The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2)

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

  As Sean drew closer, she could see a broad smile on his face, and it struck Catie that she was about to change this man’s life forever…and not for the first time. He wore a thin collarless shirt, rolled neatly to his elbows, his oldest, most loved waistcoat, which he never buttoned, and his flat cap. How quickly he had shaken off his professional self, but Catie liked him this way most of all. Sean also hadn’t submitted to his ritual monthly haircut, making his thick black hair stick out from under the cap in sweaty curls, and his sideburns hadn’t been attended to for some time. If Catie weren’t already in love with this man, she would have been at serious risk of falling for him at that very moment.

  “Hey you,” she said as he walked Luas so close she could reach out and scratch the horse’s nose.

  “Hey back,” he answered, still smiling then glanced back over the field. “Christ, that run felt grand.”

  “You looked awfully handsome.”

  “Oh, aye?” He grinned at her. “Where’s Auntie? I thought she was with you?”

  “She went back to the house. I wanted to be alone for a bit.”

  “Ah,” Sean said, wondering when Catie might talk about whatever it was Rose had to say. “Shall I leave you then?”

  She breathed out a smile. “You are the perfect husband, Sean Kelly, because you never push.”

  “No man is perfect, cailín. Pushing just isn’t my way. That’s all.”

  She said no more, just rubbed Luas’s nose, her mind a million miles away.

  “Would you like to go up to the ruins? There will be sailboats on the lough today.”

  Catie nodded and climbed down. She kicked off her sandals, placed her barefoot atop Sean’s boot, and he lifted her into the saddle as if she weighed no more than Eliza Jane.

  “I’ll see you eat your supper tonight, lass,” he said as he helped her settle in front of him and tuck in her skirt. “You’ve done naught but pick at your food the last few days, and you’re light as a feather.”

  “I feel as if I could eat a horse at the moment,” she declared, making him laugh.

  Sean reached around her and patted Luas’s neck. “No worries, mate. You’re no good for the spit yet.”

  They rode up the hill in silence, Catie finding a peaceful solace in Luas’s stride and leaning against Sean’s solid form behind her, warm and sure. Near the top, he slowed the horse to better navigate the multitude of stones, which were scattered around the ruins as if a giant hand had swooped down and toppled the abbey for pure vengeance. Catie saw that an information plaque had been placed there since her last visit, telling tourists the abbey’s history. But few tourists stopped in Ballygreystone. Most just drove through on their pilgrimage to Downpatrick and the burial place of Ireland’s patron saint. It was a shame, Catie thought, to only enjoy the hamlet’s beauty from behind the windows of a hired car.

  Although Sean had taken her to the spot before, Catie gasped as she stepped through the thirteenth-century doorway and saw the Strangford Lough glistening below them, dotted with the promised sails and masts. In the distance, she noticed dark clouds over the Ards Peninsula, telling her their sunny day would not last. “Oh, it’s going to rain,” she said disappointedly.

  “That’s Ireland, lass.” Sean chuckled as he leaned against a wall and watched her touch the smooth stones as if they were speaking to her, telling a secret only she could hear. There was much inside his wife, and he was growing tired of waiting. A few days before they’d left Savannah, she had received a letter from Scotland. Without speaking of its contents, she had folded it and stashed it away in her purse as if it meant nothing, but it had affected her. No, Sean thought, pushing wasn’t his way. But he might very well grab her by the shoulders and shake her if she didn’t talk to him and soon.

  “You know, we could’ve used a pack mule to carry all your thoughts up that hill.” Maybe he would push…just a little.

  She turned abruptly, stunned by his words, then gave him a faint smile. “I thought you said I was as light as a feather.”

  “Our thoughts don’t weigh on us like Mam’s cooking does, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t heavy. You might feel better if you unload a few of them.” He was officially pushing.

  Catie sighed and turned away from him again. “I’m afraid I don’t know where to start.”

  Sean got up and came over to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and whispered into her ear, “Try the beginning.”

