Ben scowled over the enjoyment being had at his expense. “May I ask what is so amusing?”
Sarah cleared her throat and tried mimicking his sincerity. “Ahem, It’s just . . . I mean . . . yes, darling, I must concur, not so distant at all.” Then with some difficulty in keeping a straight face she added, “As a matter of fact it could be upon us before we even realize it.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking,” Ben agreed and went into a long explanation about how it was his responsibility to make sure that Catie was well situated in life — that she marry well and, in order for her to do so, needed to be exposed to the right group of young men. Gone were the days of ceremoniously presenting England’s young — and, of course, well-born — debutantes at Court, announcing their release into society. Therefore, he argued, it was their duty to unceremoniously bring Catie forward. And what better occasion to begin that process than at the garden party.
“But, Bennet,” Sarah said. “Catie will have an eighteenth birthday party to come out. And you certainly are no help. You abhor society unless it’s the Grand National or a country hunt ball.”
“And what, may I ask, is wrong with a hunt ball?”
“You abhor society, your sister abhors hunting, as does your wife,” she mumbled the latter quietly under her breath, but he heard her.
“Forget hunt balls.” He made a face and shook his head. “It’s up to the parents nowadays to manage these things, always has been really. They have the most influence after all. Your comments about the Hirst boy got me to thinking about it all. We need to take the control here, Sarah. You and I need to delicately start the process.”
“And what is it you expect me to do?” Sarah asked, alarmed.
Ben leaned in as if he were revealing the plan to some great caper. “During your luncheon use your female tactics to hint that Pemberley would especially like to have in attendance the sons, grandsons, and nephews of . . . well, there’s no delicate way to say it...desirable families. Make it clear that Catie will be seventeen soon. Old enough to start . . . you know . . . socializing with lads.” He presented an adamant finger. “Supervised, of course; there’ll be no shenanigans to be sure.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Should I get references on these lads or will any one of England’s big-eared, buck-toothed blue bloods do?”
“Sarah Darcy!” he exclaimed. “How could you speak of your fellow countrymen in that manner?”
“And how can you put your sister on the block like one of your thoroughbreds?”
“I am doing no such thing! I just think it is time Catie started being introduced to the right pool of young men.”
“Catie is a sensible girl, Ben, and perfectly capable of choosing her own suitors. I would hate to think I had picked you out of such a small pool of prior chosen eligibles. Her inheritance alone will guarantee that she is well situated in life. Really, Ben, the days of parents intervening in such matters are long gone.”
“Let me remind you that Catie doesn’t receive a penny of that inheritance before her twenty-fifth birthday. Until then, I hold control of her trusts. Surely, Sarah, even you can see how vulnerable her pending wealth will make her to every blackguard in England.” Ben sighed heavily but wasn’t to be defeated. Lowering his voice to a convincing tone, he added, “It is just as much our responsibility to guide her through this as it is to see that she’s properly educated, is it not?”
To this Sarah could make no feasible argument. Furthermore, her prior conversation with Catie (not that she would be sharing any of that conversation with her husband) was proof in itself of their young sister’s growing need for parental guidance in the social realm. So she agreed.
Satisfied with his success, Ben glanced about to make sure the gardeners were well out of sight and lovingly kissed his wife. “Just out of curiosity, my love,” he said, pulling back and flashing a charming grin down at her. “Just how large was that pool of eligible young men you chose me out of?”
To this comment Sarah slowly removed one of her gloves, with care and deliberateness pulled each finger loose, and started whacking him with it. Arms raised in defense, Ben scurried out of the orangery, laughing. He was rather pleased to have gotten the best of her . . . for once.
Chapter 15
When Maggie Reid received word that Mrs. Darcy would like to speak with her concerning a position at Pemberley, her father was elated. Mr. Reid knew the Darcys to be an exceptional family to work for and was sure his Maggie would be happy with them. Maggie, however, wasn’t quite as elated as her father was. A shy girl, Maggie had rarely been out of the county of Derbyshire and never a night away from home.
