Page 105 of To Love And To Cherish
"Mrs. Hawkins, Mrs. Taylor, Mrs. Smith, and Mrs. Lewis all received equal parcels."
"Well done. You are a good girl. And do you sew yourself?"
"Yes, ma'am. My sisters and I have always sewn for our parish and tenants."
"How many sisters do you have?"
"There are five of us. The three eldest are married, Lydia and I are the only two still at home."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen, Mrs. Grant. Eighteen in June."
Mrs. Grant nodded, pleased. "Ring for tea, dear." Kitty did so.
When the maid appeared, Mrs. Grant said, “Sally, bring tea, and please let Daniel know I wish to speak with him.”
Moments later, Daniel Grant entered. He was striking, with dark hair and a quiet manner that made Kitty’s stomach flutter. Not wishing to be caught staring, she quickly averted her gaze.
"Daniel," Mrs. Grant said, "This is Miss Catherine Bennet. She’s delivered sewing to five households this afternoon. I want you to see her safely home."
Kitty spoke. "Ma’am, if he has business to attend to, I can ride home. I would not wish to inconvenience your son."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Grant. "He can spare the time."
"You are gracious, sir," Kitty said to Daniel. "I apologize for the imposition."
"It is no imposition, Miss Bennet," he said, coloring slightly.
They took tea in near silence. Kitty was modest and soft-spoken, and when she rose to leave, both Grants appeared well pleased with the visit. Mrs. Grant smiled warmly, while Mr. Grant watched her with quiet intensity.
"Shall I tell my sister the fabric was suitable?" Kitty asked.
"Yes, perfectly. And I shall see you in church on Sunday."
Kitty curtsied and followed Daniel from the room, her heart beating faster than it ought.
Chapter 54: Progress
When Kitty returned to the parsonage, cheeks flushed from wind and pleasure, she found both Charlotte and Mary awaiting her in the drawing room with expressions of eager curiosity. Mary looked up from her embroidery and said, “Well, my dear, how did it go?”
Kitty responded by executing a little twirl in the middle of the rug, her smile radiant. “He brought me home at the request of his mother! She called me a good girl, then rang for Mr. Grant and instructed him to see me safely returned, and he did, in his phaeton. He said not a word the entire drive, but his eyes,” she paused and pressed a hand to her chest, “his eyes were often upon me. Do not ask me how I know, but I believe he might be interested.”
Mary laughed, her eyes warm. “Well done, Kitty! As Mamma always said, though she most often said it of Jane, I knew you could not be that beautiful for nothing.”
Kitty giggled. “She never said it of the rest of us.”
“No, indeed,” Mary agreed, still smiling, “but Papa was right. We each inherited a measure of Mamma’s beauty, and we must all thank him for his excellent nose; it flatters every one of us.”
Kitty’s face turned thoughtful. “Mary, I very nearly gave away our secret. I spoke of a sister living in Derbyshire and almost mentioned Pemberley. I caught myself just in time and recalled that Jane also resides on a Derbyshire estate. I was thinking of a way to change the subject when, providentially, the tea tray was brought in. Do you believe we can keep it quiet, that our sister ismarried to Mr. Darcy, who was once intended for Miss Anne de Bourgh?”
Mary sat back, her brow furrowed. “It is a troublesome concern. When Lady Catherine learns the truth, she may turn her displeasure on all of us. With any luck, you will be married before the news reaches her. I do not know whether she has the power, but I fear she might attempt to strip my husband of his living out of spite that a Bennet sister married her daughter’s intended.”
Kitty considered this for a moment. “Sister, Mr. Darcy would intervene if it came to that. He is a good man.”
Mary turned to her friend. “As for you, Charlotte, I have been observing Mr. Bertram. He does not bring his daughter to church, but he is quite regular in walking her to the stream on Sunday afternoons. That is the only time I ever see him. He is to dine with us after services, so I suppose he will forgo his usual walk, depending, of course, on how long we can contrive to keep him here.
“But on future Sundays, I think it would be wise for you to find yourself near the stream before he arrives. Perhaps he will speak to you, and you might strike up a friendly acquaintance. Who knows what may grow from that?”
