of it. It’s only used for family christenings now.” She dismounted and motioned for him to follow. “Come on.”

  Rising from the ground before them were two stone pillars supporting an elaborate arch adorned with a gilded letter D. Attached to the pillars was a wrought iron gate, the only entrance to a flowing iron fence with sharply pointed pales, defending the graves they surrounded. Sean waited as Catie unlatched the gate and pushed it open. The hinges complained loudly and eerily as if warning the dead of their visitors.

  Once inside the cemetery, Sean realized the graves were perched high on a knoll overlooking a small glen that was filled with bracken and mournful looking weeping willows. “A lovely view for eternity,” he said stupidly. He was nervous but didn’t know why.

  She nodded back to him in agreement as they continued walking, minding graves with their step.

  The age of the cemetery was evident not only by the seventeenth century dates on some of the grave markers, but by the moss and lichen that with time had crept up the stone pillars and discolored the stone.

  Catie sat down on a newer concrete bench facing her parents and slid to one side, inviting him to join her. Sean sat down.

  “My father,” Catie said, giving a nod in the direction of the headstone directly in front of them.

  “And your mother?” he asked, pointing to Margaret Darcy’s name alongside William’s.

  “Yes.” Catie nodded. “I didn’t know her though . . . she died only minutes after giving birth to me.”

  “Sixth of November, that’s your birthday?” She nodded again. “I’m sorry, Catie. It must be difficult for you without her.” A wave of sympathy rushed through Sean as he glanced sideways at her. The bold girl who sat next to him suddenly appeared helpless and alone here amongst the dead. Thank God Aunt Rose was here for her, he thought, fighting the urge to take her into his arms and comfort her.

  She shrugged. “Not as difficult as losing my dad.”

  “How did he die?”

  “In a plane crash. He had just received his pilot’s license. I believe it was only his second or third solo flight.” She sighed and looked at him, smiling. “My daddy was always seeking adventure.”

  “Is your brother much like him?” Sean asked.

  “Yes . . . and no. In some ways he’s exactly like him, but Bennet is not adventurous. He is more, you know . . . more . . . conventional. The most adventure he seeks is on horseback.” She stood and walked over to brush a stray leaf from her parents’ tombstone. “My brother’s life is Pemberley, this house, this land. You know, he was born here in a room just down the hall from mine. And one day he will be buried here.” She gestured to a vacant spot beside her parents that would one day hold her brother’s remains. “He likes that — his roots, his ancestry — all of it seems to mean as much to him as we do.”

  “Oh, I see. It’s you then.” Sean leaned back on the bench and stared up through the trees. The position Catie usually assumed when visiting her father.

  “What is me?” She stepped back close to him.

  “You . . . Catie . . . you are like him, not your brother. You inherited your father’s adventurous spirit.”

  “Yes, I guess you could say that.” She picked up a stick and tossed it through the fence. “Daddy and I were kindred souls in that manner. Sometimes I think that frightens my brother. You know . . . afraid I might fly off in an airplane one day and never come back. Sometimes I think he hates Daddy for that . . . for his adventurous spirit . . . for dying.”

  Nudging his feet aside, Catie settled back on the bench so close their thighs were pressed tightly against each other. She had a sudden need to be close to him.

  Hoping to lighten the sorrow he sensed, Sean knocked his shoulder into hers. “And yet, Catie Darcy, none of this tells me why you don’t like to gallop.”

  “Oh, yeah . . . I fell off of a horse.”

  “Oh, no!” He shook his head laughing. “You aren’t getting off that easy. I want the whole story.”

  “All right, I’ll tell you.” She stood up again and looked down at him. “It was only a month or so after Daddy died. Ben was not himself, mourning probably, but he looked so angry, so . . . troubled, like he could kill someone. He closed Pemberley up like a fortress, even posted a guard at the lodge. As you can imagine, the story of two wealthy orphans was quite the juice.” She had been pacing as she spoke but stopped now to smile awkwardly at him. Sean nodded, so she continued, “Well, for some reason, something to do I guess, Ben decided to focus more strongly on my riding. He had given me the odd lesson here and there but nothing serious.” Catie stopped again and looked at her father’s headstone. Seeing a shudder run through her, Sean got up and took her hand.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly. “You need not tell me anymore. I was an ass for forcing you.”

  “No.” Catie looked up at him, her eyes swimming in grief. “I want to . . . ”

  “All right,” he whispered. “I’m listening.”

  “One day . . . that day, he . . . he smiled. Ben actually smiled. I thought, my God, he’s smiling. ‘A Darcy born if I ever saw one,’ he said as I trotted around the ring, and I thought my guts would burst. He was happy with me, proud. Then it occurred to me, I can make him better. All I have to do is please him.” Catie paused and smiled lopsidedly. “Stupid, I know, but you must remember I was only eight. Well, afterwards, Ben walked me home. It was the first time since Daddy died that I thought, maybe Ben and I will be all right. When we got to the house, he handed me off to Rose and said, ‘An extra biscuit for this champion horsewoman, Rose. She’ll be galloping tomorrow and needs her strength.’ Well of course, I was too filled with excitement to eat, so I refused the snack and . . . ”

  “And . . . you went back to the stables, didn’t you?” Sean interrupted.

