Echoes of Pemberley (37 page)

Catie’s throat tightened. She hadn’t sought comfort; she was used to soothing her own pain. But when Sarah’s arms opened to her, she fell into the solidness of her bosom. “Oh, Sarah,” she cried, “I loved him.”

“I know.” Sarah stroked her hair.

“No.” Catie shook her head. “I
really
loved him! I know you think I’m too young to know what love is, but I do know! I do, Sarah!”

Sarah felt a sudden innate feminine understanding and wrapped the younger woman tightly in her arms. “Let it out, Catie. I’m holding you, dear . . . just let it out.”

Snug in Sarah’s embrace, Catie unburdened her shattered heart and wept for a long time.

* * *

In her last weeks of holiday, Catie made every effort not to mope around the house. Sarah was ever ready with a reassuring smile, and Rose fussed much less when she picked at her food. With her improved riding skills, Ben now allowed her to take Chloe out alone, and she had enjoyed several long afternoons of solitude by the river, thinking of Mary Howell’s summer romance — as well as her own.

As promised, Aiden Hirst dropped by a couple of days after the garden party and stayed for dinner. Although she was polite, Catie tried fervently to discourage his attentions, but unfortunately, her efforts failed.

“I want to see you again soon,” he had said when she walked him out.

“I don’t know, Aiden. I’m back at Davenport next week,” she responded tactfully as she opened the door, willing his departure.

He smiled and brushed a stray hair from her face. “Leave it to me. I shall work something out . . . you’ll see.”

She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t.

Time moved rapidly, yet somehow drearily and monotonously, but eventually Catie was packing to return to Davenport. Occupied with her task, she started at a soft knock at her door.

“Come in,” she called.

The door opened, and Ben stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Almost finished?”

“Yes, sixth form,
finally
.” She smiled.

“
Sixth
form?” he repeated, his look incredulous.

“Yes, Ben, you knew that.”

“Ah, yes, of course . . . I knew that.” He paused, looking at her. “The . . . uh . . . time has moved quickly, eh?”

Catie shrugged. “Not really.”

“No, I guess not,” he said quietly. “Anyway, I wanted to give this to you. I think she would have wanted you to have it.” He held out Mary’s diary.

Hesitantly, Catie took it from his hand. “Thank you.”

“Have you read that diary?”

Trying hard not to visibly cringe, for she could think only of Mary’s overly explicit writings, Catie blushed and hesitated. “Um . . . ”

“It’s okay, Sis.” He chuckled. “I’m glad you’ve read it.”

“You are?” She finally looked at him.

“Yes.” Ben put a hand on her shoulder. “Catie, Mary Darcy was young, beautiful, and heiress to a fortune. It’s what made her vulnerable to a man like Arthur Howell. Mind that you heed the valuable lessons that diary has to offer. Not every man is what he claims to be, dearest.”

Catie nodded softly as Ben gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Well, I’ll not disrupt your packing further.”

“Bennet,” she called after him as he crossed the room.

“Yes, Sis?” He turned back.

“Did you know Mary?”

“I not only knew her, I loved her very much. She died when I was twelve. You can’t imagine my shock and pain when I was made to believe she had abandoned her only grandchild. I should have known she would never do such a thing.”

“Was she happy? Did she find peace after the loss of Thomas?”

Ben’s expression lit with remembrance. “She was very happy and, along with our grandmother and mother, spoiled me horribly when I was a little boy. So much so, Dad and Grandfather refused to allow me to be alone with them.”

Catie giggled. “That’s not true!”

“You ask Horace Harold; he’ll tell you the truth of it.”

“I will.” Catie grinned.

Before closing the door, Ben winked at her. “Love you, dearest.”

“Love you too, Ben.”

Catie looked at the diary for several minutes before walking over and removing the panel. Carefully, she placed it back where she had found it.

