“No, I thank you for the hand though. Me brother-in-law will be back tomorrow, or he’ll be out on ’is ear. I’ll see to it that you get ’is wages for the day.”
“There’s no need. I was glad to help.” As he spoke, Sean knocked the stable dust off of his cap and pulled it back on his head, smiling good-humoredly down at Clancy.
If only slightly, Clancy reflected the smile. A rare thing for the old curmudgeon, Sean thought.
“You did the work . . . you get the pay,” Clancy stated in a manner that would brook no argument, and he walked away, grumbling under his breath about his useless brother-in-law.
Shaking his head, Sean laughed and leaned over the stall to put out his hand again to the horse. The animal came to him, and he briskly scratched the long neck, cooing softly in Gaelic. Before long, Catie Darcy was standing behind him. As tiny as Clancy but lighter of foot, she had padded silently into the stable, but he knew she was there. He could feel her presence as readily as he could feel the mass of horse under his hand. He turned to her but only caught the glimpse of a buttercup yellow shirt as she disappeared into the tack room, leaving behind a whiff of her scent, flowery and fresh against the raw stable air.
There was more to Catie Darcy than that haughty, rich-kid mask behind which she hid. Having been around horses all of his life, he understood that what a creature appeared to be outwardly wasn’t necessarily a peek at the soul. His father had taught him this. Since he was old enough to pull up to a fence rail, Sean had watched the man break horses, and whether it was an aggressive stallion or an overly shy mare, Seamus Kelly could reach into their core and drive to the surface the noble animal within. “Horses are no different than people, Seany,” his father said often. “They all have a story to tell if only someone will take the time to listen properly.”
But Sean hadn’t come to Pemberley to figure out what lay within Catie Darcy. She wasn’t his problem. She had family enough, and Aunt Rose certainly had a strong affection for the girl. All he had to do was teach her to trot and canter, collect his university tuition, and catch a ferry back to Ireland in six weeks. He gave the aging gelding a parting pat and went to saddle his horse.
When Catie arrived at the stable, Sean Kelly was affectionately rubbing her father’s beloved Abastor, a horse in his last few seasons of life, but still a fine-looking animal. Abastor was thoroughly enjoying the extra attention and Sean Kelly’s gentle voice, but his words were unfamiliar to Catie. She had studied French and Latin; this was neither. Gaelic, she thought, the Irish language once forbidden by the government in order to create British subjects amongst the Irish population. Like the Darcys’ antiques, jewels, and silver, the language had obviously been carefully preserved and protected and, even in the face of adversity, passed down through generations of Kellys. Although the words were not familiar they felt calming, like the easy flow of a fairy tale or lullaby. She opened her mouth to ask him their meaning but stopped short, deciding instead to fetch her riding hat, crop, and gloves. Why was it, she thought a little bitterly as she stepped into the warm, musty smelling tack room, that every bit of oppression suffered in the last few centuries had been at the hands of her bloody English ancestors?
When she returned, he was standing there with a large smile on his face. “Hello, Miss Catie.” He spoke in a pleasant tone that matched the smile. “Are you ready to begin?”
“Sure.” She nodded, glad to see he wasn’t one to hold grudges. She hadn’t been sure what her reception might be after that morning.
“Right, which horse is yours, then?” He raised one questioning eyebrow and looked down at her.
Catie gazed up into his face, but before she could answer, she found herself struck by a set of blue eyes that seemed to glow below his thatch of onyx hair. Really staring into them for the first time, she saw they were different from the steel blue color of Ben’s, which gave you an instant awareness of his charge. No, the cerulean orbs of Sean Kelly were feral-like and sparkled with a free spirit . . .
“Miss Catie?” His voice interrupted her thoughts. “Catie!”
“C-Chloe, the grey mare,” she said, the words tumbling awkwardly out of her mouth. She knew she had been staring at him, and her cheeks grew hot. Not daring to meet his eyes again, she turned to Clancy and asked sharply, “Why has Chloe not been saddled yet?”
