Page 106 of To Love And To Cherish
Charlotte asked curiously, “How old is his daughter?”
“Miriam is three. As for his wife,” Mary’s voice softened. “She contracted scarlet fever as a child and was told by her physician she ought never to bear children, that her heart would not withstand the strain. She did not heed him. Mrs. Bertram wanted a child, and the poor woman did not survive long after the birth.”
“That is dreadful,” Charlotte said, visibly moved. “So it has been three years?”
“Yes. Mr. Bertram has not looked about him for a new wife, but sufficient time has passed. With Mr. Grant being such a catch, none of the young ladies have bothered to pursue an older widower with a child. He has not been hunted as poor Mr. Grant has.”
Charlotte considered this with care. “Perhaps simply by being present, he will begin to take notice. If anything is to come of it, I suppose it must begin there.”
The Sunday service was pleasant. Kitty admired her brother’s reading; his voice was strong, and he spoke with clarity, remaining happily upon the subject without diverging into theological meandering. She imagined the parishioners must bless his brevity. Being seated in the rector’s pew at the front of the room, she could see none of the parishioners as they quietly entered the church and filled their pews behind her. But just as the service was about to commence, Kitty heard footsteps and the murmur of voices; Mr. and Mrs. Grant and their son Daniel had arrived and taken the pew directly behind hers. A richly attired woman, perhaps Lady Catherine herself, entered with her daughter and another lady who might be a companion. They seated themselves in the pew directly before the pulpit, opposite their own. Her ladyship appeared elegant and proud, her gaze fixed ahead, acknowledging no one to the right or left. Much as Kitty longed to glance over her shoulder, she resisted. Her eyes remained dutifully cast down upon her gloved hands or fixed upon Mr. Bennet. When they stood to sing the closing hymn, she dared to glance up. Mr. Grant was watching her. When they rose to leave, her heart gave a quick flutter as she lowered her eyesand passed down the nave, walking modestly between Mary and Charlotte.
At the church doors, Mary introduced her guests to as many of the parishioners as time would allow. Eventually, the Grants approached them.
Mrs. Grant smiled with civility. “We shall join you shortly, Mrs. Bennet. But first, I will return home to change into a cooler day dress.”
She turned to Kitty with the same pleasant smile. “Catherine, you are in excellent looks this morning. Your hair is streaked with red highlights, and it glitters in the sun. Quite becoming.”
Kitty curtsied slightly and answered with modest gratitude, “You are very kind, ma’am. My papa used to tease me about my hair. He called me ‘Carrots’ when I was a little girl. It was more red then. I am thankful it has darkened.”
Mr. Grant spoke next, his voice low and sincere. “I would not change a thing, Miss Catherine. My mother is correct, your hair is lovely.”
Kitty bowed her head, the heat rising in her cheeks. She could scarcely find her voice to reply.
Mary, standing beside her, caught the subtle smile of triumph on Mrs. Grant’s face, carefully concealed from her son but unmistakable to a sister with matchmaking ambitions of her own. At that moment, Mary knew she had found an ally in her endeavors and felt very certain that Kitty Bennet would be betrothed before the year’s end.
Chapter 55: A Proposal for Charlotte
Mary sat quietly amid the bustle of the drawing room, her thoughts occupied by their guest, Mr. Bertram. He had spoken cordially to William after the service, but made no attempt to greet the ladies. Instead, he had turned down the lane, his hat low over his brow, and entered his carriage without so much as a glance.
Perhaps he was beyond the reach of feminine attentions. Still, Mary determined to do what she could for Kitty, who looked particularly well that morning in a pale rose day dress and a straw hat trimmed with ribbon, set at a flattering tilt over her coiffure. Lizzy had done her sister a true service when she purchased her wardrobe. Mary made a mental note to write and tell her so.
William stood at the head of the table, carving the leg of lamb with habitual precision while the dishes circulated among the company. Dr. Clark, the parish physician, and his wife had arrived in good time, as had Mr. Jones, the apothecary, accompanied by his unmarried sister Cecilia. Mr. Jones, at eight-and-forty, seemed unlikely ever to marry, but was a kind and steady presence nonetheless.
At last, Mr. Bertram arrived. Mary had nearly instructed the party to begin without him. After being introduced to her guests, he offered an apology for his lateness.
“You must excuse me, Mrs. Bennet,” he said, his voice low and courteous. “Miriam is laid down with a cold. I very nearly remained at home this morning, but her nurse coaxed her into taking some willow bark tea, bitter though it was, and her feverhas since abated. I drove home to check on her, and finding her sleeping, I ventured back.”
Mr. Jones, ever the professional, asked, “Shall I send down headache powders, James?”
Bertram paused, then nodded. “Yes, I believe that would be helpful.”
Mary placed him beside Charlotte at the table, though she noted his attention strayed. No doubt his thoughts remained with his daughter.
Mr. Bertram’s abstracted manner, his gaze often fixed on some private thought rather than the company before him, convinced Charlotte that he harbored no inclination toward matrimony or, indeed, toward women at all. Still, kindness cost her nothing. She addressed him with gentle civility. “Your daughter suffers from a headache, sir?”
“Yes, and a cough and fever.”
“Have you tried hot bricks to the feet? Or a mustard soak? Heat drawn to the extremities often clears the head and relieves pressure.”
At this, Mr. Bertram looked at Charlotte fully and smiled. “Thank you. I shall ask Nanny Wilkins to try that. I believe Miriam would enjoy a foot bath if I present it as a game.”
Charlotte gave a soft laugh. “Children can make a game of most anything. How old is she, sir?”
“My daughter has just turned three and is as precocious as they come, and she allows me very little latitude. I cannot say I understand her.”
Charlotte’s expression softened. “I teach in the Sunday school of our parish. I must agree, children of that age are often quite decided in their opinions. But once you find your way to them, they are delightful.”
Mr. Bertram’s smile faltered. “I wish I could say the same. Miriam lost her mother at birth. I have never quite known what to do with her. She throws tantrums and once even fainted. Her nurse was beside herself. By the time I arrived, my daughter was sitting up perfectly well. Mrs. Wilkins is not strong enough to manage her, and truth be told, I am not either.”
