Sara swallowed again and put her hand to her throat, tapping it.
He furrowed his brow. “Your throat? Something is the matter with your throat?”
She nodded, smiling apologetically.
“You cannot speak? But you spoke to me yesterday.”
She took a deep breath. Perhaps the ants had receded enough that she could speak again. “I am sorry,” she squeaked out, her voice barely audible.
Mr. Grant had to move his head toward her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am sorry,” she repeated more loudly, though her voice still retained the squeak.
He looked at her for a long moment. He said, “I will make you a deal. Get me out of this godforsaken trap and I will accept your apology.”
She raised her brows at his language.
He placed a hand over his heart. “I swear, ’pon my honor, I will be pleasant.”
At that, Sara had to suppress a snort. Noticing, Mr. Grant tipped his head to the side and contemplated her. For the first time she saw his mouth curl into an actual smile, both corners turning up and giving a glimpse of straight white teeth. His features softened, making him seem less cold and more approachable. A warmth began to spread through her belly at that smile and she relaxed.
“I suppose I deserved that,” he said ruefully. He shook his head. “You have seen me at my worst. I am normally very charming and endearing.”
Sara smiled at that. “I shall have to take your word for it, sir.”
“You slay me with your doubt,” he replied. He looked down the path. “Now which way to Windent?”
Sara gestured the way she had been originally heading. “We start this way.” She retrieved her basket and put her brother’s letter into it. They began to walk side by side, but not touching. She matched her stride to his although his limp was barely noticeable beside her. She wondered where his cane was. Perhaps it was not necessary at all times.
“Do you travel these paths often?” Mr. Grant broke the silence.
Sara shook her head. “It is not the most direct way to Ridgestone from Taft, but it is such a pleasant day I wished to extend my journey. There are times, however, that I will explore them just on a whim.”
He looked at her in surprise. “You do not fear getting lost?”
She smiled. “It has not happened yet.”
Mr. Grant shook his head. “I must be hopeless, then, to have gotten lost on my first time.”
“Do not be so hard on yourself,” Sara said. “I have been living at Ridgestone for nearly a year and am much more familiar with the paths than you. I had Claire with me the first few times I ventured in here.”
He looked at her questioningly. “Claire? Is she your sister?”
She blushed at her faux pas of mentioning Claire. “Mrs. Knightly. She is a friend and owns Ridgestone along with her husband. He is the gentleman who offered you assistance when your horse was lame last Sunday.”
Recognition dawned on him. “Ah. Yes. I thought you were familiar from more than just yesterday. You live with them?”
They were approaching a fork in the path. Mr. Grant must have chosen the wrong one to follow as the other led to a field directly beside Windent Hall. She turned them down that path. “Take note of the three-limbed tree here,” she pointed out. “It indicates the path to Windent Hall. And yes, I do live with them, along with Miss Hurst, another friend.”
Mr. Grant looked surprised. “Three females and one male?”
“Yes,” Sara nodded. “Mrs. Knightly, Miss Hurst and I became friends when we were all governesses in the same area. We banded together to create our own school.”
His eyebrows rose. “How ambitious.”
Sara fell silent, unsure of how to interpret his tone. Was he sincere or mocking? It was difficult to tell and it flustered her.
After a few steps in silence, he spoke again. “If you are involved in a school, how is it you find yourself free in the afternoon? Are there no pupils today?”
She cleared her throat. “I only teach the youngest children, in the mornings; they are too young to be expected to last the whole day. It leaves my afternoons free for administrative duties and errands.”
“Such as fetching the post,” he said, looking at her basket.