“Been a bit short-handed today, miss, but she’ll be ready at once.”
“Yes, see that she is.” The flash of humiliation had faded, but her voice held its purpose.
“Yes, miss,” Clancy replied, casting Sean an apprising glance.
Catie busied herself with her hat straps to keep from looking at Sean Kelly again, and didn’t see the meaningful look he gave her.
Once Clancy brought Chloe around to the mounting block, Sean stood in front of her before she mounted. “You’ll have no need for this.” He pulled her crop out from where it was wedged between her arm and torso.
Catie watched nervously as he tucked it out of sight behind his back. She had never ridden without her crop before and didn’t like the idea, but she didn’t protest.
“Mount up!” He took the reins from Clancy to hold the horse steady so the man could get back to his work. “You’ll take the lead. I like to observe the skills of a new student. Just follow my instructions. I’ll mostly be watching today.”
Wishing she were anywhere else in the world right now, Catie nodded.
“All right then, we’ll walk for a bit then move into a working trot,” he instructed as he hoisted himself into his saddle. “Away off now.”
The day was hot for England’s Midlands, making the afternoon crawl slowly along. By the time they reached the flat grassy fields that ran along the riverbank, Catie had grown hot and thirsty.
“Halt,” Sean called out, and she gratefully pulled Chloe to a stop. He rode slightly past her and pointed down the long low lands by the river. “See the end of the field there?” He waited for her acknowledgement. She nodded. “You’ll wait for me to reach it, and when you see my hand drop, gallop hard in my direction.”
“Gallop?” she repeated. Of course she knew this was coming but wasn’t expecting it the first day.
“Yes, gallop . . . is there a problem?”
Having no desire to share her fears with him, Catie argued back, “I have no crop. You took it from me, remember?”
“You have no need for a crop. Your legs and position will tell your horse what you expect of her.”
“But that’s not how I’ve learned.”
“Then you will,” he said resolutely.
Catie’s mind raced back to that day eight years ago when she was thrown from her pony. She remembered lying alone in the grass. She remembered being afraid. Afraid she was hurt, afraid that Ben would find out and be cross with her. She remembered the pain from the fall, the loneliness of her father’s recent death, and the agony of Ben’s grief. She remembered the stinging tears that had finally come. She never wanted to sit astride a speeding horse again, but she couldn’t tell this man why.
“It cannot be a fear of speed,” he declared impatiently, growing tired of her dithering. “I’ve certainly seen you race by the cottage on your bicycle fast enough.”
“You have seen me on my bicycle?” she asked, happy to draw out the conversation.
“Well, yes.” He leaned forward in the saddle and gave her a stating the obvious expression. “We have occupied the same grounds for more than three days now.”
“But I . . . haven’t . . . seen you,” she stammered, uncomfortable with his close proximity.
He released a cynical sounding grunt. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” she asked, detecting the sarcasm in his voice.
“It means nothing.” He waved off the question and started off.
“Wait!” Catie quickly caught up to him. “If you have something to say to me, Mr. Kelly, say it!”
Straightening in his saddle as if he were heading i
nto battle, Sean stared at her. “It’s not my place to correct your manners, Miss Catie. Now, if you’ll please gallop hard in my direction when I reach the end of the field there, I’d appreciate it. I need to check your balance and position.”
“And do you think my manners need correcting?”
“Maybe you should ask Clancy that question.”
“Clancy!” she repeated incredulously, but then remembered snapping at him for not having her horse saddled. Still, who was Sean Kelly to reprimand her? And furthermore, it wasn’t Clancy’s opinion she wanted. Narrowing her eyes, she raised her chin in challenge and stated boldly, “I asked you.”
Sean Kelly’s mother may have been English but he was an Irishman from his flat cap to his boots, meaning he had been blessed with a fire in his temperament that would only be harnessed for so long. Be damned the job and be damned his tuition; all he wanted to do was to drag Miss Catie Darcy off that bloody horse of hers and send her walking back to the stables . . . her pedestal in hand.
