Echoes of Pemberley (5 page)

A car pulled onto the gravel court, and she lifted her head. It was no one familiar, but this wasn’t unusual. Ben often conducted business from the house. She watched as a man got out of the car, but oddly, he didn’t approach. Instead, he looked around as if he was expecting someone and then leaned against the bonnet and lit a cigarette.

Several minutes passed before Ben finally descended the front steps, crossed the drive, and joined the man. Catie quickly reached over and turned off her music, but even with her window pushed fully open, she could hear nothing but muffled voices. So she resumed flipping through her magazine, content to glance down at the men in between pages. Like a watchful owl perched on a high limb, she liked to observe unseen and unnoticed.

The stranger lit one cigarette after another as Ben listened, calmly at first. Then he began to pace. Curious, Catie put the magazine aside and watched more closely. Although the man was still leaning against the car, casually smoking, Ben was now flailing his arms as he spoke. Filled with that strange sense of safeguard that exists between siblings, she jumped down from the window seat and hurriedly made her way downstairs.

A bank of windows stood fully open in the small parlor off of the hall, and she went to them. Sister or not, she couldn’t very well race out to Ben’s side, but she could listen and be there if he needed her.

When Catie reached the windows, she smacked her lips with regret. It was over. Ben was already heading back to the house, bringing a look of sheer rage with him that made her gut tighten. She started to go and meet him, but he stopped and turned back. Then, with a voice more livid than his sister had ever heard, he shouted, “Take care of this, Sams! I don’t give a damn about the money, but I refuse to allow my family’s good name to be tarnished. And furthermore, I’ll be bloody well damned to the devil before I let Pemberley fall into the wrong hands again.”

“
Again
?” Catie echoed in a whisper.

She was at the parlor door when he came inside the house and her presence surprised him. “Catie! What are you doing there?” Ben’s expression was as hard as his tone.

“I heard shouting. Is everything all right?”

“What did you hear?” he asked, softer but still firm.

“Just shouting,” she said, swallowing the truth. “Who was that man?”

His eyes flicked over her head and into the parlor. “A business associate, no one for you to concern yourself with. Now run along and stop eavesdropping at open windows.”

“I wasn’t,” she said, not caring how insulted she sounded.
God, I hate when he treats me like a child.
“I heard shouting and thought you might need help.”

Ben studied his sister momentarily. The top of her head had yet to fully reach his shoulder and he easily outweighed her by five stone. “Thank you, Sis,” he said contrite and somewhat amused. “But as you can see, I am quite capable of taking care of myself.” He raised his wrist and looked at his watch. “Now shouldn’t you be heading off for the stables? I don’t really care to make another round of apologies to young Kelly.”

Staring up at him, Catie made no attempt to move. Annoyed, Ben breathed deep and then released a rush of frustrated air while thoughtfully rubbing the back of his neck, as if he might find there beneath his hairline some better way of dealing with his sister. “Catie, sometimes business and money matters get heated, that is all. Now please do as I say and stop fretting over a few harsh words between men, all right?”

He might as well have given her a lollypop or a pat on the head for all that explanation was worth. But it was all she was going to get, and she knew it. “All right,” she repeated quietly.

“Good. I’ll see you at supper then.” Smiling now, Ben gave her one of his brotherly winks that felt more patronizing than usual, and then he was gone.

Chapter 4

Sean heaved the last two buckets of water over the stall doors with a grunt. By the twelfth trip, the buckets had grown heavy and his arms tired. “Don’t be a glutton now,
buachaill
,” he warned the aging gelding behind the door. He removed his flat cap to swab a handkerchief over his brow and the back of his neck as the horse whinnied loudly and snorted in response. Sean chuckled and patted an offered nose. “Aye, you like the Gaelic, eh,
mo
buachaill
,” he crooned to the horse. “Perhaps your ancestor was the steed of a great Celtic warrior then? Cùchulainn’s Liath Macha maybe; he was a fine Ulster lad, eh?”

