Echoes of Pemberley (34 page)

Cupping her hand over her mouth, Sarah laughed softly into her palm. The return of her husband’s teasing and playfulness said more than any words ever could have. He was finally himself again.

Chapter 21

From the formal Italian terrace to Sarah’s less symmetrical English cutting garden, the park surrounding the house by mid-August had matured into absolute perfection. The grounds were a sight to behold, and for over a century, Pemberley’s annual garden party had been timed accordingly. As tradition mandated, the tables would be adorned with only the cuisine the valley had to offer. The fare was arranged on silver trays lined with doilies and placed amid elaborate ice sculptures and floral displays. There would be lawn games and Pimms, face painting and pony rides. And finally, to top the festivities off properly, guests would spread picnic blankets on Pemberley’s large front lawn and watch fireworks as soon as the sky was dark enough to act as a canvas.

On Saturday, the set-up was busy and hurried. In a faded Cambridge University tee-shirt, Mr. Darcy worked alongside the men all day to ready the lawn and gardens, placing chairs and folding tables at Sarah’s direction. Rather grandiose direction, Ben thought, but was wise enough to hold his tongue on the matter. When the work was completed, an exhausted Mr. Darcy tapped a keg brought up from the Green Man, and Mr. Johnson lit a large grill to cook generously cut steaks for the workers. This evening feast was as traditional as the garden party itself. It was a time for Mr. Darcy to eat and drink with them, to socialize and thank them for their help.

By dusk the men were so full they had begun to recline in order to drink more, as no self-respecting Derbyshire man would let the remnants of a keg go to waste. Like the others, Sean had worked hard all day, impressing those who had fancied him for nothing more than a university boy who never got his hands dirty. He now sat picking his old guitar and singing pub songs. For pure sport, the men had dutifully kept his mug full and laughed heartily as they saw him beginning to feel the effects.

Well before midnight, he stood and announced, “I think I’ll be off to my bed, mates.”

“An Irishman that can’t hold his stout?” a fellow called out.

Sean smiled. “Aye, a disgrace to my fellow Ulstermen, eh?”

“You’ll no sing for us anymore, laddie?” another said but was quickly interrupted by the former. “Leave the boy be, Tom! His auntie will skin ’im if he’s up past his bedtime!” An uproarious laugh followed, but Sean took their tease in jest. He had seven uncles on his father’s side and had suffered his fair share of ribbing before.

“Aye, she will at that,” he agreed good-heartedly as he threw his guitar over his shoulder and started off. “Good night, mates.”

“Sean!” Hearing his name, Sean turned to see Mr. Darcy following him.

“Yes, Mr. Darcy.”

Ben extended his hand. “I just wanted to thank you for today.”

Sean gave his employer’s hand a firm shake. “Don’t mention it, sir. I didn’t mind helping set up, and I rather enjoyed this evening.”

“No.” Ben shook his head. “I was referring to this morning. What you did for Catie; I want you to know it was very helpful and most appreciated.” Laughing softly, Ben rubbed wearily at the back of his neck. “My little sister . . . well . . . she’s none too easy to manage at times as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“She’s . . . I mean . . . it was no bother . . . ” Sean’s voice trailed off. Even through the slight buzz of beer, he was mindful enough not to expose his affection for the girl he knew he could never have. It was best to say no more. “Good night to you, sir.” Sean gave a single nod and departed.

* * *

With only a short time before the guests were expected, Ben gave another knock at his sister’s door and yelled for her to hurry. Although Catie never would admit it, she was at a loss getting herself ready for such an event without Annie. Even though Maggie had pressed her dress, Catie chose to do her own hair and makeup. The sprigs of baby’s breath that Sarah insisted she tuck in her hair were giving her the most trouble.

After fumbling with the tiny flowers for some time, her impatience was hurled at the next knock at the door. “Bennet, please!” she shouted. “I’m hurrying as fast as I can!”

“It’s Maggie, Miss Catie, may I come in?” a timid voice called back from the hall.

Seated at her dressing table, Catie scowled at her reflection in the mirror but answered pleasantly, “Yes, come in.”

