“Mrs. Middleton,” a young hostess, dressed in black trousers and a crisply pressed, white shirt, greeted them. “Glad to have you at the Pink House today, ma’am. If you’ll please follow me, your table’s ready.”
Once seated, a waiter, dressed identically to the hostess, came quickly over to fill their water glasses and take their drink orders.
“Will you have a sweetened iced tea today, Catie Kelly?” Prissy asked.
Smiling, Catie gave her head a slight shake and said to the waiter, “Earl Grey, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The waiter politely inclined his head and stepped away.
“I’m having no luck converting you into a southerner am I?” Prissy asked as she unfolded her napkin and spread it over her lap.
“Sorry, but I’m afraid not. My sister, Sarah, would probably come all the way across the Atlantic to scold me if she learned I had ice in my tea. Lord, I can hear her now, ‘Proper English ladies do not put ice in their tea, Catherine.’”
“I would like to meet Mrs. Sarah Darcy. You speak of her so often, I feel as if I know her already.”
“I believe you two would get on brilliantly. You are very much alike.”
“Really?” Prissy arched an interested brow, nodding a thank you to the waiter as he sat down their drinks. “I wonder then what your sister would have said about your little scene at Norbury this morning.”
Catie’s head shot up from the menu she was perusing, as though lightening had struck the table directly in front of her. “Was mine and Sean’s disagreement so obvious?”
“Obvious? Sweetheart, did you see the look on your husband’s face? Raging bull wouldn’t be an exaggeration. I don’t believe I’ve ever actually seen smoke come out of a man’s ears before today. Catie, honey, I’m probably being a busybody—Hugh fusses at me all the time for being a busybody—but I didn’t get the feeling that you and Sean were on the same page concerning your volunteering at Norbury.”
“No.” Catie laid her menu on the table and stared at it. “We are most definitely not on the same page…possibly not even in the same bloody book. My husband thinks me callow and, therefore, unqualified to volunteer.” She looked at Prissy then and stated with sureness, “And he may be correct, but I shan’t remain so.”
“So, were you trying to prove a point?”
“Yes…maybe. Oh, for heaven’s sake, I don’t know what I was trying to do. Sean is just so…so—”
“Bullheaded,” Prissy supplied.
“Yes.” Catie looked relieved that Prissy had said it instead of her. “And his insufferable male ego is trapped in the Stone Age. I so wish he was more even-tempered and laid-back—more like Dr. Middleton.”
Prissy tossed her head back and laughed. “Hugh Middleton laid-back, even-tempered? Honey, you don’t know that man like I do. When my daddy told Hugh Middleton at the end of a shotgun he was never to see me again, all he accomplished was ticking the man off. Two nights later, Hugh climbed up a ladder to my second-story window and took me and everything I could fit in the little valise my mama bought me for graduation.”
Catie’s eyes went round with shock. “You eloped?”
“Mm-hmm. We went to Florida and got married on Daytona Beach. It was very romantic.”
“What did your parents say?”
Taking a sip of her sweet tea, Prissy shrugged. “What could they say? I was a college graduate after all.”
“Your father and my brother sound like two peas from the same pod.”
“You mean, your brother pointed a shotgun at Sean as well?” said Prissy, sounding surprised.
“No, nothing as dramatic as that. Bennet gave us his blessing and a grand wedding, but he warned me that Sean’s pride and my inheritance could prove to be the thorn in our rosy marriage.”
“And has it?” Prissy asked.
Catie gazed at Prissy Middleton. She was near the same age as Sarah, and like her sister, Prissy possessed the stately, ripened beauty that the mid-thirties graciously bestow on a woman. Her once youthful features, now more dignified, carried the slight beginnings of a wrinkle here and there, lending her a look of wisdom that Catie had yet to find in her own reflection.
“Perhaps it has. Today Sean accused me of behaving the spoiled daddy’s girl.”
“And did you?”
“Maybe, but I could have slapped his face for saying it. Oh, Prissy!” Catie’s eyes sparkled wet as a single tear slipped down her cheek. “Ben said I was too young to marry. What if he was right? What if I am too young?”
Prissy reached across the table and put a comforting hand over Catie’s. “You’re not too young. I’ve been married for more than ten years, and I can honestly tell you that I wouldn’t have been any more prepared to deal with married life or Hugh Middleton today than I was then.”
“I just want Sean’s respect—for him to have confidence in me again. There was a time when he had more confidence in me than I had in myself.”
“Give Sean a little time. Gaining the title of husband can make a man temporarily brain dead. He’ll come around. Trust me; I’ve been in your shoes. You both will grow up a lot in the coming years, and your marriage will be all the better for having done so together. Anyway, is it so terrible to have a handsome, strapping man like Sean Kelly guarding you so carefully? I think it’s chivalrous and plumb romantic.”
Catie smiled slightly at that then asked, “What should I do about today?”
“What you should have done to begin with. Talk to Sean; tell him how you feel.”
“I’ve been given that advice before.” Catie raised her napkin and dabbed delicately at her eyes. “It seems I’m too foolish to learn from my own mistakes.”