  Although he couldn’t see her face, he could tell she was thinking about that. She finally said, “In the stories I was writing for Jamal, do you remember the one Jamal loved most? It was the one I was inspired to write from the story Annabelle told me about my father and the hot air balloon he’d bought from the traveling circus.”

  “Willie’s Great Balloon Adventure. It was my favorite as well.”

  Catie nodded. “Well, I sent the story to Sarah to get her opinion on how I could improve it and such. And…well…do you remember what Ben did with our airline tickets?”

  “Yes, he upgraded them when we—” Sean’s eyes closed as realization set in. “He didn’t.”

  “He did,” she replied softly. “Ben’s investment firm owns controlling shares in a London publishing company. Their children’s division is located in Glasgow. Sean, they’ve sent me a publishing contract.”

  “I see. I reckon congratulations are in order then.” He didn’t sound very congratulatory.

  Catie turned back to face him and stared at him for several heartbeats. Of course she’d known what she had to do all along but hadn’t wanted to face it — until now. “Oh, Sean, if I sign that contract, I’ll never know, will I?”

  Looking miserable for having to do it, Sean shook his head. “No, darlin’, you’ll not.”

  Sounding resolved, Catie said, “Please don’t be upset with Ben. Since he was fourteen, he’s been trying to make everything all right for me, filling in what life and circumstances stripped away. He doesn’t know how not to, I don’t think.”

  “You and Ben have some work to do on your relationship, on boundaries especially, and especially now that you’re married. But I’ll leave it for you to work out. I’d be no better for sticking my nose in.”

  “Now there you go being perfect again.”

  “I’m an Irishman, woman; philosophizing is what we do best.” He smiled and led her to the edge of the hill to sit on one of the large stones and watch the storm come. He knew there was more she needed to say, but he wouldn’t push again. She had started now, and Sean had no doubt she’d finish.

  “What do you see when you look out at the horizon, Sean?” she asked, and he smiled for being right.

  “I reckon I see what you see, mo chailín, the rain approachin’.”

  “No. What do you see?”

  Thoughtfully, he blew out through puffy cheeks, stared out at the horizon for a long minute, and then replied, “I see sailboats and fishin’ boats. I see the tide is turnin’ and the drumlins and—”

  “No!” she exclaimed annoyed. “You don’t understand! What I want to know is—”

  “What you want to know is: do I see the Irish Sea and wonder what’s out there waitin’ for me. What you want to know is: is this”—Sean made a grand swoop of Ballygreystone with his hand—“enough for me?”

  “Tess’s father said men like you were bigger than Ulster. That Gabe and Da are the type of men who are contented with the island, but you—Sean, do you want to come back here, or do you feel obligated because of the teaching?”

  Sean stood up and, taking her by the hands, pulled his wife to her feet. He stared down directly into her eyes and spoke from his heart. “I’m being called to teach here, Catie, so yes, I feel obligated to that call. Do I see the horizon and wonder what the world has to offer that God’s wee rock doesn’t? Of course I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m not content. The problem with Ulster folk like Mr. McLaughlin is they put everything and everyone in a category: Protestant, Catholic, those that stay, those that immigrate�
��the lists are endless. Well I’m sorry, but I don’t fit into a bloody category.”

  He was getting riled, so she squeezed his hands to calm him. She had to say what needed saying before she lost her courage. “Sean, Uncle Horace will be at Pemberley Estate when we arrive next week.”

  He shrugged. “Why should that be a big announcement? He’s your godfather, and you’ve been away for a long time.”

  “He’s also my solicitor.” She held his eyes with hers, hoping to gauge his reaction. “Sean, Uncle Horace has papers for me to sign. I’m married now—starting my life, and so my trusts are being turned over to me—to us…”

  He let go her hands and stepped away from her. “That’s your money, lass. I’d rather be left out of it, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Well you can’t be left out of it, you bloody insufferable ass!” She came up behind him, fists clenched at her sides, frustrated by his constant stubbornness over her inheritance. “Because it’s not my money, it’s our money — mine, yours, and the baby’s.” He spun around, and Catie realized what she’d said. Her heart leapt into her throat, but she saw something in Sean’s expression that made her hand fly to her mouth. “You knew already.”

