The Vicar's Wife

14*

Strolling along in front of the shops, Hattie was a bundle of happy nerves, for her wedding day was not quite a week away. Sooner than it would be believed, she would be a married woman, mistress of her own house! The thought was a pleasant one, to such an extent that her father had practically ordered her from the house to give him some rest on the subject.

As a familiar figure in a black coat appeared in front of her, Miss Foster's smile bloomed into a dazzling expression. Jonathon caught sight of her and stopped, abruptly captivated by the creature set to become his wife. Like a ray of sunshine, she spread warmth and cheer everywhere she went, and at that precise moment, she was standing before him, looking up. He basked in the glow.

"Darling Forsythe," her curtsy was quick. "How are you?"

"Quite well, Miss Foster," his smile was tender as he brought her hand to his lips. "Now that I see you, I can only be happy."

"Charmer." Her soft giggle told him how well she liked it, though. Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, they turned to walk on. Leading her to a quiet spot slightly out of the way, he lowered his voice.

"Can I speak to you on a most serious matter, Hattie?"

"Of course," the reply was automatic, but he found her gaze lingering on wildflowers dancing in the warm breeze. A gentle squeeze on her arm turned her eyes to him.

"I am in earnest, Miss Foster. I must have your full attention and your word that this will remain strictly between us."

"Oh dear," chewing her bottom lip, the girl sighed. "I am terrible at secrets, dear Forsythe. I speak too fast for my mind to keep up."

"I see," disappointment threaded his tone as the vicar looked away, a far-off look creasing his expression. Hattie felt a stab of guilt and put her free hand atop his.

"I shouldn't like to deceive you in my nature, Mr Forsythe, yet, as I am to become your wife...perhaps I ought to attempt a more serious approach. If you tell me something in confidence...I promise you faithfully to not speak of it to anyone."

"Hattie-"

"Please," earnestly she gazed up at him, pink lips slightly parted. "Please trust me to do this right. If you believe in me, then I know I shall not fail."

"Very well," he couldn't deny her, covering her hands in his. "Let me ask you something that has been on my mind of late. Are you quite set in your mind to be a vicar's wife?"

Hattie paled in alarm.

"Do you mean to break off-?"

"No!" Hurriedly stopping her, Forsythe shook his head. "I intend to marry you, it's just... I began to wonder if you would be discontent if I should find another profession. Perhaps in a different community."

"Do you tire of sermons?"

"Not at all, but I am well aware of how quickly events can change. I seek only to discover your feelings on the subject."

"Shall we be poor if your profession changes?"

"No."

"Shall we be disgraced somehow?"

"No." It won't come to that, he silently promised. Her lips pursed thoughtfully as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. With a delicate shrug of her shoulders, Hattie began to smile.

"I suppose as long as we are together, then I have very little opinion of your profession, so long as it is honest and respectable."

"I promise you that, dearest Hattie."