A learning disability, which went undiagnosed until her early teens, made school almost impossible for Maggie. She could read, but not well, and only when she was forced to.
Just four years old when her father lost his legs, the bulk of Maggie’s life was spent caring for him. Her mother worked long hours to provide for Maggie and her younger sister, leaving Maggie to run the house and nurse her crippled father. But she didn’t mind this. Like her grandmother, Maggie had an appetite for the craft of healing and spent many hours learning the elderly woman’s remedies. She knew that a hot boiled potato would treat corns. She had committed to memory all the medicinal uses of purple sage. Each month when the doctor called on her father, Maggie would fetch instruments from his bag. The black and chrome tools were heavy and solid in her hands. Maggie loved the feel of them. If she’d had the ability to learn properly she would have chosen a career in nursing, but that was a dream she abandoned years ago with the difficult, and sometimes shameful, experiences at school.
Maggie accepted the position. She would be an upstairs maid.
She was apprehensive as she rode her bicycle to the grand manor, which she had only seen from a distance. It wasn’t the work that caused her concern. Margaret Reid had never shirked a chore in her life. It was Catherine Darcy. Granddaughter to the locally hailed Geoffrey Darcy and Lord Byron Sumner, Miss Darcy’s lineage was as impressive as the thoroughbreds in Pemberley’s stables. To Maggie Reid, Catie Darcy was everything she wasn’t — rich, well educated, finely dressed, but most of all . . . self-confident.
On the day the Darcys came to visit, Maggie had watched Catie Darcy through the window for some time before her father called her. Maggie immediately noticed the girl was very much like her brother, prideful in her appearance with a distinct air of superiority.
Maggie hated to admit it, but she possessed more than a small degree of envy for Pemberley’s young miss — not because of the girl’s wealth but rather her abundant self-confidence. Maggie had never held herself as straight and proud as Miss Catie did, shoulders back, head up, and looking the world directly in the eye. If she had that level of confidence, Maggie thought, nothing would be out of reach. Possibly not even a career in nursing.
It started to rain, and Maggie pedaled faster.
It was a dreary, wet afternoon in England’s midlands. Outside, peonies and roses sagged with the weight of the tiny puddles that gathered on their petals, while inside, Catie sat in her room, answering letters to schoolmates. A small rap on the door interrupted her.
“Yes,” she responded, and Rose entered with Maggie Reid.
Catie lifted her head, and her eyes instantly met with Maggie’s.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Maggie Reid since the day she and Ben rode away from the Reids’ cottage. Not only was Maggie Reid in possession of her mother’s name, but she had a story that went along with that name. Catie shared no story with her mother, except of course how she died giving birth to her.
Adding to the insult, Margaret Darcy was the first person to ever hold Maggie. Catie had imagined her mother cooing and talking sweetly to the newborn. Maggie had felt Margaret’s motherly touch and heard her consoling voice. God, she resented Maggie Reid.
“Will it be an inconvenience if we put your clothes away, miss?” Rose asked formally since she was training Maggie.
Giving Maggie a hateful stare, Catie shook her head.
As Rose directed Maggie, she spoke tenderly to the girl, patting Maggie’s back and shoulder reassuringly. Catie watched the two intently, and it quickly became more than she could bear. Maggie Reid may have received more attention in life from Catie’s mother than Catie was to ever have, but Maggie Reid most definitely was not going to get affection from Rose.
“That is not where my socks go!” she said, outraged.
The sudden outburst caused Rose and Maggie to turn to her. “Miss Catie, that is where your socks have gone since you were an infant,” Rose replied, trying not to sound too admonishing.
Catie looked Rose squarely in the eye, ignoring the warning look she was receiving. “I don’t care where they have gone, everything is most inconvenient for me, and I plan to rearrange it all!”
“Oh, you do, do you? And when may we expect this rearranging to occur, Miss Catie?” Rose asked, her tone beginning to sharpen.
“When I get around to it, until then she can just place my things on my bed and leave.”
