Echoes of Pemberley (13 page)

Catie sat up and said dramatically, “Have you offered Aiden Hirst my dowry, Brother? Is he to be my husband?”

“Must you always be smart?”

“Sorry.” She surrendered, wanting to keep on his good side. “So, what did the nice lad want?”

“He came bearing a dinner invitation to Ardsley this evening.”

“Did you accept?” she asked worriedly.

Ben’s brow furrowed. “No, I had to decline. Sarah and I already have dinner plans for this evening. Why are you acting so concerned?”

“I’m not concerned,” Catie replied as coolly as possible.

“Good, because I returned the invitation for this Friday night,” he said. “And I would prefer, dear sister, that you leave the serving of young Aiden’s dinner to the staff.”

“Yes, Bennet,” she acquiesced softly, obediently, so obedient in fact that her brother gave her a wry smile.

“What did you want, Catherine?”

“Want?”

“I assume you brought me my lunch for a reason. What is it?” he asked as he reached over and moved the tray in front of him.

“I’m just bored.” She slumped back in the chair again. “Will this rain ever cease?”

Ben studied her for a moment. He was busy and considered sending his sister on her way. But he did have to eat and so decided to entertain her for a few minutes. “You could be practicing your instruments. I haven’t heard you play at all this summer.”

“I’m not
that
bored!”

Ben pointed at her with his spoon. “That attitude is the reason I’m left with nothing to do but stand by and listen while Donald Tillman prattles on and on about Audrey and all her accomplishments on the violin.”

Offended, Catie sat up again. “That’s not fair, Bennet! Audrey’s mother is a professional. Audrey was
born
with talent!”

“And your grandmother on Mother’s side was a concert pianist! But that makes no difference. One does not inherit talent, Catherine. It is earned through diligent practice.”

“The only thing Audrey Tillman practices is how to be a ridiculous flirt!” Catie argued, with instant regret. What her brother derived from her attack on Audrey Tillman she did not know because she wouldn’t dare look at him. But from the lack of sound, she could tell that he had stopped eating. Catie only hoped he would not relate her criticism of Audrey in any way to Sean Kelly and thought it best to move the conversation in another direction.

“Speaking of inherit, do you remember the story Daddy would tell us about Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet?”

Ben had not caught up with the discussion, as Catie’s offensive remark did give him pause. Then he said, “How could I possibly not remember? I must have suffered through Dad telling you that story a million times. What of it?”

“Rosings Park . . . from the story, I think I remember Daddy saying that Grandfather Geoffrey had been raised there?” That was of course a lie but an unavoidable one, she rationalized.

Ben looked at his sister briefly then stated with a frankness that surprised her. “Both Father and Grandfather were born to that manor, Catherine, not this one . . . not Pemberley.”

“What?” She was both shocked and confused. “But . . . then, how did we end up here?”

Ben exhaled a long sigh while in his mind he tried to shorten an explanation that was many generations long. “After old Lady Catherine died, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy renewed their relations with Fitzwilliam’s cousin, Anne de Bourgh. By then the Darcys had two sons. Their youngest, Geoffrey, was a favorite of his mother’s and quickly became a favorite of Anne de Bourgh’s as well. Like his mother, Geoffrey Darcy had a kind heart and traveled to Rosings Park on several occasions to comfort Anne through her illnesses. In turn Anne became so attached to Geoffrey that when she died she willed her estate and holdings to him. She had no heirs of her own and — ”

“And she knew he was a second son and would receive very little from his own father’s estate,” Catie said, comprehending. Although her parents had set aside a comfortable inheritance for their daughter, the bulk of her parent’s wealth would stay with her brother for Pemberley’s safekeeping.

“Yes,” Ben replied softly. “She did.”

“Then we, you and I, are the descendants of Geoffrey, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth’s second son?”

“Yes,” Ben affirmed as his sister gazed around her surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. She met his eyes again with a questioning look that he answered immediately. “Grandfather inherited Pemberley after World War II, Catherine.”

“Then what happened to Rosings Park?”

“He sold it.”

“Why?” she asked but before Catie could get her answer, there was a small rap at the door.

“Enter,” Ben called out.

The door opened and a maid took a couple of steps inside the study and announced, “Mr. Charles Worthington has arrived, sir.”

“Thank you. Please inform Mrs. Darcy.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied and left, closing the door behind her.

“Come along, Catie, Charles hasn’t seen you since Christmas, and I’m sure he’ll want to say hello.” Ben stood up and shrugged into the jacket that was hanging on the back of his chair.

Catie’s mind raced with this new information as she walked alongside Ben to the drawing room. “Ben,” she finally spoke, “I still don’t understand.”

“If you’re truly interested in the Darcy family history, Catherine, there are volumes in the library that will assist you.” Ben told his sister where she could find the records but warned, “However, some of the books are very old and must be handled with extreme care.”

Catie nodded so gravely that Ben chuckled. “Relax, Sis, they’re not the Dead Sea Scrolls.” He put an affectionate hand on her shoulder and led her into the drawing room.

Sarah was already seated and talking to Mr. Worthington when Ben and Catie arrived. It was only in the last six months that Charles Worthington had replaced Horace Harold as Ben’s chief legal advisor. Uncle Horace, as Catie called him, was her godfather and had been a great condolence to the Darcy siblings in the years since their father’s death. Until recently that is. Catie knew that Ben had had a falling out with Uncle Horace. Tensions between the two men were obvious when the Darcys spent Easter with the Harolds. It may have been unfair of Catie, but she blamed Charles Worthington for the rift. Still, he was a guest and courtesy was expected, so she entered the drawing room wearing a pleasant smile.

