Echoes of Pemberley (11 page)

“My brother is fourteen years older than me, so he’s always bossed me around.” Catie looked out the window and sighed. “I don’t think it was too difficult, no.”

It occurred to Sean that he had probably hit a sensitive subject, and he quickly shifted the conversation. “So, the Peak District — Britain’s first national park, am I right?”

Bearing a faint but grateful smile, she turned back to him and nodded.

* * *

After a nice basket lunch, Sean, Catie, and Audrey took off exploring. They followed a well-worn footpath and hiked almost a mile from the picnic area, stopping now and then to see how high they were getting. “I’ve climbed to that outcrop before,” Audrey announced, pointing. “It’s not too difficult.”

Sean cupped a hand over his eyes. “All right, I’m game.”

Catie was quickly far ahead of them, tackling the first few boulders with ease. Her small and solid stature made her ascent so effortless that even Sean couldn’t keep up with her. Several times he called out for her to slow down, but she ignored him and kept her pace.

Reaching the ledge, she stood and took in the outstanding views of the valley floor while waiting for the others. Behind her she could hear Sean having to help Audrey along and rolled her eyes, knowing it was a ploy on Audrey’s part to keep his attention. Hearing them close, Catie looked down and teased, “Climbed here before, eh, Tillman? Come on you two, it isn’t Everest!”

When Sean saw Catie, he left Audrey behind and scrambled to the top. “I told you to wait!” he barked angrily as he reached out and grabbed hold of her hand. “Do you listen to no one?”

“Let go of me!” She gave a swift but unsuccessful jerk to free herself. “I don’t need you to hold my hand!”

“Stop being so stubborn! We are very high up, and I promised to look after you. Remember?”

“I can look after myself!”

Sean pulled her close, so close she gasped. “I’m not going to return to that brother of yours empty-handed!”

“Insufferable . . . ”

“Ass!” he finished for her, panting and hot from his climb.

His breath was warm on her face, and his taunting grin tempted her like she had never been tempted before. Moved by some primordial instinct, Catie closed her eyes and raised her mouth to offer him her lips, but was snapped from the moment when he pulled her along to help Audrey.

“I don’t mind holding your hand, Sean,” Audrey said in a demure voice as Sean pulled her onto the ledge.

Ridiculous flirt
, Catie thought spitefully, praying Sean Kelly didn’t realize that she had wanted to kiss him.

The sky was a crisp blue, deepening the emerald green of the dales below them. Audrey, acting expert in place of her father, pointed out locations to Sean — the direction of the old mill and sixteenth century yeoman’s house they had passed on their way up, the river and its part in the Industrial Revolution — until Catie could take no more.

“Spare us the history lesson, Tillman!” she interrupted her friend. “We’re on holiday, remember.”

“Humph,” Audrey grunted but fell silent nonetheless.

The three stood still as a sweet-smelling breeze swept up from the valley. Eyes closed, Sean inhaled deeply and relaxed his hold on Catie’s hand. She was then able to feel a few small calluses from his work, the length of his fingers, and a tiny raised scar just below his thumb. The hand was strong and masculine and gave her an odd sense of security. She felt a soft squeeze and turned to the silent summons. Using only his eyes, Sean drew her attention to a magnificent Peregrine falcon riding the thermals above them. Catie looked up, watched the bird for a moment and then turned back to him. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, wanting to kiss him more now than she wanted to take her next breath.

It was getting late when they returned to Mr. Tillman and his mother, so Sean and Catie quickly said their goodbyes. They loaded the picnic hamper and began their short journey back to Pemberley Estate.

The sun had lowered and was blazing hot on the windscreen, forcing them to roll down the windows to get relief. As she directed him home, Catie took the opportunity to study Sean as he navigated the unfamiliar roundabouts. Although she hadn’t readily recognized him, she had always known Sean Kelly. He was one of “the nephews” as they had been duly dubbed — five handsome boys, each black headed and smiling back at Catie from an annually changed photograph Rose kept on her bedside table. For a lifetime Catie had despised those spirited looking lads, for they took her Nan from her at least twice a year and never for less than a fortnight. Her interest however was not in Sean’s brothers, but rather the comment Ben made at supper on Friday night.

“So, I hear you’re an expert with horses?”

He smiled. “I reckon I should be since I have been around them the whole of my life. I grew up at Kells Down, my family’s equestrian farm. We train horses, give riding lessons, offer livery services, you know . . . the whole lot. I’ve been giving riding lessons since I was your age.”

“How did you end up at Pemberley for the summer?”

Sean shrugged. “My best guess is that me mam grew tired of watching my old man and me lock horns.”

“Lock horns?” Catie questioned warily.

He smiled again. “Aye, but don’t look so concerned. That old story has been lived and relived ever since time began.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Fathers and sons,” Sean clarified. “One never lives up to the other’s expectations. Fathers are never the men their sons idolized as lads. Not surprising. Most boys think of their old man as Superman or something.”

“And the sons?”

“The sons,” he repeated with a rueful chuckle. “Now here’s where it gets complicated. You see, Catie, fathers put all their hopes and dreams into their sons — everything they weren’t able to be.”

“Why shouldn’t they?”

Glancing from the windscreen over to her, Sean gave another shrug. “Not all sons want to fulfill their old man’s dreams. Sometimes sons have dreams of their own.”

“So which was it? Did you discover your dad wasn’t Superman or . . . ” Catie leaned eagerly towards him. “
Or
, do you have a dream of your own?”

“I needed the quid,” he replied flatly.

Dissatisfied, Catie slumped back in her seat. “Then what was all that rubbish about locking horns?”

“The rubbish is complicated. I’ve just finished my first year at Queen’s in Belfast, and university tuition is expensive. Plus . . . ” he hesitated.

