“Hogwash!” Dr. Middleton interrupted, and Catie giggled. “It’s better than using one of the school vans, and Prissy’s father only drives a golf cart these days. Please take it. It’s just gathering dust here.”
Sean looked at Catie who just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s up to you.”
“Thank you, Dr. Middleton.” Sean wrung the man’s hand gratefully. “Catie and I could not have felt more welcomed than we’ve been made this evening. Well, come, love.” Sean opened the door for his young wife. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”
Fanning herself again, Prissy Middleton exclaimed, “What a gentleman!”
After getting directions to their hotel, the two backed out of the driveway, leaving the Middletons smiling and waving goodbye. “Don’t forget Wednesday…tea!” Prissy called out to the departing headlights.
Relieved finally to be alone again, Catie exhaled a long sigh then turned to her husband and asked, “Sean, are you sure you want to work with those children?”
“Even boys at posh prep schools can have heartbreaking stories, Catie.”
“But not every boy,” she rebutted, detecting a defensiveness in his voice. “I’m afraid Jamal’s dreadful past is just one of many. Did you not look into his eyes?”
“I did,” he said sincerely. “But, Catie, I really want to do this.”
She stared at him for a moment then softly replied, “Then you shall.”
Looking briefly from the road to her, he smiled and said in a lighter, teasing tone, “Anyway, shouldn’t you worry about yourself?”
“Myself?”
“Aye, you must have tea with Prissy Middleton and her lot on Wednesday afternoon.” He snickered and, in his best southern drawl, added, “’Cause, Huuu-ney, I just know you and her are going to be friends.”
Catie laughed and shook her head.
Chapter 4
The excitement of the last 24-hours, coupled with their enthusiasm to start their first marital adventure, had Sean and Catie awake earlier than they would’ve liked. Tossing and unable to sleep, they finally resolved to start the day. Young love is infectious, and the couple, brimming with the usual giddiness and gaiety that newlyweds invariably possess, received several admiring smiles from passersby as they had breakfast at the hotel restaurant.
“Grits again,” Catie said, not disappointedly, as the steaming meal was placed before her. “I think Dr. Middleton was right. One might starve in this place if they didn’t fancy grits.”
“No worries for you then, mo chailín,” Sean quipped teasingly and winked. “The way you ate last night, I’d say you fancy them fine.”
He was granted a sharp kick under the table for his wittiness.
Once again heartily replenished, they set out to explore their new surroundings. Savannah, Georgia, an Atlantic seaport that had once played an important role in American history, was now touted more for its quaint, historic charm and romantic ambiance. Sean and Catie liked Savannah almost immediately. The people were warm and friendly, and the sounds of the city were delightful: blaring ship horns echoed loudly from River Street while snorting horses clapped around old, neatly manicured squares, pulling tourists in elaborate carriages. This, along with the vibrancy of open markets and trolley cars, made Savannah seem ideal to the newlyweds.
Satisfied they would prefer to reside in town rather than one of the sleepy, coastal communities that lay on its outskirts, Sean and Catie returned to the hotel to sleep for a few hours before meeting the Middletons for dinner.
“Someone is waiting to see you, sir.” The desk clerk caught Sean on their way in. He pointed out a nicely dressed, attractive young woman having a drink at the bar and then added in a hushed tone, “A Ms. Reynolds.”
“Thank you,” Sean replied. He and Catie exchanged a curious glance then together crossed the lobby to their visitor.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kelly, I was just leaving y’all a note!” the woman exclaimed, looking up as they approached.” She crumpled the paper she’d been writing on and extended a hand to Sean. “Cordelia Reynolds but please…call me Delia. Everyone does.”
“Sean Kelly,” Sean replied, taking the proffered hand, “and my wife, Catie.”
Catie smiled sweetly. “Delighted to meet you.”
“Ah, yes…Catie Kelly.” The woman eyed Catie with calculation and cynicism in equal measure. She then leaned close and said, sotto voce, “Your name, Catie Kelly, has been burning up Savannah’s phone lines early this Saturday morning. You see, to be in town only one day and already be graced with an invitation to Prissy Middleton’s tea party is quite the accomplishment.”
