Echoes of Pemberley (24 page)

“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.

Sarah smiled. “All right, let’s find us the perfect frocks now, shall we?”

Sarah Darcy was always a welcomed sight inside the small dress shop that catered to wealthy clients. Mrs. Darcy spent freely and was always offered every convenience to keep her shopping. She was generally an easy fit, but today Sarah was to be a more difficult client than usual.

No less than fifteen failed dresses into the afternoon, Sarah was becoming tired. “Maybe madam would like some tea,” the shop girl suggested.

“Yes, thank you.” Sarah nodded dismally and sat down to wait on the refreshment.

She had just made herself comfortable when Abigail Hirst, Aiden Hirst’s mother, came into the shop.

The Hirst family was
nouveaux riche
by Darcy standards. They were long-time dairy farmers south of the Peak District, until coal was found in their grazing fields. The greater part of the Hirst fortune was earned during the Industrial Revolution. They were owners and operators of a Derbyshire colliery, and shareholders in the railway company that carried the coal out of the county. During the mid-1800s, the Hirst family built Ardsley Manor, a Victorian Era country house near Matlock in Derbyshire.

Sarah had done as Ben had asked and “dropped the hint”
at her luncheon, casually mentioning to her table that Catie would be seventeen in November and would soon be in want of more socializing. Sarah considered it to be enough to tell Ben she had done as he asked, but certainly not enough to bring about a stampede of England’s well-to-do, teenage boys to Pemberley’s garden party.

Although she had a very comfortable upbringing, Sarah was raised much more modestly than her husband and was not as well versed in the gossip pipeline of the rich. Unbeknownst to Sarah Darcy, she had said plenty, and Abigail Hirst was first in line to give young Catherine Darcy the once-over.

Sarah was resting in a dressing gown on a small sofa with her feet up when Abigail approached her. Swelling ankles had been a bothersome side effect from her first pregnancy and not a welcomed return. Sarah was never as unsociable as her husband could be, but she was in no mood for conversation.

“Oh . . . Abigail, how are you?” She pasted on a smile and asked with mock enthusiasm.

“Fine, Sarah, and you’re well I see.” Abigail took an unoffered seat beside her on the sofa.

“Yes, thank you.”

“So . . . that’s William and Margaret’s Catherine. My . . . she
is
petite,” Abigail said and looked at Sarah quizzically. “How old is she again?”

“Sixteen.”

“Oh, goodness, she’s still young, not yet fully grown I’m sure. She could be much taller in a year or so, and a soundly built girl if I ever saw one. And my, she does have a very pretty face. Very much like her mother, that one.”

Sarah looked at the chattering Abigail Hirst in disbelief, but the woman took no notice. As if she were shopping for a dress or shoes, Mrs. Hirst sized up Catie’s person from head to toe.

“I understand our children have met.” Abigail turned back to Sarah with a proud twinkling smile. “Aiden took a real fancy to Catherine I think. He has spoken of nothing else since he returned from the country.”

“Abigail . . . ” Sarah tried to speak but the woman spoke over her.

“You do know his Uncle Lawrence and Aunt Eleanor have no children, leaving our Aiden in line to inherit Ardsley. Oh, I know it’s not comparable to Pemberley but still a fine house. Will you brunch with us tomorrow?”

Sarah replied shortly, “I’m sorry, Abigail, but Catie and I are leaving town first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, no bother,” Abigail said, waving off Sarah’s less than polite regrets. “We shall see you in a few weeks at the garden party then.” Abigail stood but didn’t leave. Instead, she glanced around the shop and then leaned close and whispered, “We must be vigilant parents in this less formal age, Sarah. One can never be too careful. Well, cheerio.” Mrs. Hirst patted Sarah’s shoulder and paraded out of the dress shop, pleased and confident with their little tête-à-tête.