“Stop beating yourself up.” Prissy’s voice was so kind and reassuring, Catie felt like falling on her friend’s shoulder and having a good cry, but the quizzical stares of the other patrons kept her emotions in check. “In time, you and Sean will find your balance. Rome wasn’t built in a day, honey. Now, go to the ladies’ room and freshen up while I order our lunch. I promise you that everything seems better after a good helping of fried green tomatoes.”
***
After lunch, Catie stepped out of the dim, cool restaurant, squinting to adjust her eyes to the afternoon sun. At the bottom step, she stopped hesitantly. “Prissy, I think I’d like to walk home.”
“But it’s five blocks away!” Prissy exclaimed.
“I don’t mind the walk, and I could use the solitude. It always helps me think.”
Prissy smiled and hugged Catie in the same family-like fashion she’d done upon their first meeting. “You all right?” she pulled back and asked.
“Not right this instant, but I shall be,” Catie assured her.
“Will I see you for tea tomorrow on the Isle of Hope?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Catie smiled at her then said, “Prissy?”
“Yes.”
“Remember when you asked me what my sister would have said about this morning?”
“I do.”
“Well, Sarah would have handled me just as you did.”
Prissy grinned. “I figured as much.”
“Thank you,” said Catie, meaning it.
“That’s what friends are for, Catie Kelly.”
Catie sat on a bench in Monterey Square with the townhouse to her back. She wasn’t sure what Sean would have to say when he came home from work, and so she procrastinated her return. She closed her eyes, hating the thought of another argument. Eventually, she heaved a long, resigned sigh and made the short walk across the street. As she neared home, the strums of a guitar and singing brought her up short. Sean.
Certain the music came from the courtyard, Catie hurried down the alley alongside the house. She released the old iron latch on the gate and stepped cautiously inside. Sean was sitting on the back steps, his old guitar propped on his knee, singing “The Rose of Tralee.” Her sudden appearance didn’t stop him. Instead, he looked upon her and finished crooning the last
verse,
“The cool shades of evening their mantel was spreading
And Catie all smiling sat listening to me;
The moon through the valley her pale rays were shining
When I won the heart of the rose of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer,
Yet ‘twas not her beauty alone that won me;
Oh no, ‘twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning,
That made me love Catie, the rose of Tralee.”
Like always, he replaced the song’s original maiden, “Mary,” with “Catie.” She really liked that he did that.
“Hey you,” she said when his voice died away and his strumming arm stilled.
“Hey back.”
“You’re home early.”
“Aye.”
This is going slow. “Why?”
“Because I realized this afternoon that I haven’t given you a single guitar lesson since we’ve been married.”
Catie looked puzzled. “You came home early to give me a guitar lesson?”
“That’s right.”
“Sean, don’t you think we should talk—”
“I said it’s time for a guitar lesson, lass,” Sean interrupted her and pointed to the step between his legs. “Sit down. Please.”
Catie made no move to comply. She didn’t want a guitar lesson.
“Please,” he repeated, staring intently at her.
She took a shaky, unsure breath, went up a few steps, and sat down between his legs. He lifted the old instrument over her head, and she positioned it on her knee as he had taught her. His legs flanked her peripheral vision. She could faintly smell his cologne. Why didn’t he take her in his arms? He hadn’t even kissed her hello. She needed him—not a bloody guitar lesson.
“Chord of G, please,” he instructed, his voice as deadpan as his expression.
Her heart yearning for his touch, Catie found what she thought was the right finger placement on the neck and glanced back for his approval.
“Um-hmm.” He nodded.
“Full strum?” she asked
“Um-hmm.”
Catie gave the instrument a single smooth stroke.
“Good. Now C.”
Again Catie placed her fingers.
“No,” he said, repositioning the incorrect digits. “Here and here.”
His delicate touch made her breath catch. For some insane reason, she had the sudden urge to hammer her fists into his chest, forcing him to check her…to deal with her. Completely unbidden, her irritation began to blossom into a mounting—frightfully unbridled—passion. Inhaling deeply, she gave the guitar another smooth strum, correctly omitting the sixth string.
“Perfect. Now try moving back and forth between chords. First G.”
She placed her fingers and strummed.
“Now C.”
She moved her fingers and strummed.
“Aye, that’s it. Now keep going.”
She began to move more rhythmically between chords until at last she faltered, causing the instrument to let out a plaintive cry.
“I can’t do it!” she cried frustrated, lifting the guitar off her lap.
“An instrument is sort of like a marriage, eh?” he said, taking it from her. “If it’s not rightly played…there will be no harmony.”
Catie came quickly to her feet and faced him. His expression was humorless. “I reckon I deserved that,” she softly admitted.
“Aye, you did,” he said, “as did I.”
Her brows shot up in disbelief, and he chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised.” He took her hands in his and began brushing tender kisses on her knuckles. “I’m man enough to shoulder my share of the blame. Now come here you.” He clasped her wrists and pulled her down onto his lap, wrapping his strong arms tightly around her.
Relieved, she nestled against his chest and listened to the sound of his heartbeat, wanting him so badly her skin fairly prickled with desire. It was soon obvious that he was similarly discommoded, and she hid her smile. “What are you thinking?” It was cheeky, but she had to ask.