  “Of course I knew or deduced at least.” Sean reached up and pulled his hat off. “Look at me hair.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked incredulously.

  “Before I got married, me da and grand-da said a man must get his hair trimmed each month when the woman has her…er…time. That way, if my hair ever grew long, I’d know she was with child. And damn it to bloody hell, Catie, I’ve not had a haircut goin’ on eight weeks now.”

  She hiccupped a laugh. Then, as the hilarity of it set in, her shoulders began to shake and she burst out laughing uncontrollably.

  Looking annoyed by her hysterics, Sean asked, “What’s so bloody funny?”

  Wiping tears from her eyes, she said in a shaky voice, “Oh, Sean, that was such a wonderfully Irish thing to have done, wasn’t it? You do fit on God’s wee rock don’t you, and I’m all the happier for it because I can’t imagine us raising our son anywhere else.”

  “Son?” He croaked the word as if it were unfamiliar.

  She lifted her shoulder and let it drop. “They say mothers have an intuition about these things.”

  “Son,” he repeated with more conviction.

  Needing him to hold her, Catie flew into his arms, crying, “Oh, Sean, are you cross with me for not being more careful? Please say you aren’t.”

  “No.” He held her tight for a long moment then ducked his head and gave her mouth a long, tender kiss. “I’m thrilled to pieces and scared to death, but I’m not cross.”

  Chapter 29

  Standing on the top riser of the bed steps, wearing a pink ballerina’s tutu, a red cowboy hat, and toting a toy western revolver, Eliza Jane brought her face and the gun nose to nose with Sean, who was sleeping soundly, and yelled, “Where’s my Auntie!”

  “Jaysus!” Sean bolted upright out of a dead sleep.

  The child’s soft, pink mouth curved into a little circle. “Oooooo, Uncle Sean, you took the Lord’s name in vain.” Eliza Jane straightened imperiously. “I’m telling Rose.”

  Sean blinked incredulously at the little girl then, realizing most of his bare chest was exposed, pulled the covers up to his chin and snapped back, “Go ahead and tell her because I’m old enough to say whatever I want.” Of course, he realized he sounded like an eight-year-old boy, but Eliza Jane had a way of goading him directly back to preadolescence.

  “I’m four years old now, Uncle Sean.” Eliza proudly displayed four chubby, little fingers. “Can I say whatever I want?”

  “No,” Sean replied firmly.

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  Sean turned to where his wife should be and noticed that her side of the bed was regrettably empty. He glanced back over his shoulder at the child, who was scratching her head with the muzzle end of the toy gun. “Eliza Jane, have you been rifflin’ about in George and Geoffrey’s bedroom again?”

  Eliza’s blue-green eyes went big and round as she quickly tucked the gun behind her back, evidently believing that if her Uncle Sean couldn’t see the toy, then he would forget about it. She slowly shook her head, biting her bottom lip in the same way her aunt did when she was about mischief.

  Sean might have laughed, but he had to go to the loo and soon. And unfortunately his bottom half was no more clad than his top. “Tell you what. If you don’t tell my Aunt Rose I took the Lord’s name in vain, then I’ll not tell your mummy you’ve been in your brothers’ bedroom. Deal?”

  “Deal!” Eliza Jane smiled, showing all her tiny teeth and two perfect little dimples as she climbed up onto the bed to seal their agreement with a hug.

  “Aye,” Sean squawked as Eliza squeezed his neck with all her might, making him feel like his mother’s chosen Sunday hen. He patted her back. “There’s a good girl then. Now clear off, Annie Oakley, so I can get dressed, eh?”

  “I’ll go tell Rose you didn’t say ‘Jayyy-sus’ okay.” She scampered off the bed, ran to the door, and disappeared into the hallway, yelling, “Roooose!”

  As soon as the coast was clear, Sean jumped up, hurried over, and shut and locked the door. In the bathroom, he saw a piece of paper adhered to the mirror with a dab of toothpaste and chuckled at this wife’s ingenuity. On it was a message scrawled in her hurried hand:

  My Darling Sean,

  I took an early walk. Something Annabelle Montague told me— Never mind, I’ll explain later. See you at breakfast.

