to the season, the doors to the formal rooms were wide open to allow air circulation, and there wasn’t a place he could have rested his eyes that didn’t hold the sight of grandeur. Tapestries and art hung on walls painted in bright pastels, balancing the abundance of dark wooden antiques and upholstered furniture. In the grand dining room three crystal chandeliers were suspended from high coffered ceilings over a table that could seat twenty or more. “You live here?” he asked, unable to comprehend the reality of it.
“Yes,” she replied simply, “though these rooms are rarely used nowadays. At one time Pemberley was open to tours a couple of days a week, but my brother closed the house to visitors after my father died.”
A painting of a horse caught Sean’s attention and he asked excitedly, “Is that a Stubbs?”
“Are you an admirer of Stubbs, Kelly?” a deep voice asked behind them, and Sean and Catie turned from the painting to see Mr. and Mrs. Darcy descending the grand staircase.
“Yes, sir,” Sean answered, “me dad as well. He has several prints in his farm office.”
“My great-great grandfather won that painting from a duke in a high stakes card game,” Ben said as he and Sarah joined them in front of the painting.
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Sean said, “what was your grandfather’s wager?”
Ben grinned. “It is legend that the hand of his eldest daughter was on the table. But since we Darcys have always been better storytellers than gamblers, I’d say it was just that . . . a legend. He probably bought it at an estate auction on a rainy Saturday afternoon.”
Sean laughed softly.
“Is Stubbs your only interest?” Ben asked.
“No, sir — Munnings too,” Sean said, smiling unevenly, “though my father argues that Stubbs was the greater genius.”
Ben grinned again. “I have to agree with your father. Stubbs had no influence of photography. But still, Sir Alfred had his merits. Follow me to the billiards room, and I shall show you a piece of his work.”
“Very nice, sir,” Sean said after they had studied and commented on the stately horse and rider for several minutes. “Thank you for showing it to me. My father will be quite jealous.”
“Trust me, Sean, the pleasure was all his.” Sarah smiled at her husband with a teasing eye.
“Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you on a Sunday afternoon,” Sean said politely. “I only wanted to see Miss Catie safely home. I’ll not keep you any longer.”
“Actually, Sean, I was hoping to see you.” Ben stopped him. “I had a delivery at the stable a few hours ago that I believe might interest you. Can you come with me now?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Darcy.”
“I’d like to see, may I come?” Catie asked eagerly.
“Really?” said her brother with one eyebrow arched in suspicion. “And since when were you interested in horses, Catherine?”
Catie’s cheeks flushed a bright pink.
“We’ll both join you,” Sarah sympathetically interjected. “I could use a little exercise before supper.”
“As you wish, madam.” Ben gave her a perceptive smile and stood aside to allow his wife and sister to pass. “Are you as knowledgeable in literature, Kelly, as you are in art?”
“Somewhat knowledgeable, Mr. Darcy.”
“Do you know who wrote, ‘Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.’?”
“I believe that was Oscar Wilde, sir. The Sphinx without a Secret .”
“I believe you are right!” Ben said with unnecessary exuberance.
“I believe that will be quite enough from you, Mr. Darcy,” Sarah admonished playfully without turning around.
The thoroughbred Ben had purchased was a handsome dark chestnut, solid except for a small patch of white between his eyes and around his mouth. His temperament, however, was less appealing. Unlike the regal and stoic animals in Ben’s paintings, the gelding anxiously pranced about inside the paddock with a wild distrust in his eyes.
“What
“Yes,” she replied simply, “though these rooms are rarely used nowadays. At one time Pemberley was open to tours a couple of days a week, but my brother closed the house to visitors after my father died.”
A painting of a horse caught Sean’s attention and he asked excitedly, “Is that a Stubbs?”
“Are you an admirer of Stubbs, Kelly?” a deep voice asked behind them, and Sean and Catie turned from the painting to see Mr. and Mrs. Darcy descending the grand staircase.
“Yes, sir,” Sean answered, “me dad as well. He has several prints in his farm office.”
“My great-great grandfather won that painting from a duke in a high stakes card game,” Ben said as he and Sarah joined them in front of the painting.
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Sean said, “what was your grandfather’s wager?”
Ben grinned. “It is legend that the hand of his eldest daughter was on the table. But since we Darcys have always been better storytellers than gamblers, I’d say it was just that . . . a legend. He probably bought it at an estate auction on a rainy Saturday afternoon.”
Sean laughed softly.
“Is Stubbs your only interest?” Ben asked.
“No, sir — Munnings too,” Sean said, smiling unevenly, “though my father argues that Stubbs was the greater genius.”
Ben grinned again. “I have to agree with your father. Stubbs had no influence of photography. But still, Sir Alfred had his merits. Follow me to the billiards room, and I shall show you a piece of his work.”
“Very nice, sir,” Sean said after they had studied and commented on the stately horse and rider for several minutes. “Thank you for showing it to me. My father will be quite jealous.”
“Trust me, Sean, the pleasure was all his.” Sarah smiled at her husband with a teasing eye.
“Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you on a Sunday afternoon,” Sean said politely. “I only wanted to see Miss Catie safely home. I’ll not keep you any longer.”
“Actually, Sean, I was hoping to see you.” Ben stopped him. “I had a delivery at the stable a few hours ago that I believe might interest you. Can you come with me now?”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Darcy.”
“I’d like to see, may I come?” Catie asked eagerly.
“Really?” said her brother with one eyebrow arched in suspicion. “And since when were you interested in horses, Catherine?”
Catie’s cheeks flushed a bright pink.
“We’ll both join you,” Sarah sympathetically interjected. “I could use a little exercise before supper.”
“As you wish, madam.” Ben gave her a perceptive smile and stood aside to allow his wife and sister to pass. “Are you as knowledgeable in literature, Kelly, as you are in art?”
“Somewhat knowledgeable, Mr. Darcy.”
“Do you know who wrote, ‘Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.’?”
“I believe that was Oscar Wilde, sir. The Sphinx without a Secret .”
“I believe you are right!” Ben said with unnecessary exuberance.
“I believe that will be quite enough from you, Mr. Darcy,” Sarah admonished playfully without turning around.
The thoroughbred Ben had purchased was a handsome dark chestnut, solid except for a small patch of white between his eyes and around his mouth. His temperament, however, was less appealing. Unlike the regal and stoic animals in Ben’s paintings, the gelding anxiously pranced about inside the paddock with a wild distrust in his eyes.
“What
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