“Poor chap.” Sean glanced sympathetically in the direction Ben had departed.
“She’s only concerned for his health. Ten years from now, I’ll probably mind what you eat as well.”
“The devil ye will! Now, come along, woman. I fancy me some beans and sausages. I understand they’re me favorite.” Sean’s threatening brogue had no effect on his young bride, other than to elicit a small hiccupping laugh. So he narrowed his eyes, took her firmly by the elbow, and marched her to lunch.
The laughing increased…significantly.
***
Arriving in London mid-afternoon thoroughly exhausted, Sean and Catie had a late dinner then stopped off for a few drinks. The fanfare of wedding, parties, and farewells were finally behind them, filling Catie with both relief and melancholy in equal measure—like most new brides, she supposed.
“Nan was rather cheerless when we left,” Catie said as she and Sean strolled unhurriedly back to the Darcys’ townhouse, holding hands. Nan, short for Nanny Rose, was what Catie called Sean’s aunt, the only mother she’d ever known.
“She seemed her usual fussy-self,” Sean replied, putting a protective arm around his wife and steering her around a rowdy group of men who had spilled out of a pub, laughing and singing. It was a pleasantly warm summer’s evening and getting on past eleven. The shops were closed up, windows dark, but the city’s restaurants and bars were brightly lit and lively.
“That’s just it. Nan is terribly crabby when she’s sad. Oh, Sean, I just hated leaving her!” Catie exclaimed, once again fighting tears that had been a constant threat during the afternoon’s train journey. With each passing village, she felt as if she were being stolen further and further from family and home. They would be off to America in just two days, and the girl who was leaving Pemberley would never return. She knew that with certainty. Her brother’s children, Geoffrey and George and little Eliza Jane, would grow taller and eventually stop asking, “When is Auntie Catie coming home?” Pemberley would never be her home again. She belonged with Sean now, not there, not with them. I’ll be a visitor, she realized suddenly and inadvertently sighed.
Sean stopped and took her hands in his. “Look at me, lass.” She raised glistening eyes to his, hoping he wouldn’t see her emotion and praying he wouldn’t detect her ever-increasing panic. “I’ve pushed you; maybe this was a mistake.”
“No! I’m sad, yes, but I want to be here. I want to be with you.”
Sean smiled. “All right then, but stop being stubborn, and let me comfort you. It’s normal to be sad and maybe even a little frightened.” He ducked his head and whispered, “I’m a wee bit frightened meself.”
“You are?”
He chuckled at her surprise. “Aye. But we’ll take on this adventure like the others that will surely come our way.”
“How’s that?”
“Together,” he said then kissed her softly on the lips.
***
The next day was hectic with their preparations for leaving. Ben, as overly protective as ever, had telephoned no less than six times, asking if she’d remembered this or that and reminding her each time to ring him any time, day or night, if she needed anything. “Yes, Brother,” she assured him each time, smiling and shaking her head at Sean. But Catie couldn’t complain. Overall, Ben had handled circumstances better than she had anticipated, and she was glad for it.
By evening, Catie had nothing left to do but pen a few final thank-you letters. She sat in the townhome’s front lounge writing industriously as her husband, just as industriously, disassembled the room, tossing pillows and blankets onto the floor in front of the fireplace.
Leena, the Darcys’ London housekeeper, stepped inside the opened door and looked strangely at Miss Darcy’s new husband. Catie lifted her head and, after glancing at Sean as well, shrugged to Leena. “Shall I bring in your tea before I leave, Miss Dar—” She paused and looked at Sean once more. “Sorry, I meant to say, Mrs. Kelly.”
“It’s all right, Leena,” Catie assured her. “I’m still getting used to it myself. And no, don’t trouble yourself with the tea.”
“Yes, miss, madam,” Leena quickly corrected her error, her light-brown skin flushing. “Sorry again.”
“How are your own wedding plans coming, Leena?” Catie asked with interest.
“Oh.” Leena perked up instantly. “Cedric will be arriving from Canada in two months. We will marry in six.”