Chapter 23

Sitting alone in the library at Davenport, Catie spent the morning at her studies. Her return to school had helped. Unlike Pemberley, school held no reminders of Sean. Thoughts of the stables, the pond, the river — even George’s little wooden horse — brought on surges of sadness. Sarah’s consolation and comfort was appreciated by Catie, but as for Sarah’s understanding, Catie knew it was anything but complete. She was sure Sarah in no way grasped the depth of her real emotions: how truly strong her feelings were for Sean — and, she believed, how strong his were for her.

The kiss, which at first had caused her unbearable humiliation, when replayed over and over in her mind brought back a memory of a fleeting moment of being pulled closer to him. It wasn’t her imagination. She had felt it. Sean desired that kiss as much as she did. His smiles and stares, his behavior altogether had inadvertently revealed his growing affection, even to a girl as naïve and inexperienced as Catie.

His sudden departure was difficult for her, but his reason was even harder for her to bear. His urgency to return home, Catie knew, was a ruse to avoid her, not only her but his feelings for her. “
Bròd
.” His raspy Irish came to her in a whisper . . . she understood. She was born to the manor, the daughter of a wealthy man, while Sean, the son of a horse farmer, struggled to finance his education. That damned Irish pride of his. “Bloody insufferable ass,” she grumbled under her breath as a tear raced down her cheek and dropped onto the page of her textbook.

Realizing that her mind had wandered from her French lesson, Catie packed her satchel to return to her dorm. The late September afternoon was cool and the thought of a brisk autumn pleased her. The day was so lovely and crisp that Catie hurried her pace, hoping to convince Audrey to take a walk with her before dinner.

Entering their shared dorm room, Catie was struck still by her dorm mate’s appearance. It being Saturday, the girls were not expected to be in school uniform, but Audrey Tillman was quite obviously dressed for more than the dining hall at Davenport. Her tight designer jeans and low cut blouse were accentuated by a pair of heels, and her makeup was far beyond Davenport standards.

“Is your father or mother coming to take you out?” Catie asked.

Still brushing powder on her over-made face, Audrey evasively responded, “No.”

“Then why are you dressed like that?” Catie pried.

“I have a date,” Audrey answered nonchalantly as if it were common practice, which of course it was not. Dating was strictly prohibited at Davenport. Leaving campus with anyone other than a parent or guardian was grounds for expulsion.

“A
date
! Aud, what are you thinking? What if you get caught?”

“I’ll be back before lights out. No one will miss me before then.”

Catie looked at her anxiously, but Audrey seemed resolved to her plan.

“Stop looking at me like that, Darcy! We can’t all be Miss Goody Two-Shoes. Anyway it’s worth the risk. He’s the most wonderful, amazing guy I’ve ever met.” She stared off dreamily for a second. “We were getting to know each other quite well at your garden party until Sean Kelly
interrupted us.”

“Sean Kelly!” Catie repeated, astonished.

“Yes,” Audrey replied, adding sarcastically, “You know the two of you would be perfect for each other, you both possess the high moral standards of a clergyman.” She walked past Catie but stopped on her way out to assure her friend. “Don’t worry! I’ll be back in a few hours, and no one will be the wiser.” The heavy oak door closed loudly and echoed as Audrey’s high heels clacked hurriedly down the steps.

The afternoon waned and dusk came quickly. Darkness engulfed the fields and walks of Davenport’s campus as security lights flickered on and windows glowed orange with lamplight. Yet Audrey had still not returned. Catie took one last look out of her window and saw nothing but the empty courtyard. It was chilly out and well past curfew. Thankfully the housemother, Mrs. Jenkins, was later than usual on her rounds, but that didn’t ease Catie’s anxiety.

Eventually, Mrs. Jenkins was heard making her way down the hall, saying good night and talking sweetly to giggling girls. Catie lay reclined on her bed in closed-eyed apprehension of the inevitable.

Her eyes opened at the small rap on the door and she answered softly, “Yes?”

“It’s time for lights out, girls,” Mrs. Jenkins announced as she poked her grandmotherly face inside the room.

“All right, Mrs. Jenkins,” Catie replied, unintentionally glancing at Audrey’s empty bed.