“That the last of it, Kelly?” Clancy asked brusquely. He was a tiny man, a former jockey according to Aunt Rose, but he had a deep and ragged voice, much like Sean’s larger, barrel-chested father.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Sean smiled down at Pemberley’s stable master. Tiny or not, the sixtyish man ran a tight ship — or stable rather. Nothing was out of place, and the cobblestone floor was as clean as the kitchen’s. “Need anything else?” he asked. Clancy was without a groom today, so Sean had graciously filled in. He wasn’t hired to water horses or muck stalls, but the work was familiar to him, and he liked the routine.

“No, I thank you for the hand though. Me brother-in-law will be back tomorrow, or he’ll be out on ’is ear. I’ll see to it that you get ’is wages for the day.”

“There’s no need. I was glad to help.” As he spoke, Sean knocked the stable dust off of his cap and pulled it back on his head, smiling good-humoredly down at Clancy.

If only slightly, Clancy reflected the smile.
A rare thing for the old curmudgeon
, Sean thought.

“You did the work . . . you get the pay,” Clancy stated in a manner that would brook no argument, and he walked away, grumbling under his breath about his useless brother-in-law.

Shaking his head, Sean laughed and leaned over the stall to put out his hand again to the horse. The animal came to him, and he briskly scratched the long neck, cooing softly in Gaelic. Before long, Catie Darcy was standing behind him. As tiny as Clancy but lighter of foot, she had padded silently into the stable, but he knew she was there. He could feel her presence as readily as he could feel the mass of horse under his hand. He turned to her but only caught the glimpse of a buttercup yellow shirt as she disappeared into the tack room, leaving behind a whiff of her scent, flowery and fresh against the raw stable air.

There was more to Catie Darcy than that haughty, rich-kid mask behind which she hid. Having been around horses all of his life, he understood that what a creature appeared to be outwardly wasn’t necessarily a peek at the soul. His father had taught him this. Since he was old enough to pull up to a fence rail, Sean had watched the man break horses, and whether it was an aggressive stallion or an overly shy mare, Seamus Kelly could reach into their core and drive to the surface the noble animal within. “Horses are no different than people, Seany,” his father said often. “They all have a story to tell if only someone will take the time to listen properly.”

But Sean hadn’t come to Pemberley to figure out what lay within Catie Darcy. She wasn’t his problem. She had family enough, and Aunt Rose certainly had a strong affection for the girl. All he had to do was teach her to trot and canter, collect his university tuition, and catch a ferry back to Ireland in six weeks. He gave the aging gelding a parting pat and went to saddle his horse.

When Catie arrived at the stable, Sean Kelly was affectionately rubbing her father’s beloved Abastor, a horse in his last few seasons of life, but still a fine-looking animal. Abastor was thoroughly enjoying the extra attention and Sean Kelly’s gentle voice, but his words were unfamiliar to Catie. She had studied French and Latin; this was neither. Gaelic, she thought, the Irish language once forbidden by the government in order to create British subjects amongst the Irish population. Like the Darcys’ antiques, jewels, and silver, the language had obviously been carefully preserved and protected and, even in the face of adversity, passed down through generations of Kellys. Although the words were not familiar they felt calming, like the easy flow of a fairy tale or lullaby. She opened her mouth to ask him their meaning but stopped short, deciding instead to fetch her riding hat, crop, and gloves. Why was it, she thought a little bitterly as she stepped into the warm, musty smelling tack room, that every bit of oppression suffered in the last few centuries had been at the hands of her bloody English ancestors?

When she returned, he was standing there with a large smile on his face. “Hello, Miss Catie.” He spoke in a pleasant tone that matched the smile. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Sure.” She nodded, glad to see he wasn’t one to hold grudges. She hadn’t been sure what her reception might be after that morning.

“Right, which horse is yours, then?” He raised one questioning eyebrow and looked down at her.