Rose didn’t reply to this, instead she gave Maggie another gentle tap to her shoulder and sent her to fetch fresh linens for Miss Catie’s bed. She walked over and quietly shut the door behind Maggie.
The expression on Rose’s face when she turned back made Catie swallow. She had gone too far. Rose came and stood in front of the writing table with folded arms. Catie ignored her, hoping she would simply let it drop, but then Rose cleared her throat, distinctively.
Blast, Catie thought. “Yes, Nan?” She looked up and answered sweetly with a smile to match.
“Let me make something very clear, Catie Darcy. We are not going to be unkind to young Maggie!”
“Fine,” Catie argued back, her chin raised. “I’ll not be unkind, but I don’t like her, and I don’t want her in my room!”
“And what in the world has that sweet girl done to you, may I ask?” Rose leaned over the desk, causing Catie to sit back.
Maggie Reid may have had my mother but she’ll not have my Nan, Catie thought spitefully. “How can you like her better than me, Nan? You have only known her but a few days, and me my whole life.”
“What’s all this about?” Rose scuttled around the desk and took Catie’s face in her hands. “Dearest Catherine, I could never like any girl better than I do you. Maggie is very shy and in a strange place with new responsibilities. I am only trying to help her adjust, make her feel at home.”
“Do you mean that?”
“What do you think?” Rose stared down at her.
Shamefaced, Catie lowered her head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I behaved that way.”
Looking displeased, Rose adamantly concurred, “Nor do I, but I’ll not have it!”
“Please don’t be cross with me.”
“It’s all right, child.” Rose’s motherly scowl softened and she pulled Catie tight against her. She held her there until a faint knock at the door announced Maggie’s return.
“Are you okay?” Rose asked.
Catie nodded and glanced at the door. “I’ll apologize to Maggie if you say I must.”
“We’ll not make any more of it this time,” Rose said. “But I think Sarah’s right. You are starting to grow up.”
“Oh.” Catie managed a smile. “Tell Ben. Will you?”
Rose rolled her eyes and shook her head despairingly. “He’s as thick as any man, Catie. I’m afraid he will have to come to his own realization in his own time. But when he does, he’ll puff up and think he’s the bee’s knees for knowing something we all didn’t.”
Catie giggled as Rose opened the door and explained nicely that Miss Catie had decided not to rearrange her things.
* * *
The dress Sarah bought in the spring for that year’s garden party was, to her chagrin, amongst the first of her wardrobe to become snug. A trip to London was in short order. She hoped her seamstress could alter it.
Ben was hosting Charles Worthington for the weekend, so Sarah decided to have Catie accompany her. He walked his wife and sister down the front steps of Pemberley and opened the car door. Ben turned to Catie, snuggling her tightly against his chest and giving the top of her head a soft kiss. “Buy a pretty frock now, Sis,” he said, grinning. “But leave me a few quid to pay the butcher, eh?”
Catie responded by wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him unusually long and tight. Ben glanced over at Sarah with a slight look of bewilderment. Catie had always been affectionate, but never overly. Ben gently pulled her back and questioned, “Is everything all right, Catie?”
“Everything is fine,” she replied, smiling up at him.
Once she was settled in her seat, Ben shut the door behind her to allow him and Sarah a moment’s privacy. Nestling her under his chin, he begged his wife to take it easy and not to overdo it. This pregnancy meant so much to them both. Bennet Darcy would have filled Pemberley with fifty children if it were possible. Like his mother, he very much desired a large family. Unfortunately, with the string of heartbreaking miscarriages in the fourteen years between him and Catie, his mother’s dream was never to be realized.
“Stop being a fusspot,” Sarah said, sensing his concern. “And remember to look in on the children. I know when Charles arrives you will become distracted and forget . . . so don’t.”
“Yes, Mrs. Darcy.” Ben smiled at her. “Now stop scolding, woman, and kiss me before you miss your train.”
* * *
“Catie, dear, we must be off. My appointment with Mrs. Tuttle is in less than half an hour!” Sarah called up the tall, winding staircase of the Darcys’ London home as she stuffed a few things in her purse.