Catie opened her mouth to speak, but Sean put a hand on her arm, indicating he would handle this. “Mrs. Reynolds,” he started but was quickly interrupted.
“Miss, Mr. Kelly,” Delia Reynolds clarified. “It’s Miss.”
“Beg pardon, ma’am. Miss Reynolds, my wife was only extended the invitation due to my—”
“Oh, yes, yes, I know all about that. Savannah is like any small southern town, Mr. Kelly. Everybody knows everybody else’s business. You’d better get used to it. Gossip and grits are what keep us alive. Am I right? Speaking of staying alive, have you two had lunch?”
“No, we were going to order up room service,” Sean said politely, clearly hoping to ward off the coming invitation. “I’m afraid both of us are suffering from jet lag. Our bodies may be here, but our brains are still in London.”
“Now that is a shame, Mr. Kelly.” Delia affected to look and sound gravely disappointed. “Because I know all the places in town that has Arthur’s on tap, and you do look like a man who could use a pint.”
Like any good Irish boy, Sean’s tongue traveled across his upper lip as if he could taste the stout already. He looked at Catie. “You aren’t too tired to go to lunch, are you, darlin’?”
To Sean’s surprise, the pub was a fair representation of his homeland’s well-known public houses. The room had a low ceiling, a mahogany and shiny brass bar, and a decent variety of imports on tap. To his amusement, however, the bar also boasted a large quantity of Irish Republic flags and such an assortment of clover and leprechaun trimmings that one might think the establishment celebrated St. Paddy’s Day year-round.
He enjoyed a couple of pints as he, Catie, and their new acquaintance ate fish and chips. The conversation was generic but polite until Delia Reynolds, apparently bored with the tedium of friendly chatter, sat back in her chair and declared, “God Almighty! Will the two of you quit being so damn polite and ask me why I was waiting at your hotel?”
Catie sat back herself and, after giving Delia Reynolds a catty smile, replied in a tone that matched, “I just assumed you were the first in line to vie for my attentions at Prissy Middleton’s Wednesday afternoon tea.”
Smirking with obvious satisfaction, Delia narrowed her eyes and twirled her fork between her fingers. “You know…I’d bet my daddy’s yacht that if I stuck you, Catie Kelly, you’d bleed blue.” She watched with interest as Catie glanced at Sean apprehensively.
“Right,” he leaned forward suddenly and said, “I’ll stop being so damn polite. Why did you come to see us, Delia?”
“Sean Kelly,” Delia drawled slowly, smiling fully now. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Daughter of John Reynolds—owner of Georgia’s most successful real estate firm and one of Savannah’s wealthiest residents—Cordelia Reynolds was twenty-four and a top-selling agent in her father’s company. Of course, like most fathers, John Reynolds would like to see his daughter married and settled. But Delia wanted a career, not a husband, and was determined not to live her mother’s life of charity luncheons and wives’ clubs—pure drudgery, according to Delia.
It was Prissy Middleton, Delia explained as the three walked back to the hotel. Earlier that morning, Prissy had telephoned her friend Mamie, Delia’s mother, who in turn telephoned Delia and sent her to help the Kellys in their house hunt. Fully trusting Prissy Middleton, Sean and Catie
graciously accepted Delia’s offer. It was decided that Delia would take Catie and show her some available properties on Monday while Sean was at work.
“We’re thankful for your help,” Sean said when they had reached Delia’s car.
“And well you should be,” Delia replied without humor. “I don’t normally do residential leases, not enough commission to be worth my time.” She looked at Catie and smiled. “But I have ulterior motives; I’d like know a little more about Mrs. Catie Kelly before those ol’ biddies at Prissy Middleton’s tea get hold of her.”
“I’m afraid you’re to be terribly disappointed, Delia,” Catie replied. “There’s little to know.”
“We shall see,” Delia Reynolds said with a glimmer of shrewdness in her expression as she climbed into a frost-blue Mercedes convertible and donned a pair of excessively large sunglasses. “See y’all Monday,” she called out, waving, as she pulled away from the curb.