“What I’m to do with you,” he replied.
“Oh.” She trailed her finger around one of his shirt buttons, hoping to inspire in him a solution.
“Catie,” he finally said, raspy and somewhat strained.
“Yes, Sean?”
“I know we’ve matters to resolve between us, lass. But I’m afraid I must take you upstairs and make love to you first…if that’s all right by you.”
Biting the corner of her lip, she looked up at him and nodded.
Chapter 13
Catie’s eyes fluttered open. Depleted from his attentions, she must have drifted off. Sean lay next to her with one arm around her shoulder and the other propped behind his head. He was awake. His breathing didn’t bear the deep, even cadenced of sleep. Normally, at that time of day, he would just be arriving home from work. It felt odd to be in bed at that hour, but Catie wasn’t complaining. She dared not shift, lest he know she had wakened. She preferred a few more precious moments of lying naked against his rising and falling chest, letting the world carry on outside as they lay tucked in their sanctuary of pillows, covers, and each other.
She mused again over their quarrel and the effects it had had upon them. Strangely, her mind drifted to Ben and Sarah. She thought of her brother’s marriage, of Ben and Sarah’s playful and constant banter that oftentimes bordered outright bickering. When she was a child, she often wondered if they had fallen out of love for all the chaff and tit for tat they exchanged. Now she began to see more clearly. Like any flame, passion needed fuel. She let her eyes travel down the length of his person and felt her insides turn to liquid. She had to admit: the fact that he was divine didn’t hurt either.
“I know you’re awake, Mrs. Kelly.”
Blast! “Hmm.” She feigned a yawn then stretched luxuriously, purposefully allowing her husband a well-lit afternoon view of his wife.
“Faker,” he teased, pulling her close.
“I am not!”
“Yes, you are but a beautiful faker. As a matter of fact, if you’d like to stretch again, darlin’, I’ll not complain.” She giggled and poked him playfully in the ribs until he grabbed the offending hand. “That tickles.”
“I meant it to tickle.”
“Catie.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Mm-hmm.” She returned the kiss against his chest.
“I must finish what I was going to tell you this morning.”
She groaned. “Oh, Sean, please…let’s just put the whole bloody affair behind us. I’m satisfied just knowing you’ve had a change of heart. And after all, haven’t we already made up?”
“I haven’t had a change of heart,” he said matter-of-factly. “What I said I meant. If you know me at all, lass, you know that.”
She sat up like a shot and looked down at him. “You did so have a change of heart!”
He came up on his elbow, looking a touch perturbed. “I fancy I’d know best the leanings of my heart.”
“Then what was all that, ‘I’m man enough to shoulder my share of the blame,’ rubbish?” she asked but, instead of letting him answer, quickly formed her own conclusion. Looking appalled, Catie hastily pulled the covers up to her neck like a defiled maiden and exclaimed, “You seducer!”
Sean scrunched his face incredulously. “What are you talking about?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about! Telling me what I wanted to hear just so you could get me in bed! Pray tell me, did you plan this little carnal rendezvous all afternoon?”
“Now wait just a damn—”
“I shan’t wait! I cannot believe you would employ such trickery. Have you no—”
“Mary mother of Christ, woman, houl’ yer wheesht!” he fairly yelled, stopping her mid-sentence.
Catie did houl’ her wheesht, but only long enough to recover from the shock of having been told to do so. Glaring at him, she said, “You sounded just l
ike your father just then! And furthermore, I will not houl’ my—” He stood up and began pulling on his trousers. “And just where do you think you’re going?”
“I mean to have my say, Catie,” Sean said firmly, angrily buckling his belt. “So I’m fetching me something to gag that infernal, bletherin’ cakehole of yours.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t?” He placed his hands on his waist and cocked his head to one side, questioning.
She opened her mouth to rebut but quickly shut it. Yes, she thought to herself, he most certainly would—possibly even enjoy it. Looking at his bare, muscular chest, it also occurred to her that—physically at least—he could do to her whatever he bloody well pleased. She huffily crossed her arms and raised her nose to a rather haughty level. Essentially telling him that silent she would be, but happy about it she was not.
“That’s better,” he said, easing back on the bed beside her. “Though, if you also held your breath, you’d look just like my brothers when they were wee lads and Ma wouldn’t give them their sweeties.” Sean laughed, but his wife did not see his humor.
“That’s it.” She moved to get up, but he stopped her, gently taking her chin and pulling her to face him.
“I’m sorry, m’lady. If you’ll listen, I’ll behave the perfect gentleman.” His eyes dropped to her naked, ivory shoulders then lower, where two soft mounds delicately pillowed over the sheet she held close to her bosom. “Difficult as that will be in your current state of dress.”
“Do you not mean undress?”
“Aye, but I’m trying to stay focused.” Sean smiled then, and they stared at each other for a long moment. At last he said, “Catherine Kelly, I’m a man who speaks his mind, but to be fair…you knew that when you married me. I’m sorry, lass, but even for the sake of marital accord, I can’t mince or sugarcoat my words. It’s just not who I am.”
She gave him a single, grudging nod.
The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2) Page 16