  Love, C.

  ***

  Kneeling between her parents’ graves, Catie squinted into the sunlight as she held up the jar that contained three different locks of hair, each bound by a ribbon. Once she had secured a small, manageable spade from one of the gardeners, she’d had no trouble in digging up the long-ago hidden treasure her mother, father, and Annabelle Montague had buried beside the big rock near the boat ramp as testament to their friendship. For Catie, finding and relocating the jar was one of those things you don’t really understand why you have to do; you just know you must. She patted the last of the dirt in place and gazed off into the woodland, carpeted with bracken and new pine saplings. She might have prayed but couldn’t decide what she wanted to say, and so she listened. The footsteps that came shortly from behind didn’t surprise her. No one had seen her leave the house, but she was expecting Rose nonetheless.

  It was a few weeks after Ben and Sarah had left Savannah that Catie begin to suspect it was Rose who had refused her father’s marriage proposal. Snippets of memories began flooding back to her. Looks shared between her father and Rose, soft giggles and touches that meant nothing to a child’s eye at the time but made more sense now that she was a grown woman. Perhaps she had known there was more to their relationship all along but had purposefully pushed it aside. Taking a slow, deliberate breath, Catie realized that she could no longer escape facing Rose. Had it not been for the distraction of her pregnancy, she was sure they would have had the long overdue conversation at Kells Down. What if this changed their relationship forever? In her heart, Catie feared she couldn’t forgive Rose Todd for not wanting her father—for not wanting her.

  “Catherine, what are you doing?” Rose exclaimed, rushing to her side and putting a hand on her shoulder.

  Catie looked up at her and smiled. “I realize my holding a spade over a grave is a tad alarming, Nan, but I was only placing something here for Mother and Daddy.”

  Rose gave Catie one of her worried looks. “Are you all right, child? Sarah and I are worried sick about you.”

  “I’m fine, Nan…really.” Catie stood and dusted her hands and trouser knees free of dirt. “I am now at least.”

  Rose’s worried expression softened, and she stared quizzically down at the freshly disturbed ground. “I believe it’s time you and I had a talk, Catherine.”

  As q
uiet as the forest beyond the graves, Catie lowered her eyes to her hands and whispered, “I don’t think I want to, Nan. Ben was right. Sometimes the past is better left.”

  “I would like the opportunity to explain myself—to tell you why I couldn’t marry your father.”

  “I said no!” Catie barked bitterly and started away, torn between wanting to hear what Rose had to say and fearing it at the same time.

  “I see,” Rose said shortly. “Yet you will hear the tale of a perfect stranger like Annabelle Montague.”

  Catie stopped but didn’t turn around. “She wasn’t a perfect stranger. Annabelle was, at one time, a friend to my mother. She loved my father and would have given almost anything for William Darcy to have loved her back.”

  “And you don’t think I loved your father?” Rose asked sharply.

  Still unable to look at Rose, Catie replied, “How can you love a man and refuse him? How can you love a child but not want to be her mother?”

  “Selfish girl!” Rose’s tone was even sharper than before, cutting through the soft morning air like a knife and shocking Catie enough to make her spin back around. “Has it once occurred to you that there were other people’s feelings involved? I loved your father, Catherine, and I love you, but there are times you can be as intolerably selfish as he could be.”

  “Ben,” Catie said coldly. “It was Ben, wasn’t it? He disapproved of the marriage because he couldn’t bear the entire world knowing that William Darcy fell in love with his housekeeper.”

  “Ben didn’t disapprove.” Shaking her head, Rose’s expression showed all the pain Catie was feeling. “Will you sit, child, and hear what I have to say—what I should have said to you years ago?” Catie hesitated for a moment but then walked to the concrete bench at the foot of her parents’ graves and sat down. “First of all, I must tell you that your father dearly loved your mother. I’ve never seen a man grieve so. But having lost my Henry, I understood his pain. When you are left behind—widowed—there is a never-ending loneliness that lives with you day and night. William was enduring Margaret’s loss but was devastatingly lonely.”