“Are you sure you want to be alone with her?” Sean turned to his wife and asked as soon as Delia was gone.
“Delia Reynolds may have a southern drawl in her speech, my love, but the language of the rich is universal. And I can speak it…remember.” Catie looked up at her husband and smiled a bit shrewdly herself. “I’ll be fine.”
Sean was silent on the elevator ride up, and Catie worried that he was stewing over their encounter with Delia. God, how I wish my wealth didn’t bother him so. Maybe he’s just tired, she thought hopefully.
“You’re going to tell her, aren’t you?” he asked as soon as the heavy door closed behind them.
Catie inwardly cringed; he was stewing. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sean, didn’t you hear her? Clearly, she already knows. The rich can smell each other. You know that.”
“She wouldn’t have known!” he argued, raising his voice. “Not if you hadn’t gotten all…all haughty like you do.”
“Hawt-ee?” she repeated, spitefully mimicking his Irish accent. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Sean, but we wouldn’t have had lunch with Delia Reynolds if your Irish blood wasn’t running low on Guinness.”
He breathed evenly, considering. She was right. Damn, he hated when she was right. Sean propped his hands on his waist and asked, “Did you just poke fun at my accent?”
He was changing the subject, and Catie didn’t know whether to be relieved or perturbed. She was married now, and she likely would start a family in a few years. For that reason, Catie’s trusts—her whole pending inheritance—could be transferred to her sooner than her twenty-fifth birthday. She and Sean would have to face this…eventually. But not today; instead, she grinned and nodded playfully.
“That’s not very nice.” He lowered his voice to a menacing tone and took a step towards her. “Not very nice at all.”
He lunged and gave chase as Catie escaped his grasp and scrambled quickly away, squealing like the little girl he fell in love. In only seconds, he had her in his arms, and they fell onto the bed, laughing and out of breath.
“I love you, cailín,” he leaned over her and panted softly, the rugged smell of stout still on his breath. “And I don’t like arguing with you.”
“That’s not true, Mr. Kelly,” she whispered, smiling now and tracing his lips with the tip of her finger. “What you don’t like, my dear husband, is losing an argument.”
“So, er…do you still fancy that nap?” He grinned wolfishly at her as he proceeded to ruck up the skirt of her dress.
“And if I said yes?” she said, one eyebrow arched in question.
“Then I’d say go to it, woman, and pay me no heed, for I intend to ravish me wife whilst she sleeps.”
***
On Monday morning, Sean kissed his new bride goodbye and left her alone for the first time since they said their vows. He didn’t like leaving her alone in a hotel room — in a strange country no less—and his mind raced with all the worst-case scenarios as he drove to Norbury.
For the entirety of his and Catie’s courtship, Sean had despised Bennet Darcy’s overprotective ways, but anxious as he was about leaving her that morning gave him a better understanding. Catie was the most precious thing in the world to him. Her health, happiness, security, her every breath were now his to safeguard. What if something happened to her? How would he ever forgive himself? He actually thought about going back and getting her but forced himself to pass the last exit that could turn him around. She was a woman now, he reminded himself, and deserved to be treated like one. How many times over the last four years did he secretly scorn her brother for treating her like a child? Sean considered telephoning Ben and apologizing. He hadn’t realized how much a man with a family worries. He grinned stupidly at his own thought. Family, he and Catie had created a family.
As he pulled through the school gates, Sean remembered the household budget he’d put down on paper after Catie had fallen asleep last night. He had intended to go over their income and living expenses with his wife before he left that morning but got in a rush and completely forgot. Sean sighed gratefully. At least now he had a reason to ring the hotel and assure himself she was all right.
Brushing her teeth when the telephone rang, Catie hurriedly rinsed and rushed to answer. “Hello.”
“Good mornin’, me darlin’,” Sean replied, his voice bright with the tune of Ireland.
Catie laughed. “If you don’t lighten that brogue a wee bit, me darlin’, no one at Norbury will understand a word you’re saying.”
“Oh, right.” Sean cleared his throat. “How’s this? How y’all doin’ today, honey?”