He took a deep, purposeful breath, but it did him no good. So he again pulled his horse alongside hers and said, “What I think, Miss Catie, is that despite the efforts of my good aunt and your guardians, you have turned out spoiled, insolent, and selfish, with a complete disregard for the feelings of others. And I also think, since you asked, that it would serve you greatly to take a good long turn over the knee!” Sean pulled his horse about, kicked the animal into a quick gallop, and headed down field.
Shocked, Catie remained still. Unable to do anything else, she just sat there and watched him ride off. In less than a minute he reached the end of the field and turned back in her direction. He raised his arm and lowered it. Catie reached back to thwack Chloe’s rump but realized she held no crop. Exhaling her frustration in a loud garbled unladylike spew, she pulled back her hand and slapped the beast on its hindquarters with all of her might.
Although it wasn’t a fast or graceful gallop, she quickly arrived at the other end of the field. Catie stared at him hard but remained silent. He, however, spoke as if nothing had taken place.
“You are not adopting a forward seat,” he said in his sternest voice.
“Excuse me?”
“A forward seat, it’s why you feel awkward and uncomfortable with the gallop. Next time I want you start slow then spring forward and hover over your saddle as if you were going to make a jump.”
“Mr. Kelly — ”
“That’s enough for today,” he interrupted her then stated matter-of-factly, “We’ll resume tomorrow at three.” Sean turned his horse around and cantered off in the opposite direction of the stables.
“Where are you going?” she called out after him.
“My work day is finished, Miss Catie, if that’s what you are worried about,” he called out, not looking back at her.
“But . . . I’m not allowed to ride alone.” Catie hated how childish her voice sounded, but she didn’t want to be left alone with a horse, even if it was good-natured Chloe.
He stopped now and turned his horse to face her. “We are less than a half mile from the stables, and I have watched you for well over an hour now. Your skills in riding, Miss Catie, are better than you think.” It’s your skills with people that need work. The latter he wisely kept to himself. “I wouldn’t send you back alone otherwise.” Sean mockingly tipped his cap to her and took off once again.
Catie watched the departing horse and rider until they were completely out of sight. Chloe became restless and pranced gently under her. “Shhh, girl.” She patted the horse and to her relief, Chloe calmed. Catie looked once more in the direction Sean Kelly had gone and then carefully slid from her saddle to the ground.
Sean reined in his horse and looked back over his shoulder. He had ridden a good distance, far enough that Catie Darcy had disappeared into the landscape as if the ground had simply opened up and swallowed her. “Bloody hell! Bloody hell!” He cursed himself for caring, cursed Catie Darcy for those damn eyes of hers, and then turned his horse back to make sure she arrived safely at the stables.
When she came into sight again he drew up and stared at her in disbelief. “Why is she walking?” he asked out loud as if hearing the words might make better sense of why Catie Darcy was leading her horse on foot. Now heading in the direction of home, his mount was growing anxious to be back at the stable and snorted loudly in protest of stopping. “No oats for you yet, mate,” he scolded the animal and steered him up into a dense patch of Scots pine.
Taking the steep rougher terrain, he was quickly ahead of her and watched from a rocky outcrop as she came up the horse path to the stables. Sean put a hand to the horse’s nose to discourage any further snorts that might expose him. As she grew nearer, he heard sniffing and faint sobs. Then she stopped and he held his breath, fearing she had seen him. Sean swallowed hard as he watched her raise her hand and wipe her cheeks. He closed his eyes and then looked once more, but his eyes had not deceived him. Her face was blotchy and her eyes were rimmed red. “You’re an arse, Seany,” he whispered to himself and then for good measure added, “a real arse.”
* * *
As she soaked in the tub with a wet cloth over her face, Catie slowly drifted to the edge of consciousness. Her tears were gone but the emotion that had been her undoing still hung heavy in her chest.