Though not overly handsome, Charles Worthington was a nicely built man with a thick head of brownish-blond hair that curled in odd places. He dressed extremely well and always reeked heavily of cologne. “Ben Darcy!” He stood when he saw Ben and Catie. “Who is this young woman next to you? I don’t believe I recognize her.”

“It’s me, Mr. Worthington . . . Catie,” she replied, giggling sweetly at his joke, though she inwardly moaned. Many of her brother’s friends and business associates liked to play silly games with her as if she were incapable of carrying on an intelligent conversation.

“Catie Darcy, it can’t be; good Lord, how you’ve grown since I saw you last.” Catie smiled but knew, as she was sure Mr. Worthington knew, she hadn’t grown an inch since Christmas. “And such a pretty girl, I do believe you get prettier every time I see you!”

“Thank you, Mr. Worthington,” she answered politely but unimpressed.

Charles Worthington smiled and patted her shoulder like a puppy that he no longer wanted to play with and turned his attentions back to Ben and Sarah.

Half an hour later Catie sat begrudgingly yet properly attentive to a conversation she had no part in. When able to do so unnoticed, she glanced out the window and smiled in delight as the clouds began to pull sluggishly away from each other. Blinding rays of sun began to pour in through the panes, and their bright warmth spilled across the oak floors and landed teasingly at Catie’s feet. Wanting to be away, she inadvertently sighed so loud that Sarah gave her a subtle disapproving look.

A tray of refreshments was brought in but before there was any partaking, Mr. Worthington’s mode of dialogue changed drastically from friendly and informal to more serious.

Legal words like “negotiation” and “proposal” would have normally fallen on deaf ears in regards to Catie Darcy, but when she heard the name Wesley Howell, she sat up.

“Who is Wesley Howell?” she asked.

“No one, dearest,” Ben replied hastily. Then he smiled and with a more composed tone, said, “We’ll not keep you any longer, Catherine. I’m sure you have more interesting things to do with your afternoon.”

Catie nodded, disappointed, wishing she could stay and hear what Mr. Worthington had to say.

Charles Worthington came to his feet as Catie did, bearing a tinge of color due to his obvious lack of discretion. “It was nice to see you again, Catherine.”

“Yes, cheers, and I shall show myself out. I’m rather used to rambling old houses.”

“What was that about?” Sarah asked Ben quietly.

“Always true to form, my dear, my sister is being cheeky.”

* * *

Pemberley’s library was filled with an accumulation of efforts from generations of Darcys. Every master and mistress of the house had made considerable contributions to the estate’s collection over the last three hundred years. The room itself was predictable. Aside from an oversized fireplace and a set of French style doors that led to a small terrace, the walls were lined with shelves packed full of volumes old and new. A large fresco adorned the ceiling — fat cherubs holding lambs and chasing chickens — while loosely draped, full-bodied women smiled and looked on at their antics. Of the manor’s many rooms, this was Catie’s favorite. She found escape by a crackling fire here on cold winter days, snuggled in the large leather chair that her father loved. Even now, his reading glasses lay on the side table atop the last book he read. This was at Ben’s insistence, and no one dared move them.

Her nostrils flared as she entered, attacked by the smell of old books and a pungent fresh application of lemon oil. She closed the large door to the hall.

“How’d I do?” Aiden Hirst asked, and Catie jumped. He laughed and took her by the shoulders. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Wh-what are you doing here?” She felt suddenly cold.

“Ingratiating myself in your brother’s good will, what else?” A crafty grin creased his mouth, and Catie pulled from his grasp.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she whispered, glancing apprehensively at the door.

“Now, now, don’t play Miss Innocent, I know this isn’t the first time you have deceived your brother. Poor chap had no idea his little sister had attended an unchaperoned party at my house last spring.” Clicking his tongue, Aiden scooted casually upon a shiny library table.

Catie’s stomach tightened and her eyes grew round. “Did you tell him?” she cried.

“Give me a little credit, will ya?” He raked his fingers through his hair — a mop of loose, dirty blond curls that always returned to their rightful position each time he nervously ran his fingers through them, which was often, Catie noticed.

“What was your story?” he asked, grinning still. “No, let me guess . . . the
cinema
.”

“How did you know?” She didn’t like this interrogation.

He laughed again. “It’s always the cinema. You’re quite the little imp, Miss Darcy. I must admit . . . I’m impressed.”

“Well, don’t be.” Catie was starting to get annoyed. “I didn’t deceive Ben purposefully.”

“Sure, Cate,” he said slyly. “Whatever makes you feel better.”

“It’s Catie and I’m not trying to make myself feel better,” she snippily corrected him. “It happens to be the truth. When I told my brother I was going to the cinema, I truly believed I was. I could never lie to him about something like that.”

“Yet, you never told him the truth afterward.” Aiden leaned close and whispered, “Touché.”

Catie looked abashed. It was true. She hadn’t confessed to Ben. It wasn’t his punishment she feared but rather his disappointment. That she couldn’t bear.

Aiden slid off the table and began looking around the library. He picked up and thumbed through a few odd books while she regarded the door with concern. She didn’t know what Ben might say if they were caught alone. He didn’t even know they knew each other. And truthfully they didn’t. She had only met Aiden that one time. He reached for her father’s book, and she tried to stop him. “No!”

“Some rare first edition?” he asked, knocking the glasses to the side and picking the book up.

“It was my father’s.” Catie took the book from him and placed it back on the table. “Please don’t touch it.”

“Sorry,” he said, watching her put the glasses back. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Aiden took an uninterested look around the old room as if he were horribly bored with its quaintness. “Well, I suppose I’ll leave you to your studies. What does the old fellow have you slaving over this summer anyway? Latin?”

“Uh . . . yes . . . Latin, and I best knuckle down or the old fellow will have my head.”

Aiden laughed at this. “You shire girls do like to impress Daddy, eh?”

“Brother — and, yes, I do.”