The Vicar's Wife

2

"Dear," Lucille shook her daughter firmly. "Wake up! It is well past ten and Mr Forsythe has been downstairs waiting for nearly three-quarters of an hour!"

"What...?" Hattie mumbled sleepily, unable to properly open her eyes. "Why?"

"Because you are engaged to marry, and he wishes to see you! Why are you still in bed? Did not Danes wake you when I told her to?"

"I sent her away...it's too early."

It was a well-known fact in the Foster house that Hattie never got up before noon. Asking her to do so was the equivalent of telling a bird to breathe water. Lucille stood with a huff, yanking the covers roughly from her daughter, grabbing her arm.

"Up! Now, now! He is waiting downstairs and growing more uncomfortable by the minute! This is shockingly rude behaviour, Hattie!"

"Mamma..." Half stumbling, Hattie allowed herself to be led to the vanity, where she was plopped down as her mother attacked her hair. In short order, the girl was dressed, primped and ready to face her intended. Still bleary-eyed, unable to cease yawning, Miss Foster allowed herself to be herded downstairs. As they reached the foyer, Hattie looked up just in time to see the front door close.

"Hattie, what the devil were you thinking of, child! To have kept him waiting so long, then only to come down once he's had to take his leave!" Her father barked the words at her, justifiably upset.

"I'm sorry father-" she stifled a yawn, blinking. "It is so hard to wake early."

"Early!" He snorted with faintly amused disdain. "It's nearly a quarter to eleven!"

"Well," her normally silly demeanour began to show itself in her sparkling eyes as sleep cleared away. "Then I come just in time for cookies and tea!"

"That is not a proper breakfast-!" Her mother sputtered, but Hattie laughed, racing for the door.

"I do not believe I have eaten a proper breakfast since I was a child!"

"Where are you off to?" Her father demanded. Hattie's answer came from over her shoulder.

"To catch a vicar! I shan't be able to eat a thing without a proper lecture for my follies!"

Protests fell on deaf ears as the girl ran from the house, skirt fluttering. She reached the end of the lane that led to her father's estate, glancing hurriedly each way. Disappointment surged through her at the empty road.

"Mr Forsythe!" Her cry was loud, drawing the attention of the shepherd boy just coming into sight with his flock. His curious gaze went unnoticed as she ran a few paces down the lane.

"Mr Forsythe!"

"Miss Foster?" The vicar's voice turned her around, seeing his handsome face and intelligent eyes as he stepped back into sight. "Whatever is the matter?"

"I could not let you go off without at least a greeting!" Running to him, her slim fingers laid across his arm as she smiled brilliantly up into his eyes.

"I had thought I would have to go without, today. Did your father tell you I called?"

"Indeed, for that is why I am out of bed at this ridiculous hour!"

"Ridiculous?" His laugh was warm. "'Tis a quarter of eleven."

"Very early, my dear sir." Leaning closer, she rested more of her weight against his arm. "I shouldn't have risen from my bed for any other reason than you."

"What shall you do, then, my dear Miss Foster, my lovely Hattie, when I must deliver a sermon on Sunday morning?"

"I have heard it said we willingly make sacrifices for those that we love, my darling Forsythe. There is nothing that I would not attempt in order to gain your favour and respect." Eyes gleaming, she giggled. "There...we have settled that. Now, shall you scold me for making you wait so long?"

"Admittedly, I was thinking of all sorts of reprimands to chide you with," he murmured, "but now? Nay, I cannot think of a single word."

"Nary a single rebuke for my negligence?"

"Perhaps time will bring the practice that I need, dearest Hattie." Leaning down, he pressed a warm, chaste kiss to her cheek. She accepted it in stiff surprise, a rosy stain on her face at the intimate gesture. "I can see that this will not be the last we speak on this matter."

"Then I have something to look forward to."

"You desire my displeasure, Miss Foster?"

"Not at all! Only as much time in your company as I am privileged to enjoy. How I adore the serious tone of voice you use when preaching."

"We have the rest of our lives, Miss Foster."

Biting her bottom lip, Hattie watched her intended walk away, glancing back once just before he turned the corner. Her wave was brief, but her smile lasted well into the afternoon.

The first stop the Foster ladies decided to make after Hattie had readied for the day was a visit to the dressmaker. A gown needed to be decided upon, including the details of the style, fabric, and decorations. Measurements would also be needed, but the shop was bustling when they got there. Esther Hornsby, an experienced, highly sought-after seamstress, was inundated with requests for the coming spring season.

Hattie and her mother were forced to wait nearly an hour before even speaking with Mrs Hornsby. At last she hurried toward them, her cheeks flushed from all the activity and stuffy atmosphere.

"Well well, Mrs Foster, Miss Foster! What a delight to see you here! Now, I expect you'll be wanting new gowns for the upcoming season?"

"Oh no," Lucille smiled triumphantly, raising her voice just a little. "We've accepted a proposal, thus need to order a wedding gown."

Hattie blushed as the shop went quieter, every ear listening even as they pretended not to. Esther Hornsby beamed at the young lady.

"Congratulations, Miss Foster! Who is the lucky gentleman?"

"The vicar of Highland parish, Jonathon Forsythe." Her mother answered, but Hattie nodded enthusiastically.

"He is the kindest, most patient of men!"

"Oh my dear, I'm sure he is!" Mrs Hornsby laughed, well aware of the flighty, silly temperament of her client. "Now, let's show you the latest fashions in gowns, and select a fine fabric to showcase that lovely figure!"

After many lengthy conversations over gowns and styles, Hattie decided upon a plain weave, sheer cotton gown with satin and cable stitches embroidered in the fabric. Down the front, starting just below the high empire waist and flowing around the hem of the wide train, were bands of floral sprigs and serpentine lines. With short, puffed sleeves and elbow gloves of satin, the gown promised to be stunning. It was something akin to the gown the Lady Theodore Benedict had worn on her wedding day, but different enough to be unique.

Hattie was nearly dancing with joy as her mother beamed proudly. Taking the young lady's measurements, Mrs Hornsby promised the gown finished within a month. They left the shop boisterous, elated to have one of the most difficult tasks taken care of. Next, they planned to stop in at the rector's office, wanting to plan when would be the best date to set for the wedding. Although disappointed to have to wait so long for the gown to be married in, Hattie was supremely satisfied to accept a Wednesday three weeks hence. The rector's congratulations were sincere, his opinion of Jonathon Forsythe above reproach. She floated from his office, lost in a world of flowers, cake, and love.

"Hattie!" The sharp tone of Lucille Foster yanked her forcibly from the daydream. "Pay attention, silly girl! We must go see the butcher to assure that he will have the best cuts of meat available for the feast. We cannot possibly provide all the food from our own ladder."

"Wonderful! I do hope he reserves the best racks of lamb for us!" Hattie loved lamb, vowing it to be the most favourable of meats. "What of the invitations, Mamma?"

"We will get to that, dear." Linking arms with her child, the carriage following behind, they continued their merry way, taking care of all the details of a beautiful wedding.