“I’m happy for you,” Catie said.
“Thank you, madam. My parents have chosen well, I think.” Leena smiled. “Will there be anything else before I leave this evening?”
“No.” Catie shook her head. “Thank you.”
“Well, goodnight then,” Leena said and left.
“Goodnight,” Sean and Catie replied in unison.
Sean looked at Catie. “Cedric?”
“Yes, Leena’s betrothed.”
“I gathered that, but he doesn’t sound very Indian.”
“Oh.” Catie smiled. “According to Leena, Cedric’s mother was born and brought up in England and prefers Western ways. She would have even liked for her son to marry a woman of his own choosing, but Cedric’s father wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Funny,” Sean said. “You don’t seem at all bothered by Leena’s arranged marriage.”
“Why should I be bothered by it?”
“Well, not only are you the perpetual romantic, but you most certainly like a cause. I would have thought you might have tried to dissuade Leena by now.”
“Leena’s family wishes for her to marry someone who shares their beliefs and traditions. Plus, her father has done well in this country. He just opened his second restaurant in Soho. It’s only natural that he would want to make sure that his daughter not marry beneath her.”
Sean stared at her for a moment then said, “Only natural?”
“For their culture, Sean,” Catie replied hastily and defensively, realizing he was taking umbrage at her remark.
He exhaled heavily, as if he might be preparing to argue her true meaning, but nodded instead.
“What are you doing there?” she asked, wanting desperately to change the subject. Her wealth and his lack thereof were not something that a good row could change, so they usually avoided the subject all together. Probably not the best-laid plan, but it worked…for now.
“Making us a pallet on the floor. What are you doing there?” His expression lightened as he got up and came over to her, and Catie was relieved to see it.
“I’m writing out thank-you notes for our wedding gifts. Nan and Sarah have threatened me with my life if I don’t get them posted before we leave for America.”
Sean pulled her hair back and softly kissed her neck. “Finish them later,” he whispered against her skin.
“Look, Sean.” She picked up the card in front of her. “Maggie Reid, remember her? She used to work at Pemberley.”
“Aye, sure, Maggie Reid,” he responded absently as his lips continued exploring her neck.
“She’s a nurse now at Royal Edinburgh. Look at the lovely card she sent us.”
“Yeah, lovely.” He stopped long enough to peek at the card she was holding. “Now, put this stuff away, mo chailín.”
Arching her brows at him, she scolded, “According to Rose, Mr. Kelly, Debrett’s says, ‘a thank you letter is rather like a flower; it becomes less attractive the longer it is left.’”
Sean took the pen from her hand. “I don’t give a damn about Debrett’s. Your husband requires your attentions at the moment.”
His words made Catie’s stomach pool. They had been married for two full days, but Sean had only made love to her once. His new wife was beginning to wonder, worry even.
“Come.” He took her hand and led her across the room.
Early in their relationship, she and Sean had decided to abstain until their wedding night. A decision not completely without its religious merits, the couple had been raised by sisters, devout Anglicans, who went to
great lengths to instill Christian values into the minds and hearts of their children. But for Catie, it was more than Rose’s cautious speeches on virtue and chastity. She wanted her and Sean’s first time together to mean something, to mark their marriage with an occasion more profound and intimate than a rehearsed ceremony of vows in front of a church full of people. Giving Sean her virginity would be special, divine, between man and wife, a night they would always remember.
In the end, however, the moment had failed to live-up to Catie’s expectations. She recalled the many nights they had gone to separate rooms boiling over with both desire and frustration. Had they let pass that golden moment to make love passionately and without abandon? Have we waited too long? she wondered. Should they have gotten this thing out of the way sooner — when they both wanted it so ardently? These thoughts—or doubts rather—sat heavily in her mind as Sean led her to the pallet he’d made. He smiled at her, and she moved to make herself comfortable on the floor. “Not yet, my love.” He stopped her in a soft but commanding voice.