  “How’d you know?”

  “My four younger brothers and I grew up on a horse farm, remember. Aside from wee Joseph, each one of us took our turn disobeying Da and heading off alone on our mounts before we had any business doing so.”

  “You did?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He nodded. “And each time one of us did, my father tended promptly to our backsides for it.”

  “So, wee Joseph is t
he brains of the Kelly clan?” she asked, smiling fully now.

  “No.” Sean shook his head and stepped close to her. “Wee Joseph was taught to ride by me, not my father. When Joseph took the notion to mount a horse alone before he knew a head from a tail, it was me he disobeyed.” Sean’s mouth twitched. “His backside was promptly tended to by me.”

  “Poor Joseph,” Catie said, looking at Sean as if he were some Celtic barbarian.

  “Poor Joseph!” he exclaimed. “Poor Joseph received a few smacks that stung his pride more than his bum and skulked off to the house. I, on the other hand, sat in the barn and cried like a baby.”

  “You cried?”

  “Aye, I did. I didn’t want to swat the lad; me da made me do it.” She laughed and he looked offended. “So that’s how it is, is it? I expose myself. I tell you about a sensitive, unmanly moment and you laugh. Thanks.”

  “I don’t think it was unmanly . . . I think it was sweet.”

  “Sweet! Oh, that’s much better.”

  “What I mean is . . . it’s nice to see that there’s more to you than that rigid exterior of yours.” She looked up at him and added softly, “And I happen to like sweet.”

  Seeing her rosebud lips so close to his, Sean’s head instinctively tilted and he lowered his face. He saw her eyes close and her mouth lift upwards. She was accepting him, granting her permission for him to proceed. He could feel her breath on his mouth, he could smell her. God he wanted to kiss her so bloody bad . . . but he couldn’t.

  “So, uh . . . your brother, he . . . uh, he never found out, eh?”

  “Hmm?” Catie opened her eyes and was surprised to see he had stepped away from her. “My brother?”

  “Yeah.” Sean went back over to the bench and sat down. “He never found out you went back to the stables, never knew you went out riding alone.”

  “Oh . . . no, no he didn’t.” Feeling suddenly vulnerable, Catie folded her arms and looked at him. “The horse — not Chloe,” she clarified, “took off wildly when I got her to the clearing. I’ve never been so afraid in all my life. I didn’t think I would ever get her stopped. Then, like she had hit a wall or something, she came to an abrupt halt and I flew out of my saddle like a rag doll.”

  “Were you hurt?” She nodded. “Badly?”

  “No. A few scrapes and bruises. I was lucky. But I couldn’t tell Ben. He might have been angry with me, but I didn’t care about that. It was because I knew he would be disappointed in me.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I hate when he’s disappointed in me. All I wanted to do was to make him smile again.” She fell silent and stared longingly out over the graves.

  Watching her stand motionless like the somber marble angels that surrounded her, Sean knew she needed comfort, but he didn’t dare approach her. If he ever took Catie Darcy in his arms he might never let her go again. She even looked like one of the angels that stood guard over her ancestors, her cherub-like features in the middle of a beautiful and glorious conflict with her encroaching womanhood. He swallowed the thickness that was gathering in his throat.

  “So there,” she turned to him and said with a sudden lightheartedness that stunned and relieved him. “I’ve exposed my most unmanly moment as well. Feel better?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I feel better. Thanks for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome. But please don’t tell Rose.” Catie looked at him pleadingly. “When she saw my injuries, I told her I had fallen off my bicycle. I know it was a dreadful lie, but what else could I have done. If she finds out I’ll never hear the end of it. ”

  “It was eight years ago!” he exclaimed.

  “It wouldn’t matter.” She shook her head. “I burned my mouth with hot coffee when I was about ten, and Rose still tells me, ‘Be careful; it’s hot. Remember when you burned your mouth.’”

  “Well.” Sean got up to leave. “She is my mother’s sister. Now, shall we have another go at that gallop?”

  “Oh, not today, Sean, please.” She grasped his forearm, making it tingle from her touch.

  Breathing evenly to calm the increasingly growing desire, he mustered a stern expression. “All right, have your way. But this is my last unmanly act for this century.”

  She giggled, and they walked back across the cemetery. Near the entrance Catie crouched down in front of a large gravestone and brushed clean the soft green grass in front of it.

  “Who’s that?” Sean asked.

  “Fitzwilliam Darcy and his wife Elizabeth Bennet Darcy. My brother and I were named after them. Elizabeth is my second name.”

  “She died only six months after him.” Sean knelt down to better read the headstone.