The door opened slowly, and Maggie Reid took a few cautious steps into the room. “Mrs. Darcy sent me to help you.”

Meeting Maggie’s eyes in the mirror, Catie sighed. “Yes fine, if I can’t make these flowers work, Sarah will make me wear one of those ridiculous, wide-brimmed hats.”

“Oh, I can help with that,” Maggie said and rushed to stand behind her. “I am really good at doing hair. Everyone says so. Do you have curling tongs?”

Catie pointed to the drawer and for the next half hour intently watched in the mirror as Maggie worked industriously with her hair. Though only fifteen months Catie’s senior, the girl had much more womanly features, which Catie envied. Maggie was beautiful, not in a polished way, but a rather wholesome beauty that Catie imagined would be quite attractive to a man.

When Maggie finished, Catie looked at herself. Maggie had done a good job, an exceptional job actually, and she had no choice but to compliment her. “It looks very nice, Maggie, thank you.”

“So you like it?” Maggie asked with childlike enthusiasm.

“Yes, Maggie, I like it very much,” Catie responded, mirroring Maggie’s kind smile.

Waiting for Catie in the front hall, Ben and Sarah looked up when she appeared at the top of the staircase. She was wearing an ivory, tea-length party dress that dropped just off the shoulders and flattered her maturing form, presenting her brother with the sight of a beautiful young woman, not a little girl. Slightly taken aback, Ben stared at her in wonder. Had she truly blossomed so rapidly or had this change been coming over her for some time? Had she concealed it from him or had he just refused to see it?

His contemplation appeared to Catie as her brother’s usual taciturn demeanor, and she countered it with sisterly playfulness. “What’s the matter, Bennet?” she asked. “Do you not think I look pretty?”

Barely softening his expression, Ben answered, “I was thinking quite the opposite, dearest.”

Taking Ben’s proffered arm, Catie teased back, “Well, Sarah, I guess we can safely say it wasn’t my brother’s dazzling talents in the art of flattery that won you over.”

On the other side of her husband, Sarah gently tossed her head back and laughed. “Hardly, Catie . . . but I did feel rather sorry for him!”

Catie giggled. “Sorry for him!” she repeated. “Are you going to take that, Brother?”

“I believe I must. I’m clearly outnumbered at present,” Ben replied dryly as Catie nuzzled close to his arm. “You haven’t lost her yet old man,” he quietly assured himself as they walked.

Tedious is the only way to describe the start of any party when you are the host and hostess. The repetitive act of welcoming each guest and trying to find something remarkable or interesting to say to each one becomes an outright chore. Catie’s task however was simpler, she only had to smile and offer a white gloved hand to each person in turn, while accepting winks from older gentleman. But she was accustomed to being the belle of Pemberley and enjoyed charming the older chaps.

This year, however, was markedly different. Catie could not help but notice that she had already been introduced to more than eight young men, and a very distinguished group they were indeed. One young lad was the grandson of a baroness, another, the nephew of an earl, and all equally touted by their mothers or grandmothers for something amazing or noteworthy in their person.

Catie had listened to praises ranging from horsemanship to penmanship and everything in between before finally turning to Sarah and asking, “Is it just me or are there an unusual number of lads here this year?”

“It is more likely, my dear, that you are at an age where you’re taking more notice of
lads
,” Sarah whispered in response

“I can assure you, Sarah, that I am not taking notice of any
lad
who speaks through his nose and whose mother can find nothing to recommend him beyond his exceptional penmanship.”

“
Catie
!” Sarah quietly scolded. “Not so loud.”

“Sorry.” Catie laughed softly but then saw Horace and Diana Harold and ran squealing to her godparents. “Uncle Horace, Aunt Diana, how have you been?”

“We have been missing our goddaughter, that is how we have been,” Horace Harold responded, swallowing her in his arms.

“There now, see, Diana,” Horace said to his wife, pulling Catie back for inspection. “She has not changed all that much since Easter.”