Catie laughed again. “Much better! Are you there already?”
“Aye, arrived safe and sound. Listen, love, I forgot to tell you; I put together a budget after you went to sleep last night. It’s on the desk.”
She stood and stretched the phone cord as she reached for the legal pad. “Yes, I have it.”
“I’ve approximated the amount of rent we can afford…under household expenses. Do you see?”
“Yes, Sean, I see but…” She hesitated.
“But?”
“What about the money Ben set aside for us from my trust accounts? This budget only includes your stipend.” She closed her eyes in a tight wince, fearing his answer. Catie knew her trusts rubbed her husband like a pair of uncomfortable shoes.
“That money is your quid, lass. Do what you will with it.” His accent was suddenly thick again, the best indicator his feathers were getting ruffled. “I’m fair capable of supporting me wife. Were I not, I wouldn’t have taken one.”
“Sean, the money in those trusts is ours, not mine,” she corrected.
“Listen, darlin’, I must be off,” Sean said abruptly, sounding flustered. “Dr. Middleton just came in my office.” He returned the receiver without saying goodbye and then hissed through his teeth to the empty room, “Damn bloody trusts!”
Suddenly rather flustered herself, Catie hung up the phone harder then was necessary and cursed, “Bloody insufferable ass!” She looked back at the legal pad and the budget. As always, Sean had been meticulous. In his firm, masculine script, he had accounted for every penny. Shaking her head, she put down the legal pad and picked up the telephone once again.
As Catie listened to the sharp trill of the telephone ringing at the Darcy’s London townhome, which also housed the offices of Ben’s investment firm, she mentally calculated the time difference. Surely, he’d be there by now.
After three rings, Wade Radcliff, her brother’s personal assistant, answered, “Office of Bennet Darcy, Wade Radcliff speaking.”
Wade Radcliff had worked for the Darcys since Catie was four years old, but the two had never been fond of each other. Wade didn’t particularly like children, and Catie Darcy wasn’t always a particularly likable child. In recent years however, they had acquired a passable tolerance for one another.
“Hello, Mr. Radcliff. How’s London?” she said with overstated cheerfulness.
“Still standing,” he responded, lacking her enthusiasm. “Amer
ica?”
“Hot.”
“America can be hot.”
Sensing the conversation was exhausted, Catie asked, “Has my brother arrived from Pemberley yet?”
“Actually, he’s just concluding a lunch meeting.”
“Wonderful! May I speak with him?”
“Hold the line please,” Radcliff replied flatly and was gone.
“Nice speaking with you too, Mr. Radcliff,” Catie said, rolling her eyes.
“Sis!” Ben exclaimed as he picked up the line, sounding elated. “How are you?”
“Jolly good, Brother, and you?”
“Better, now that I’ve heard your voice.”
“How are Sarah and the kids and Nan? Do they miss me?”
“Miss you? Every morning at breakfast Eliza Jane asks, ‘Does auntie come home today?’ I’m sure I shall go daft until that child sees you again.”
Catie laughed. “And the twins…how are they adapting to prep school?”
“They fair much better than their mother does, and I must admit, myself included. Pemberley is far too quiet with you, Geoffrey, and George gone away.”
“A quiet house with Eliza Jane under the roof? Really, Ben, do you expect me to believe that?”
He chuckled, and then there was a brief silence. “What’s wrong, Catherine?” he asked.
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“Instinct…intuition…the fact that I have known you since you were the size of a pickle.”
She smiled as a tear slid down her cheek. Until that minute, Catie hadn’t truly realized how much she missed him, a brother she’d looked up to as a father since their own father’s death. “I…” she started but paused, wavering. It occurred to Catie that it might not be wise to complain about her husband to Ben.
“Go on, Catie,” he urged. “You can confide in me.”
She sighed. He was right. And she did need a man’s opinion. “Sean doesn’t want me contributing to our living expenses, and I’m afraid with only his stipend—”
“I knew this would happen!” he interrupted her with such animosity it surprised her. “Did I not warn you about Sean’s pride?”
The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2) Page 5