“Coming!” Catie appeared, rushing down the steps.
“Is the car ready?” Sarah turned to Wade Radcliff, who was at the door with an umbrella in hand.
“Yes, madam,” Wade said, holding up a “one moment” finger to the taxi driver.
The Edwardian townhome, with its impressive Portland stone façade, was purchased in the 1920’s by Ben and Catie’s grandfather. The home was originally built to host a prominent family through London’s Season, but business was the necessity of the day. An investor and financier like his father and grandfather, it was necessary that Ben Darcy be in town several times a month.
Catie never felt at home in Mayfair. Her father had rarely brought her to London with him, as in doing so it would have meant bringing her caregivers as well. The few times she accompanied him to town was when he could devote all of his time to her, which wasn’t often. Once Ben married Sarah, Catie came to London more frequently. Sarah, who loved the shopping, entertainment, and restaurants the city offered, enjoyed taking her new little sister to children’s boutiques and outfitting her in the latest London fashion. Still, while Catie relished Sarah’s attention, Derbyshire and Pemberley would always be home.
Standing in the third floor window of the seamstress’s building, looking down on a very busy street, Catie couldn’t help but think what a different world the city was from the peaceful serenity of Pemberley Estate. Spotting a fish shop on the corner, Catie’s stomach began to rumble, and she walked back across the room to Sarah.
Sarah gazed gravely in the large looking glass as Mrs. Tuttle moved around her, examining the dress and shaking her head. “I’m not sure, Mrs. Darcy,” Mrs. Tuttle repeated again as Catie approached.
“Sarah,” she interrupted them, “may we have fish and chips for lunch? There’s a shop across the street.”
“No, Catie.” Sarah shook her head, sounding appalled by the suggestion. “I’ve already made reservations at my favorite bistro for our lunch.”
“French food! Good Lord, Sarah! I’m starving, and the French hardly put enough on a plate for half a person!”
Feeling the binds of her dress tight against her torso, Sarah glanced sourly at Catie. “Catherine, I do not eat fried foods. When a woman reaches thirty and has given birth to twins, it’s
no longer an option.” Catie’s shoulders dropped in disappointment. “Plus, I made those reservations for a reason. I have something very special to tell you over lunch.”
Catie folded her arms and walked back to the window, grumbling under her breath, “Thanks, Sarah, now I’m starving and anxious.”
The seamstress chuckled and whispered, “She has personality, that one, and pretty too. Your husband will have his hands full keeping young chaps at bay with that little miss.”
Sarah chuckled herself and declared with a hint of pride in her voice, “You haven’t met my husband. It is more likely to be the chaps that will have their hands full. Any young man willing to go through Bennet Darcy to get to her, will be worthy of his sister indeed.”
Unsuccessful with the seamstress, Sarah and Catie sat at a table by the window and ate their lunch. The two had a long afternoon of shopping ahead of them, as they were leaving town the next day and no new dresses had yet been purchased.
Once they finished at the bistro, Sarah took Catie to one of her favorite boutiques. It was close enough to walk, so they didn’t need a taxi. The streets were crowded and busy. Horns blew constantly and sirens wailed in the distance as they slowly made their way.
“Does Ben know?” Catie asked breathlessly, almost doing circles around Sarah as she dodged passersby.
“Of course he knows.” Sarah laughed. “Now slow down, you’re so excited I can hardly keep pace with you.”
“What about Rose?” Catie tried to temper her step.
“Yes, Rose knows as well.”
“Have you told everyone? Was I last?” She sounded disappointed.
Sarah stopped and pulled Catie into a shop doorway. “I haven’t told anyone my suspicions.”
Catie’s eyes grew round. “Twins again!”
“Good Lord, no!” Sarah leaned forward and whispered, “I believe it’s a girl.”
“Oh,” Catie squealed, “A girl!”
Sarah gave her head a wary tilt. “However, it may be better to keep my suspicions from your brother as yet.”
Catie nodded, glad to be Sarah’s confidante on the matter.
Echoes of Pemberley Page 17