Catie remained standing and watched as he went around the room lighting candles and switching off lights. He finished by lighting the gas fireplace then came back to her. The flame from the fireplace flickered at his side, casting half of his face in shadow. His usual bright blue eyes were narrowed and examining her, giving him a dark, menacing appearance. The vision made Catie’s breath catch. She had always thought Sean Kelly the most handsome man she had ever set her eyes on, but never had he looked more so than at that moment—her own wicked gypsy demon sent from hell to claim and devour her.
He finally spoke in a thick, raspy brogue. “I’m going to undress you now, Catie Kelly, and touch you and explore every wee inch of you.” He paused, and she visibly saw him swallow. “Aye?”
She stared up at him with genuine innocence but couldn’t suppress the desire that hammered in her heart. She nodded.
He nodded back and slowly, almost clumsily, reached for her top button. When his fingers began to work more nimbly, making short work of her blouse, the pool in Catie’s stomach flipped, and alarm bells went off in her head. She wanted this, had fantasized about it many times, but she still possessed a virgin’s modesty and discomfort. “Sean,” she said, her tone a pleading one, “couldn’t we blow out a few candles?”
“It’s all right, lass,” he whispered insistently. “I’m your husband. You’re my wife.” Both his words and his gaze bore an intensity she couldn’t refuse. She nodded again, granting him permission to continue.
Her pulse racing, Catie lifted her arms so he could remove her blouse, and instantly a dawn of insecurity washed a lovely pink blush over her fair skin.
Sean smiled at her discomfort and pressed his lips against the bone in her shoulder, making gooseflesh ripple and spread down her naked arms. “Don’t be embarrassed, darlin’,” he said softly. He knew she felt exposed and longed to steal away under the blankets on the floor, but he’d be damned before he would give in to her or feel sorry for her. She wanted him—not his pity. Motherless at birth and orphaned completely at the tender age of eight by the death of her father, Catie abhorred pity of any kind. She wanted him to push her to her limits and beyond. That was why this woman married him, and he knew she would accept no less.
When he had finished, she stood naked before him, her clothes in a small pile on a nearby chair. Self-conscious, Catie lowered her eyes and clasped her hands in a vain attempt for cover. “No,” he breathed and gently pulled them apart. Then, with a marked deliberateness, he slowly traced his fingers over her torso and limbs. It was as if he were in a museum, admiring the cool, clean lines of a statue. Other than the occasional sharp intake when his exploration reached a spot of blissful discomfort, her breath was deep and even. He made his way around the back of her. He caressed and patted her bottom approvingly then slowly came back to her front.
“Are you pleased with me, Sean?” she asked so quietly he barely heard her, her eyes finally lifting to meet his.
Great God, he thought, looking at her. Had this woman never looked at herself in a mirror? There wasn’t a flaw on her—the delicate flair of her hips, the swell of her bosom, and the curve of her bottom. Without answering, he lifted her in his arms and laid her gently on the makeshift bed, greatly enjoying the play of the flames on her belly and breast. He removed his shirt and leaned over top of her. He kissed her mouth at length then said, “You, Mrs. Kelly, are a lovely, perfect creature. And I am most definitely pleased.”
Chapter 3
Uncomfortable, Catie shifted position once more in her first class seat. The book she had hoped would occupy her for the long flight had fallen short of its outstanding reviews, and she stuffed it back into her carryon after only three chapters. She flipped though the magazines she had brought but found nothing of interest. So, with nothing else to occupy her, she turned and looked at her sleeping husband.
Sean had twisted the thin blanket the airline had provided into a ball, so she straightened and tucked, secretly hoping to stir him but to no reward. He slept soundlessly. Because of her father’s accident twelve years ago, she never could sleep on planes. Even though William Darcy was flying his own personal aircraft when he crashed, she never trusted the “damn blasted things” as her brother called them. Ben hated flying as well.