“Oh, how could you say that, Horace?” Diana said contrarily. “She is much grown, and her face is so changed I should hardly recognize her.” The woman glanced sharply at Ben, clearly still possessing a tinge of bitterness over the events of the past year. “Never shall so much time pass without laying eyes on her again, never I tell you!”

Although it normally fell to Sarah to smooth the wrinkles in conversation when it came to her husband, Catie understood the implication for her brother and felt for him. “No you shan’t, Aunt Diana!” Catie confirmed. “I insist on spending my next holiday from school with you and Uncle Horace. Maybe I could persuade you both to take me to Scotland again. I have such fond memories of our trip to Edinburgh, and I promise . . . no hospitals this time.”

Diana warmed with Catie’s charm. “No hospitals indeed!” She laughed, readily agreeing to take her goddaughter anywhere of her choosing.

As the couple moved on to mingle, Catie caught Uncle Horace giving Ben’s shoulder a fatherly pat and was glad to see it.

Next in line was the Hirst family, each in turn greeting the Darcys, Lawrence and Eleanor Hirst of Ardsley Manor, his brother, Walter and his wife, Abigail and lastly their son, Aiden. There was a great hubbub of welcoming before Aiden finally reached Catie. She smiled and offered him her hand. He took it and squeezed it gently in affection. Aiden Hirst’s stature and appearance was one that neither his horsemanship nor penmanship was needed in order to gain the attention of a young girl.

“How are you, Cate?”

“Fine, thank you.” She smiled.

“If you’re finished here, would you like to give me that dance you promised?” he asked, not yet letting go of her hand.

“I . . . ” Catie blushed and glanced at Ben. She’d all but forgotten about the dance with Aiden.

Seeing the root of her hesitation, Aiden drew himself up with a playful but sincere formality and asked Ben, “If Mr. Darcy sees me as a suitable dance partner that is? Sir, may I?”

“Of course,” Ben replied with a chuckle. “I have a high regard for country manners, Hirst. You are granted the first dance with my fair sister.”

Aiden laughed. “Thank you, sir,” he said and offered Catie his arm.

Catie stole a glance at Sarah as the two strolled off; she wasn’t laughing either.

“You must never encourage my brother’s peculiar wit,” Catie admonished.

“He’s a funny chap,” Aiden replied. “I like him.”

Catie cast a warning eye at her dance partner. “If you ever find yourself on the wrong side of him, you’ll quickly see he’s not a man to be trifled with.”

“Then I shall take care not to find myself on the wrong side of him.” He turned to her and they fell into a quick, easy rhythm. Each had been educated in schools that put a finishing touch on a student’s education, meaning they were comfortable on a dance floor.

“You’re not bad,” Catie said.

“Is that a compliment, Catie Darcy?”

“Not really. At school our dance class is all girls.”

“Thanks.” He chuckled. “So I’m not bad compared to a room full of giggling fifth formers.”

“Exactly.” She laughed softly.

They danced for the next few minutes in silence, his hand pressed firmly against the small of her back. When the music stopped, he led her from the dance floor and asked, “Would you like something to drink?”

Catie looked past Aiden and noticed Sean standing next to Rose, looking around as if in search of her. “I . . . I’m sorry, Aiden,” she said apologetically. “I really should mingle for a little. Maybe later?”

“I’ll hold you to it.” His eyes lingered on her as he released her hands with an obvious reluctance.

Approaching Rose and Sean, Catie saw he wore a pair of khakis, a banded collar shirt, and a waistcoat that was left open until his aunt took notice and gestured for him to button it up. As she drew closer, she noticed his thatch of black hair was a bit more tame than usual and smiled. She liked his ruggedness, his commonness. Like Pemberley’s grounds, Sean Kelly was also untouched and left as God created.

Rose was dressed for the party, but she most definitely wasn’t taking a leisurely afternoon off. She could request that a tray be refilled or a guest be offered a drink with no more than a glance or a slight nod to her serving staff. She had an exceptional knack for making a party go off without a hitch. Grateful for Catie’s arrival, Rose scanned the tables and hurried off, leaving Sean temporarily in Catie’s care.