“Plus what?” she insisted. Interest once again sparked.

“Well, I don’t know what Mrs. Darcy has told you, but at one time my youngest brother Joseph was a lot like George. Only he stopped speaking all together around the age of six. Still, me da was determined he would learn to ride a horse and gave me the responsibility of teaching him. So I did.” He turned to her and cocked a single eyebrow. “You
can
communicate with horses without hitting and yelling, you know.”

“I know,” she replied irritably and colored. Sean had just lectured her on Friday for giving Chloe’s rump several swats and yelling at the animal for not obeying her command. “The very reason you aren’t allowed a crop!” he had criticized sternly. “They are never to be used as an instrument for punishment.” Sean even went so far as to apologize to the beast for her mistress’s “wretched manners,” as he called them.

“Well,” he continued, “it wasn’t long before he was riding with confidence, and then — ”

“Let me guess; he started talking again.”

“Aye, a miracle according to me mam, but I think it was the riding that brought Joseph back to us.”

“So you’re saying riding a horse cured your brother’s muteness?” she stated with unmistakable cynicism.

“The horse has assisted man throughout history, Catie. So why not?”

“Do you think George will start speaking? On his own, I mean?”

“I don’t know, but I have already seen some improvement in his independence from Geoffrey. And as long as he is enjoying himself, how can it hurt?”

“True.” With that at least, she had to agree.

Tired from the day, their conversation fell into a light, friendly chatter the rest of the way home. When finally Sean pulled to a stop in front of the house, Catie thanked him and got out of the car. To her surprise, he turned off the engine and joined her at the bottom of the steps.

“Would . . . you . . . like to come inside the house?” she questioned hesitantly.

“Yes. When you return a young lady home it is proper to address the family.”

Catie laughed.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“That’s rather old-fashioned. Don’t you think?”

“I was taught better than to leave a girl on the doorstep, miss.” His expression was a serious one, and Catie wished she hadn’t teased him.

“Sorry.” She gestured to the steps. “Please.”

Once in the hall, Sean was somewhat overwhelmed by Pemberley’s interior. Though he had been in the kitchen almost daily and twice in Mr. Darcy’s study, he hadn’t yet seen the grander parts of the home. Due to the season, the doors to the formal rooms were wide open to allow air circulation, and there wasn’t a place he could have rested his eyes that didn’t hold the sight of grandeur. Tapestries and art hung on walls painted in bright pastels, balancing the abundance of dark wooden antiques and upholstered furniture. In the grand dining room three crystal chandeliers were suspended from high coffered ceilings over a table that could seat twenty or more. “You
live
here?” he asked, unable to comprehend the reality of it.

“Yes,” she replied simply, “though these rooms are rarely used nowadays. At one time Pemberley was open to tours a couple of days a week, but my brother closed the house to visitors after my father died.”

A painting of a horse caught Sean’s attention and he asked excitedly, “Is that a Stubbs?”

“Are you an admirer of Stubbs, Kelly?” a deep voice asked behind them, and Sean and Catie turned from the painting to see Mr. and Mrs. Darcy descending the grand staircase.

“Yes, sir,” Sean answered, “me dad as well. He has several prints in his farm office.”

“My great-great grandfather won that painting from a duke in a high stakes card game,” Ben said as he and Sarah joined them in front of the painting.

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Sean said, “what was your grandfather’s wager?”

Ben grinned. “It is legend that the hand of his eldest daughter was on the table. But since we Darcys have always been better storytellers than gamblers, I’d say it was just that . . . a legend. He probably bought it at an estate auction on a rainy Saturday afternoon.”

Sean laughed softly.

“Is Stubbs your only interest?” Ben asked.

“No, sir — Munnings too,” Sean said, smiling unevenly, “though my father argues that Stubbs was the greater genius.”

Ben grinned again. “I have to agree with your father. Stubbs had no influence of photography. But still, Sir Alfred had his merits. Follow me to the billiards room, and I shall show you a piece of his work.”

“Very nice, sir,” Sean said after they had studied and commented on the stately horse and rider for several minutes. “Thank you for showing it to me. My father will be quite jealous.”

“Trust me, Sean, the pleasure was all his.” Sarah smiled at her husband with a teasing eye.

“Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you on a Sunday afternoon,” Sean said politely. “I only wanted to see Miss Catie safely home. I’ll not keep you any longer.”

“Actually, Sean, I was hoping to see you.” Ben stopped him. “I had a delivery at the stable a few hours ago that I believe
might
interest you. Can you come with me now?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Darcy.”

“I’d like to see, may I come?” Catie asked eagerly.

“Really?” said her brother with one eyebrow arched in suspicion. “And since when were you interested in horses, Catherine?”

Catie’s cheeks flushed a bright pink.

“We’ll both join you,” Sarah sympathetically interjected. “I could use a little exercise before supper.”

“As you wish, madam.” Ben gave her a perceptive smile and stood aside to allow his wife and sister to pass. “Are you as knowledgeable in literature, Kelly, as you are in art?”

“Somewhat knowledgeable, Mr. Darcy.”

“Do you know who wrote, ‘Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.’?”

“I believe that was Oscar Wilde, sir.
The Sphinx without a Secret
.”

“I believe you are right!” Ben said with unnecessary exuberance.

“I believe that will be quite enough from you, Mr. Darcy,” Sarah admonished playfully without turning around.

The thoroughbred Ben had purchased was a handsome dark chestnut, solid except for a small patch of white between his eyes and around his mouth. His temperament, however, was less appealing. Unlike the regal and stoic animals in Ben’s paintings, the gelding anxiously pranced about inside the paddock with a wild distrust in his eyes.