The Vicar's Wife

7*

Visiting hours the next day found Hattie dozing on the sofa, her cheek resting in her palm. Dancing until after two in the morning, then being forced from bed by ten in the morning was intolerable. For what? To primp, then sit and wait for a visitor to come. What an utter waste of time! The soft chime of the bell roused her. Barely had she time to sit up and straighten her bodice before the door opened.

"Mr Forsythe to see you, Miss."

"Thank you, Edwards." Rising, vision still faintly blurry, she smiled as the vicar came into the room. Butterflies stirred in her belly at his presence. "Mr Forsythe."

"Dear Hattie," he smiled, then looked closer at her, noting her bleary and slightly unfocused gaze. "Are you well?"

"Yes," even as she said it, the girl stifled a yawn, blushing as she tried to cover it with the back of her hand. "Forgive me..."

"The hour is early." He murmured understandingly. "Yet you are out of bed."

"It was not my decision, I assure you."

"About the wedding," he watched as her blue eyes cleared and then widened as they lifted to his. Vague alarm flitted through them.

"Yes?"

"Though it is unusual...I believe a ceremony after luncheon would be wise."

"After...really?" Reaching out to grasp his fingers in hers, she smiled. "You will not insist on a customary time?"

"I will not...however," lowering his voice a little, Jonathon cupped her chin in his hand. "I will insist on your presence during the Sunday morning sermons after we are wed."

"Then I will willingly obey, my darling Forsythe."

"I know it is traditional for the groom to leave arrangements to the bride if she wishes, but I do have a small request about the reception feast?"

"What is it? Anything you desire, and I shall see it done."

"I hope this does not distress you too greatly, dear Hattie, but...might we not have lamb served? It is an unpleasant meat to me, and I cannot abide the smell or flavour."

"Lamb..." Hattie stared at him for a long minute before swallowing. "If...if that is your wish, then most certainly we will not serve it."

"You are angry,"

"No!" Trying to smile, shocked that she would not have her favourite meat on her wedding day, Hattie shook her head. "Not at all! It is a small thing, easily done. There!"

"It causes no-?"

"My dear Forsythe," her smile was genuine this time, fingers adjusting the collar of his jacket. "There is nothing I will not do in order to please you. The day is special to us both."

"It is a feeling you and I share, dear Hattie." Plucking her fingers from his collar, he pressed them to his lips. His voice was low. "I adore you, Hattie Foster."

Blue eyes shining, she looked up at him in affection and awe, innocent in her love and devotion to her beloved.

"Is that a declaration of love, Mr Forsythe?"

"It is."

"I...I love you...too."

"Is that so," moving slightly nearer, his voice lowered. "At what point did you know?"

"The very first time we stood up together, and you never let go of my hand."

"That was over a year ago."

"And still my adoration of you is unchanged."

"Hattie," the murmur was against her mouth, a sweet breath that mingled with hers. Lips touched softly, a feathery caress before drawing away, leaving her with a promise of things to come.