Catie gazed up into his face, but before she could answer, she found herself struck by a set of blue eyes that seemed to glow below his thatch of onyx hair. Really staring into them for the first time, she saw they were different from the steel blue color of Ben’s, which gave you an instant awareness of his charge. No, the cerulean orbs of Sean Kelly were feral-like and sparkled with a free spirit . . .

“Miss Catie?” His voice interrupted her thoughts. “Catie!”

“C-Chloe, the grey mare,” she said, the words tumbling awkwardly out of her mouth. She knew she had been staring at him, and her cheeks grew hot. Not daring to meet his eyes again, she turned to Clancy and asked sharply, “Why has Chloe not been saddled yet?”

“Been a bit short-handed today, miss, but she’ll be ready at once.”

“Yes, see that she is.” The flash of humiliation had faded, but her voice held its purpose.

“Yes, miss,” Clancy replied, casting Sean an apprising glance.

Catie busied herself with her hat straps to keep from looking at Sean Kelly again, and didn’t see the meaningful look he gave her.

Once Clancy brought Chloe around to the mounting block, Sean stood in front of her before she mounted. “You’ll have no need for this.” He pulled her crop out from where it was wedged between her arm and torso.

Catie watched nervously as he tucked it out of sight behind his back. She had never ridden without her crop before and didn’t like the idea, but she didn’t protest.

“Mount up!” He took the reins from Clancy to hold the horse steady so the man could get back to his work. “You’ll take the lead. I like to observe the skills of a new student. Just follow my instructions. I’ll mostly be watching today.”

Wishing she were anywhere else in the world right now, Catie nodded.

“All right then, we’ll walk for a bit then move into a working trot,” he instructed as he hoisted himself into his saddle. “Away off now.”

The day was hot for England’s Midlands, making the afternoon crawl slowly along. By the time they reached the flat grassy fields that ran along the riverbank, Catie had grown hot and thirsty.

“Halt,” Sean called out, and she gratefully pulled Chloe to a stop. He rode slightly past her and pointed down the long low lands by the river. “See the end of the field there?” He waited for her acknowledgement. She nodded. “You’ll wait for me to reach it, and when you see my hand drop, gallop hard in my direction.”

“Gallop?” she repeated. Of course she knew this was coming but wasn’t expecting it the first day.

“Yes, gallop . . . is there a problem?”

Having no desire to share her fears with him, Catie argued back, “I have no crop. You took it from me, remember?”

“You have no need for a crop. Your legs and position will tell your horse what you expect of her.”

“But that’s not how I’ve learned.”

“Then you will,” he said resolutely.

Catie’s mind raced back to that day eight years ago when she was thrown from her pony. She remembered lying alone in the grass. She remembered being afraid. Afraid she was hurt, afraid that Ben would find out and be cross with her. She remembered the pain from the fall, the loneliness of her father’s recent death, and the agony of Ben’s grief. She remembered the stinging tears that had finally come. She never wanted to sit astride a speeding horse again, but she couldn’t tell this man why.

“It cannot be a fear of speed,” he declared impatiently, growing tired of her dithering. “I’ve certainly seen you race by the cottage on your bicycle fast enough.”

“You have seen me on my bicycle?” she asked, happy to draw out the conversation.

“Well, yes.” He leaned forward in the saddle and gave her a
stating the obvious
expression. “We
have
occupied the same grounds for more than three days now.”

“But I . . . haven’t . . . seen you,” she stammered, uncomfortable with his close proximity.

He released a cynical sounding grunt. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” she asked, detecting the sarcasm in his voice.

“It means nothing.” He waved off the question and started off.

“Wait!” Catie quickly caught up to him. “If you have something to say to me, Mr. Kelly, say it!”

Straightening in his saddle as if he were heading into battle, Sean stared at her. “It’s not my place to correct your manners, Miss Catie. Now, if you’ll please gallop hard in my direction when I reach the end of the field there, I’d appreciate it. I need to check your balance and position.”