  “Yes.” Catie smiled at the names. “The story passed down through the family is that she couldn’t live without him, mourned herself to death. Romantic, eh?”

  “Ah, true love,” he said with mock wistfulness, “a rare find nowadays.”

  “Rare maybe . . . but hopefully not too awfully rare,” she said, brushing her hands clean as she stole a glance at him. “I hope to love someone that much someday . . . you know . . . so much I can’t bear to live without him.”

  Sean held the gate for her to pass and then latched it. He gave her a leg-up onto her mount, and they turned the horses back to the house. The rest of the afternoon was spent riding slow and close . . . talking and laughing, mostly comparing Rose and her sister Emma. Being raised by the sisters wove a common thread between them, lending a kinship of sorts.

  It was after five o’ clock when they arrived back at the stables, so Sean offered to take care of Chloe for her. “It’s late. I’ll tend the horse for you.”

  “Thanks.” Catie handed him the reins. “Well, cheerio, then.”

  He grinned back at her and said, “Slàn leat, Catie.”

  “What’s slàn leat?” she asked.

  “It’s Irish for goodbye or cheerio.”

  “Oh, slàn leat, then.”

  “No.” He laughed. “You’re leaving, I’m staying. So I say, slàn leat and you say, slàn agat.”

  “Slàn agat,” she repeated slowly.

  “That’s right! I’ll make an Irish lass out of you yet.”

  She smiled back and left.

  Entering her room, Catie stopped short when her eyes met with Maggie Reid’s.

  “I . . . er . . . I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to put these things away or not,” Maggie stammered as she pointed to the bags from Catie and Sarah’s earlier shopping trip.

  “No, I’ll put them away,” Catie replied, removing her cardigan.

  “All right, I’ll leave you then.” The thin timid form started out of the room. “Oh, I almost forgot.” Maggie turned around and held out an envelope. “I found this under your night table.”

  Catie glanced at it. It was the letter Mary Darcy Howell had written to her son, Thomas. The last letter from his mother, the one he had not lived long enough to open and read. Catie had forgotten all about it.

  She reached out and took the envelope from Maggie’s hand. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” Maggie replied with a gentle smile and quietly left the room.

  Chapter 18

  For the next several nights, Catie left the house after dark to meet Sean at the pond. These nightly meetings were never planned or spoken of during the afternoon riding lessons, but he was always there, waiting for her. It was exciting and daring, like Mary and Arthur’s river rendezvous.

  Dangling their legs in the cool pond, they laughed and talked, mostly about the future that was so close at hand, sharing each other’s hopes and dreams. Their feet would often touch and purposefully linger. It was like a dream. With Sean by her side, Catie forgot about deceased parents, escaped Ben’s overprotective ways, and never once felt lonely. For some strange reason, with him, she no longer felt like an orphan . . . or a burden.

  When he spoke, she studied him intently. She knew the precise spot on his thigh where the muscle contracted when he swung his leg, how a curl behind his ea
r delicately wrapped itself around the fold just above his lobe, and his night smell — freshly showered and shaven. She loved how the scent of musk from his cheap aftershave would fill the warm evening air and fight for dominance over his breath, which always held a faint tang of the pint he had at the Green Man each evening after work. Everything about Sean Kelly was settling in and taking up residence inside the mind and soul of Catie Darcy.

  When alone, she dreamed of him taking her face in his rough, work-calloused hands and kissing her. She envisioned him pulling her into his strong Irish arms and holding her. Although Catie Darcy had never even been kissed, she wanted Sean Kelly to make love to her. Make love to her the way Arthur had made love to Mary. She wanted to go back to her room and her bed with his scent of aftershave and beer on her, and his soft Gaelic words still fresh in her ear. She would give herself over to him, offer him her precious virginity. All he had to do was ask.

  But he didn’t . . . he didn’t even try to kiss her. Once he reached over to brush a strand of hair from her face, his hand gentle and warm on her cheek. She thought he might kiss her then, but he just stood abruptly and told her it was getting late and sent her home. Catie left more confused than ever.

  By the end of the week a band of summer storms moved into the valley, and Catie awoke Friday morning to a hard rain.

  Wrapped in a blanket to ward off the damp chill, she looked out the window in disgust. Maybe Sean braved the weather and walked up to the house to have tea with Rose, she thought. She threw off the blanket and dressed.

  The kitchen was empty with an odd sense of abandonment that was only exaggerated by the heavy downpour outside. Stepping over to the delivery door, which was wide open to the elements except for a fly screen, she pressed her forehead against the cool metal mesh. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled a mixed metallic tang of sweet summer rain and saturated earth. The noise was deafening as the rain assaulted the gravel and poured off of the house in sheets, smacking down hard on the large entrance stone just outside the door. The soothing, repetitive sound lulled Catie so that she jumped when the motor of the dumbwaiter kicked on behind her, sending the breakfast dishes down to the kitchen. “Relax, Darcy,” she teased herself, shaking her head.