“Miss Catie,” Annie called from the other side of the door, startling her back to reality. “You left your dressing gown on your bed. May I come in?”
“Yes, Annie . . . I’m finished.”
The door opened and Annie stepped in. As Catie had long since grown too old for a nanny, Annie had, for several years now, attended to her needs when she was home from school. Annie had recently married a groundskeeper by the name of Mark Philips and now lived in one of the estate’s tied cottages. The Darcys had even hosted their wedding reception at Pemberley last summer. This wasn’t unusual; times had changed dramatically since the old manor was first built. And since Pemberley no longer required the army of workers it once did, Ben and Sarah Darcy were much more intimate with their small devoted staff
Annie hung the dressing gown within reach and asked, “Will there be anything else this evening, Miss Catie?”
“No,” came from behind the wet cloth.
Annie couldn’t help but smile at the bubble-covered young woman whom she had watched transform from a child over the last couple of years. “I will leave you then. Oh, Mr. Darcy wanted me to tell you that supper is going to be upstairs tonight.”
A corner of the cloth was lifted. “Is he to be out?”
“No, Miss Catie, he’s in,” Annie replied and shut the door behind her.
It wasn’t like Ben to have dinner upstairs, and curiosity urged Catie to dry off and dress quickly. She gathered her damp heavy tresses into a ponytail and, grabbing the book she had been reading, hurried to the sitting room.
Attached to the family wing, the large but cozy lounge had been a favorite gathering place for private family evenings well before Ben and Catie Darcy were born. Although the room was slightly less grand than the formal public rooms, it was still rich in architecture with large mullioned windows that faced the lake and intricate moldings that crowned a high ceiling. But this was a place for children. Large comfortable chairs and a floral print sofa tossed with pillows sat under the spread of lamplight, and a television sat on a chest in the corner.
Catie could hear squealing and laughter as she approached the door and pushed it open to find Ben on his hands and knees, with two spirited riders atop his back. The twins jumped off their father and scampered wildly over to her.
“Daddy is a horsey, Auntie!” Geoffrey said boisterously, and George followed, mimicking his brother’s every word.
“I can see that,” said Catie, giving Ben a quelling look. She knew Sarah wouldn’t be pleased to see them so rowdy that close to bedtime.
“Right,” Ben answered her unspoken warning and told the boys to turn on the television.
Looking at her
brother, Catie had a sudden desire to rush crying into his arms and seek his comfort. But she wasn’t a little girl any longer, too big now to climb up into his lap and be coddled like a child.
“You all right, Sis?” he asked curiously.
“Yeah,” she breathed softly as she fell into her usual spot on the sofa and opened her book.
“How did it go?” Ben sat down at her feet and snatched the book from her hands to have her full attention.
“Where is Sarah, and why are we eating in here?” replied his sister, avoiding his question.
“She had some errands in the village and is bringing supper home.”
“But why are we eating — ”
“Catherine Elizabeth,” he interrupted her. “How did your riding lesson go?”
“Oh.” Catie looked at him and considered. It would be easy to tell him the truth about her afternoon — how Sean Kelly had spoken to her. Ben might even go have a word with him. But then again, what had the man said that wasn’t true? It was that realization that had brought her to tears in the first place. It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard similar accusations before. Remarks about her behavior had often been whispered behind the gossiping hands of maids or grumbled under a nanny’s breath. But Sean Kelly was the first ever to say such things to her face. “Good, Ben . . . jolly good,” she assured her brother as convincingly as possible, determined to handle the young Irishman herself.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiled. “I was worried. Sarah said you weren’t getting on with Rose’s nephew very well.”
A smile curled up one side of her mouth as she teased her way out of the conversation. “He’s just . . . you know . . . bossy like the rest of your lot.”
“Oh, is that so!” He laughed.
“Yes, it is.” Grinning, she reached over and snatched her book back. Catie loved when they could be brother and sister like this. They so often now forgot to be the siblings they once were.
Echoes of Pemberley Page 4