The Journal of a Vicar's Wife by Viveka Portman

Author:Viveka Portman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises, Australia Pty Ltd

Thursday, 18th June 1813

So many unhappy thoughts wrack my heart.

Last night, when my husband returned home, I could scarce look him in the eye. Frederick was as he ever is, polite and distant, and perhaps it was his ordinary manner that somehow made me feel worse. Or was Jonathan’s cold gaze? I could feel the weight of Jonathan’s judgment like lead.

Either way, dinner was insufferable and I retired to bed early, feigning a headache. I knew it was cowardice on my part. Still, I could not bear to suffer Jonathan’s gaze a moment longer, nor accept conversation from my husband, knowing he was ignorant of what Jonathan was not. The guilt I had previously been so adept at smothering seemed fanned by shame that evening.

‘Are you quite unwell, Mrs Reeves?’ my husband asked as I made my awkward excuses to leave. I could smell the scent of post-parandial brandy upon his breath, something he usually does not partake in. Surprising me, he laid his palm across my forehead. His touch was gentle, and warm. ‘Should I call for the physician?’

His concern made tears scald my eyes.

‘I am no more ill than I ever have been,’ I replied. ‘I think I shall be well after a good night’s sleep.’ My voice faded to a whisper.

‘Good night then,’ he replied. As I turned to depart I caught Jonathan’s eye once more. It was hard, and I could feel his disapproval like a whip strike.

The guilty, unhappy lump in my throat expanded. I inclined my head and left, closing the door behind me.

After I had escaped the unhappiness of the sitting room, I leaned back against the door for a long moment. I could feel my heart hammer in my breast and hear the short pants of my panicked breath.

In truth, as I rested there, I expected to hear Jonathan to burst forth with the filthy details of my infidelity. I could almost imagine the furious expression of my husband.

Yet it did not happen. As I leaned heavily against the sitting room door, I heard the gentlemen commence conversation about the death of Admiral Charles Middleton instead. Despite my fearful imaginings, there was nary a mention of my unfaithfulness.

At length, my ears grew tired from straining to eavesdrop and I made to depart for my room. As I did, the door creaked open behind me. I nearly stumbled in horror.

‘Mrs Reeves?’ my husband called. I turned, my face constricted in utter terror.

‘Oh!’ I exclaimed, my hand flying to my bosom to stem my heart’s frantic pounding. ‘I…’

‘I had thought you’d retired,’ he said. His face gave nothing away.

To look at the man now, one would never suspect him of piousness, or of insensitivity to the needs of his wife. No, he looked handsome and quietly concerned. He was the epitome of husbandly duty.

‘Yes … I thought I had left my … Bible in the dining room.’ I gestured towards the direction.

His gaze grew quizzical and he shook his head. ‘I have left it by your beside, as I always do.

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