She stared at Sean more intently and smiled. After four years she would have thought that a person would know another person quite well. But she was learning new things about her husband each day—funny things, like him not rinsing the sink after brushing his teeth, which drove her mad, and how he wouldn’t allow her to have biscuits in bed because he couldn’t sleep with crumbs, never mind that she never dropped crumbs. And humorously, he grunted at BBC news commentators, whether in agreement or not she was still figuring out. The best discoveries, however, were the intimate ones. Having always slept alone, she loved the hard masculine lines of his body lying next to hers in bed. She was astounded at how restfully she slept, as secure as a child in his embrace. And last night, Sean had made love to her…really made love to her. Unlike the hurried affair on their wedding night, which left her wondering what all the fuss was about, he was slow and meticulous. It was glorious. It was fireworks on a warm summer’s evening or the bright white of a new snow before anyone has disturbed it. It was, in every way, what she’d imagined. He attended to her pleasure with a keen determination to make sure she, from thence forward, would appreciate his advances. He had succeeded. She was pining already for their next encounter, even though just that morning he came to her again, making them almost late for their flight.
She reached over and pulled one of his hands into hers, a worker’s hands, like his father’s—like all Kelly men, she’d been told. But Sean had chosen an education, the first man in his family to be educated beyond the age of fourteen. He had chosen a career where he wore ties and pleated trousers over the life of a farmer—over the life intended for him. They both, in some way, had abandoned their expected course and taken a chance. Would they flourish in their vanity to have life their way? Catie sighed away her thoughts as she gently traced his knuckles with her finger, admiring the perfection. The act caused his eyes to blink open. “Go to sleep, cailín,” he whispered as he reached out and brought her to him, tucking her neatly under his chin.
Cailín, the Gaelic word for lass or girl. Sometimes Sean used the variation mo chailín—my girl. The endearment had started teasingly and stuck, but Catie liked it. Feeling safe in his hold, she must have drifted off, for the next thing she knew, they were only half an hour from Savannah International Airport.
Neither of them had ever been to the states. It was a place Catie only knew from television or the cinema—a place her fellow Brits either envied or hated, depending on the Brit. Savannah, Georgia, she had learned in her undergraduate American History course, was significant to the colonization of America. Established in 1733 by King George II, Georgia was the last of America’s original thirteen colonies. Its first mission was to be
a military barrier between the English colonies to the north and the Spanish in Florida. English shipping dominated the Atlantic Coast by the time Georgia was established, leaving Savannah devoid of the influences that the French and Spanish had brought to the earlier colonies. Because of this, the southern town was touted for being somewhat anglophilic—not only in its architecture but in its manners and customs as well. Catie sincerely hoped this to be true, for she was already feeling a bit sick for home.
“There’s Dr. Middleton now,” Sean said, recognizing the man waiting for them at the gate from the photos he’d received with his tickets.
Dr. Hugh Middleton, headmaster of Norbury School for Boys, was fortyish, Catie quickly surmised, of average size, and sported a few wispy strands of blond hair combed over a bald forehead that had seen far too many hot Georgia days. He wore a navy blue golf shirt with the institution logo embroidered in the left corner, khaki pants, and a pair of loafers. It was a bit unusual, Catie thought, for the headmaster to meet them at the airport. At home, such a task would’ve been delegated to the lower head and possibly passed on a few more times after that.
Seeing the couple’s approach, Dr. Middleton smiled a large welcoming smile. “The Kelly’s, I presume!” he shouted enthusiastically over the throng of travelers, pulling wheeled luggage behind them like reluctant children. “Y’all, welcome to Savannah!”
“My goodness, that man does seem rather excited,” Catie observed in what Sean noticed was her most imperial shire accent. She had a tendency to become rather grand when out of her element, a Darcy family trait according to his Aunt Rose.
“We’re not at home, my love,” he quietly admonished. “Americans aren’t quite as precious as you English lot.” Catie opened her mouth to rebut the remark, but Sean stepped quickly ahead of her to meet his new mentor’s approach. “Dr. Middleton!” Sean’s voice was equally as enthusiastic as he offered his hand. “Sean Kelly—pleasure to meet you, sir.”
The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2) Page 3