By instinct, Mrs. Jenkins’ eyes traveled to where Catie’s had, and her smile receded. “Where’s Audrey, Catherine?”

“She’s not here,” Catie answered stupidly, realizing she was stating the obvious.

“Do you know where she is?”

“No, Mrs. Jenkins.” Catie shook her head.

Clearly concerned and a bit annoyed at Catie’s apparent lack of cooperation, Mrs. Jenkins came fully into the room. “Catherine Darcy, you must tell me what you know at once!”

Reluctantly, Catie closed the book she was aimlessly flipping through and sat up. Having no real choice, she relayed what little she knew. She had to. Not only was she worried about Audrey, for she should have returned over an hour ago, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell a lie, friend or not.

Mrs. Jenkins took in the information with a growing alarm. “And you’re sure you don’t know where she has gone or with whom?” the woman asked frantically.

Catie shook her head adamantly.

With an expression that seemed to bear anxiety for her own fate as well as Audrey’s, Mrs. Jenkins hurried out of the room, muttering, “I must inform Miss Spencer at once.”

Tossing about her bed most of the night, Catie waited and worried, but Audrey never returned. As she readied for breakfast the next morning, her room filled with curious teenage girls wanting in on the story. Audrey Tillman leaving school to rendezvous with a boy she had met at Pemberley’s garden party was not only a serious breach of Davenport’s rules, but ripe, scandalous gossip as well. Not wanting to betray her friend any further than she had already been forced to do, Catie was vague and claimed to know no more than they.

“You’re holding out, Darcy,” a girl said accusingly.

“Yeah, we all know Audrey tells you everything. Come now . . . tell,” another added.

“Break this up at once!” Mrs. Jenkins’ shrill voice stopped the inquisition, and her clapping hands scattered the senior sixth form students like kindergarteners. The nosy crowd was fast to disperse but lingered in the hallway to listen. “Catherine, Miss Spencer has sent me to summon you to her study.”

“This morning?” Catie asked as a knot formed in her stomach.

“This very minute,” Mrs. Jenkins said simply and left. “To breakfast, girls!” she was heard calling out curtly as her footsteps faded down the long dormitory hall. Mrs. Jenkins was obviously not her usual kind self that morning.

Sliding on her school blazer, Catie took a quick look in the mirror before the walk across campus. Her shirt was properly tucked and her skirt was straight, so she buttoned her blazer and nervously set out. Though her pace was swift, it certainly wasn’t fast enough to account for the sound of her heart beating in her ears, and she would have given almost anything for a swallow of water as she climbed the steps to Daven Hall, Davenport’s administration building.

Daven Hall was a large Jacobean structure with great mullioned windows. At one time the family seat of the Davenport family, Daven Hall was converted into a school in the 1860’s by Evelyn Davenport. Never married and Anglican in faith, Evelyn was a prudish Victorian woman who wore plain black dresses and never smiled — at least not in any of the multitude of pictures that lined the way to Miss Spencer’s study. Standing tall and angular alongside Davenport’s earliest students, who looked equally as miserable as their headmistress, Miss Davenport’s disapproving eye seemed to follow Catie’s progress. The pictures conjured up memories of Miss Scatcherd flogging Helen Burns with a bundle of twigs at the Lowood School in Charlotte Brontë’s
Jane Eyre
, making Catie feel as if her veins suddenly had ice water running through them. No, Miss Spencer would never flog a student today, but she
was
a formidable woman nonetheless.

Since it was Sunday morning, the building was quiet, amplifying the slight sound of Miss Spencer’s small movements behind her large, antique desk. Unnervingly, this quiet also amplified the creak of the door and the sound of Catie’s shoes as they struck the marble floor.

“Miss Darcy?” Miss Spencer called from her office. If she knew the first names of her students they were unaware of it, for she only addressed them formally. Miss Spencer, never being married or having a family, didn’t have the nurturing faculties of women like Mrs. Jenkins.